#CEO!Tom x reader smut

[lovelykhaleesiii]

CEO!Aegon having you sit under his desk and suck his cawk

Ughhh I’m in such a hot mood for Aeg right now, so the fact I went straight here doesn’t help HAHAHA

hope you enjoy this Bel, this had me in a chokehold xoxox 💕💕💕

Hardly Workin'

PAIRING: Chubby!CEO!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader [Modern AU]

WORDS: 1,818.

WARNINGS: mentions of an office romance/affair, male oral receiving, exhibition kink (?), slight reference to fatphobic comments, reference to p in v sexual intercourse, swearing.

A/N - I'm so sorry I made him chubby, but also not really because we all know that man would add a few pounds with a desk job and I couldn't help myself. ps I powered thru this because I just couldn't help myself. CHOKEHOLD.

To have a high-ranking employer that was devilishly handsome and blatantly licentious, was all in all, a dangerous game. Aegon Targaryen, with well awareness, knew the authority and the power he had over his meek, replaceable employees, could be used effortlessly to his advantage. In particular, when it related to work and sex.

Many of the women in the workplace, had whisper giddily amongst themselves of his overpowering demeanour, the way he'd often use his position to sate his own lusts, teasing, sneaking a grope, copping a feel, and yet, earning the full attention of the ladies, nonetheless.

Not to mention, Aegon had quite the larger figure... It seemed the sedentary lifestyle of the corporate world, along with the stress-eating, constant dining out to meet with clients, the late night take-out you'd order for him as he worked late hours into the night, and endless parties and drinking, all came at cost. This did not stop Aegon from claiming what was his. Even using his physique to his fullest advantage, finding himself "accidentally" pressing his swollen frame against your body in tight spaces, especially in the elevator. Feeling your tits press against his fat, rotund chest, always left a sly smirk across his face. Sated with himself, as he often found himself after gorging in a full take-out meal.

You'd heard numerous of times, many of the encounters a few of the "lucky" women had with Aegon: from little rendezvous' and scheduled dates, only to end with them lost, hopeful craving for more corporate cock, only to be met with a dead end.

Aegon did not pursue most, however his situation with you was... Different. You were the only one he found himself helplessly crawling back to, eager for more of your attention and tight cunt. You commenced as his personal receptionist/assistant less than a year ago, for the previous one left for unknown reasons.

The job was stressful and kept you busy, although the paperwork itself was a breeze, in comparison to having to resist Aegon himself when you had initially started. He was handsome nonetheless, his unique features that ran strongly in the Targaryen family, most of his siblings, cousins and father you would see from time to time. They looked completely ethereal in comparison to the rest of you mortals, with their lilac/violet orbs, and silver-blonde hair to contrast one another.

You did put up somewhat of a fight, in comparison to most of the other women, always making Aegon gorge more and in quite an aggressive manner, taking his anger out on other lower ranked employees, the more his frustration brew because of your firm resistance to his urges.

"Made me crave for you even more, but you drove me wild, Y/N," Aegon would openly admit, as his pudgy hands squeezed and dug at your bare ass cheeks, beneath your black midi skirt.

Regardless, once you had finally caved [in much to Aegon's relief], the relationship was layered beneath the disguise of a secret affair [not that Aegon was seeing or exclusive with anyone else, it would mean that he would need to fire you, as it was against strict corporate policy]. Aemond, his younger, much slimmer brother, was head of Human Resources, and if he caught a whiff of his older brother's shenanigans, he would not take it lightly. Aemond often found any excuse to humiliate Aegon publicly, especially if the family were there to witness. Any minor screw up, he would sniff it out like some bloodhound, and yet, with your brightly avid mind, you always ensured Aegon and yourself were a few steps ahead. Not to say you did not have a few close calls, Aegon's arousal often made him unpredictable, and this instance was no different...

"Such a good fucking girl. My very own obedient, little whore, aren't you, huh?" Aegon breathlessly mustered, leaning back on his grand, swivel chair as he bucked his plump hips forward.

Your mouth too full of his rigid, wet cock, the only response Aegon earned was helpless, feeble gags and moans from your gaping mouth.

"Th-That's it. Doing s-so, so well, taking my fat fucking cock like that, with that pretty, l-little mouth of yours-Ugh-" Aegon gutturally uttered, his breathing audible enough from above. Seated beneath him underneath his spacious desk, between his thick, sturdy thighs, squeezing your smaller frame between his legs.

"Mhmm, fuck baby-"

Your moist, stretched lips persisted with struggle trying to maintain his wide cock inside: your head slowly motioning back and forth, in a steady pace, as Aegon's hot seed oozed inside, coating your throat completely.

Without a moment to spare in intense, bliss silence, Aegon's desktop phone rang, followed by the familiar beep of the voicemail.

"Sir, your brother Aemond, has just arrived at the reception, and wishes to see you immediately, he's heading up right now- BEEP."

"Fuck!" Aegon seethed, as he lunged his mighty frame forwards in a haste and without warning, his cock buried itself deeper, harshly hitting the back of your throat with vigour, causing you to instinctively gag loudly.

"Sorry, m'sweetheart- That twat of a brother of mine is coming, gotta clean up now-"

As Aegon handed you his unspoiled, white handkerchief, you wiped off his fresh, rich residue off the corner of your mouth, as Aegon hastily buttoned up his pants. His stomach sated yet hardened and distended from a big lunch, he struggled to do the final button atop: from the looks of it, you gathered that his leather belt would not buckle, alternatively urging Aegon to remain seated behind the desk to hide the disheveled look, before his rage took over.

Just as you made the final attempts to help tidy his shirt, the sudden opening of the front door caught Aegon off guard. Instinctively, the feeling of his pudgy palm shoved your head aggressively back beneath the desk, as he shushed you before resuming his attention back towards the entrance to his office.

"Brother-"

"Aegon-"

"Pleasure to see you, as always-" Aemond teasingly insisted, as he comfortably sat himself down on the lounge, hearing the dull knock of his feet sprawled upon the wooden desk. You'd witnessed on many occasions, Aemond's egotistical presence, acting as though he'd owned the room upon which he had entered, scoffing that it was his cringe attempt of a "power move".

"The pleasure is mine. What brings you here so suddenly? Not even a call would suffice?"

"I like to make surprises, besides a call would be useless... That pretty, dumb receptionist of yours is nowhere to be found out there."

Aemond's targeted, back-handed comment infuriated you, though not to the extent to which it seemed Aegon was beginning to rile up. His fists clenched into a ball, his knuckles whitening, as Aemond's low chuckle echoed across the silent room.

"I'm only kidding, dear brother. She seems like a real sweetheart... And that figure, Gods did they take their time with her... You must really be enjoying work now, I bet... I know I fucking would."

Aegon instinctively slapped his heavy palm against his sprawled thigh, sighing in frustration, as he urged Aemond to speak.

"What exactly are you here for, Aemond? You do realise you're wasting company time...I don't think father would approve of that very much."

The tense silence had befallen the room once more, as Aemond exhaled defeatedly, before resuming the serious talk. His feet now flat on the floor, he instantly dropped what you presumed to be a dense folder atop Aegon's neat desk.

Aegon leaning forward, as his portly upper body leaned forward against the desk, the opportunity immediately presented himself, quite literally to your face.

His rotund stomach pushed through naturally, forcing his zipper to undo itself, as his stiff cock was practically begging to get out of its restraint. All it needed was a little assistance. Your lips curved cheekily into a giddy smile, your cheeks flushing scarlet. You knew Aegon would advise against this, although a carnal urge to finish what you'd started, desperate to ease Aegon's mind with his brother's tense presence.

Your tender hands moved towards, tugging at Aegon's tight pants just a tiny bit lower, as his stiff, girthy cock plunged forward. The sight excited you like it had the first time, and you felt Aegon's eyes hovering above with dreading suspense. One pudgy hand found its way down to his cock, poorly attempting to act as a barricade, yet you swiftly swat it away, before teasingly biting at his plump fingers. You mindlessly let out a little snicker, which thankfully for Aegon's quick instincts, was muffled with a sudden eruption of a cough.

"Uh- You okay there?" Aemond suspiciously enquired, as his unimpressed gaze pondered over his elder.

"Y-Yes, carry on-"

Your lips eagerly resumed once more, picking up the familiar pace it once ensued, as you coated and lapped at his thick cock. Your dizzy head bobbing up and down, side to side in a sensual motion, your keen tongue slurping at his hot seed pooling from the throbbing tip.

"M-Mhmm-" Aegon hummed, his breathing once more growing denser, as he evidently began to struggle maintaining normalcy.

"Aeg- Do you understand? We need these deadlines to be sorted ASAP. The team needs to reach the target budget or else we suffer a huge loss to our competitors... Those fucking Baratheons-"

"Y-Yep, gotcha. I-Is that all?" Aegon thickly heaved, taking a grand breath in, holding it for a split second to recoup his sense to persevere.

"You sure you're okay? You look a little tense... Did you eat too much again? You do know the food doesn't run away once its cooked, right, hog?"

"Fuck off, dickhead. Close the door on your way out-"

With much anticipation of Aemond's exit, the shutting of the door and your mouthful wonders, Aegon's warm, thickly coated seed shot rapidly down your throat, swallowing his bliss.

Aegon loudly gasped for air, as he slowly regained his senses, pulling himself out. The handkerchief he initially gave, still remained on your lap, reusing it to clean up his enamored mess.

"God, you needy, impatient little thing. You couldn't wait till he left, huh? So desperate for this fat fucking cock, you just couldn't help yourself to seconds, hm?"

"You have a conference meeting in 30 minutes, Aeg... I was simply just being time efficient," You innocently jested, as you comfortably sat yourself down on Aegon's wide, tubby thighs, his plush, meaty stomach pressed against your frame, almost trying to push you off. His pudgy hips pooled at his sides, as you poked at the dense adipose tissue beneath, yearning a sudden yelp from Aegon.

"30 minutes you say? That's plenty of time-"

"Plenty of time for what?"

"To fuck you stupid on this desk till your practically too useless to work for the rest of the evening...Does an early mark sound good, Princess?"

general taglist - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

credit for header - @/saradika 🤍

[flickering-chandelier]

Eyes Full of Stars

Pairing: Modern! Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel grew up together, and eventually fell in love. But he disappeared one day without a trace, and she doesn’t see him again until he’s in attendance at her wedding years later. They reconnect as friends, but when things fall apart with her husband, they both start to wonder if they should try to rekindle what they once had. But, of course, nothing can ever be that simple…

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: pregnancy, cheating (not from Az), swearing, a lil smut

Word Count: 7k

You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears as you stood at the end of the aisle in your wedding dress, waiting for your cue to walk into the room crowded with everyone you knew, your future husband waiting for you at the end of the line. You took a deep breath as the music swelled, your bouquet shaking in your hands as you took a step forward, then another. 

Relief flowed through you when your eyes locked on Tom’s, his smile bright as he drank in the sight of you in your dress for the first time. 

Your gaze flicked back and forth, along all the faces of your friends and family watching you. 

When your gaze met his though, shock ran through your entire body so swiftly that you nearly stopped dead in your tracks. 

Azriel?

His eyes widened too, and it took every ounce of strength you had to keep walking, to keep breathing. You felt frozen, completely unable to tear your eyes from his until you were moving past him. 

Your head was spinning. What was Azriel doing at your wedding? 

When you made it down the aisle, your hands were still shaking as Tom held them. He subtly raised his eyebrow as the officiant started talking. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on Tom, on your husband, and not the man who had abandoned you without a word five years ago.

The ceremony was beautiful, exactly as you pictured it, and you did your best to focus on it. 

By the time the reception rolled around, you had managed to put Azriel out of your mind for the most part. 

That is, until you ran right into him on your way to the bathroom. His eyes widened, sucking in a deep breath as his gaze raked over you in your dress. “Hi,” he said softly, his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Hi?” You spat, doing your best to keep your voice low. “Hi? You disappear without a trace after everything and then you show up at my wedding and all you can say is hi?”

His mouth opened, and you could still read him well enough to know that he was frantically trying to form a response. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. 

“I…” he trailed off and swallowed, his jaw flexing once. “I didn’t know this was your wedding. Tom is my co-CEO.”

“He…” your mind whirled, putting puzzle pieces together. “He told me your name, but I didn’t think…”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t assume that it was me,” he offered you a sad smile.

The two of you were silent for a moment as you both drank in the sight of the other. He looked good. In those hazel eyes, you could still see the boy who lived next door, and the man you fell in love with. The one you didn't think you would ever see again. 

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, his eyes swimming with emotion. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, unable to look away from him. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

The side of his mouth turned up into a small half smile. “Imagine how I felt when I saw you walk down the aisle.”

A small laugh burst out of you before you could stop it. “A little shocking?”

“Just a bit,” he smiled, but his eyes looked sad, and it all came rushing back to you, that summer when he left, and the fall when he disappeared. The hurt, the panic, the confusion. 

“I should go,” you blurted, taking a step back from him. His slightly guilty expression was enough to tell you that he understood where your mind had gone. 

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Enjoy your night.”

You darted away without risking another word. 

---

The diner was busy as you and Azriel walked in, but your table was free and Emily the owner smiled at the two of you, nodding to your table. 

You both ordered the usual, and then settled in, an air of anxiety clouding both of your demeanors. 

“What if we don’t get in?” You asked, the envelope trembling in your hands. “Or worse, what if only one of us gets in?”

Azriel smiled warmly, putting his hand over yours to stop it from shaking. “We’ll figure it out, like we always do. It’s been you and me since the second grade, and nothing is going to change that, okay?”

You nodded, the tension leaving your body as you looked at your best friend. No matter what happened, you knew you could count on him, ever since he saved you from your bully in elementary school. You’d been inseparable for ten years now. You couldn’t imagine your life without him, and it terrified you to think that the two of you could be separating after graduation, even if he insisted that it wouldn’t happen.

His thumb traced the opening of his own envelope.

“Wait,” you blurted, and he smiled knowingly at you. “Can we just… wait a minute?”

Azriel pointedly placed his envelope on the table in front of him, and you did the same. 

“I haven’t seen you this nervous since your Geometry exam,” Azriel teased, his eyes twinkling. 

You groaned. “Geometry was really hard for me.”

He laughed. “I know it was.” 

Azriel’s expression sobered a bit then, as he leaned forward and looked at you intently. “What are you really so worried about?”

“I just want to get into the right college--”

“No,” he said, cutting you off, shaking his head slightly. “I know you. It’s something more than that. What’s going on?” he said softly. 

You took a deep breath, feeling like you could drown in those eyes of his. “I can’t lose you,” you said quietly, your voice breaking slightly. 

His eyes softened, his hand reaching for yours. “What are you talking about? You’re never going to lose me.”

Your gaze drifted to the envelopes. “What if--”

“No,” he said again. “Look at me.” 

He waited until you slowly lifted your eyes to meet his. “You’re not losing me. Not ever.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath, steeling yourself to face the future. 

“Come here,” he said, nodding to his side of the booth. 

You looked at him questioningly. 

“Come on,” he laughed. “We should do this together.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you settled in next to him, pulling your body against his side. 

Azriel handed your envelope to you before taking his own. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

You held your breath as you both opened your envelopes, Azriel’s hand on your shoulder reassuring you that it would be okay, whatever the results were. 

He looked at you, hiding his letter against his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“I got in,” you said, flipping yours around so he could see it. 

Azriel grinned, flipping his letter around for you to see. “Me too.”

And your heart absolutely soared. 

---

Tom wrapped his arms around your waist days later, burying his face in your neck. “You okay? You’ve seemed off lately.”

“I’m okay…” You trailed off. You had been plagued by thoughts of Azriel since the wedding, remembering all kinds of little moments throughout your life. You had been debating how to tell Tom about his coworker. 

“Are you sure?”

You turned around to face him, biting your lip anxiously. “You know Azriel?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath. “You remember the guy I grew up with?”

“The one you dated and then he disappeared?”

You nodded. 

“Yes?”

Silently, you watched him put the pieces together, his expression changing as comprehension dawns on him. “No.”

You winced, nodding. “Yes.”

“Azriel?” he asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“You never found out what happened, right? Why he just left?” He asked, his eyes softening as he looked at you. 

“No,” you said quietly. 

“I can’t believe this. Are you okay?”

“I think so,” you said, looking up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s just brought a lot back.”

He leaned down and kissed you gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

You shook your head, burying your face in his chest. “I just need to forget about it, I think.”

---

Azriel looked at you questioningly as you walked into his dorm room and slumped into his desk chair. 

“Boys are stupid,” you grumbled. 

It was hard to look Azriel in the eye in times like this. Lately, you’d been seeing Azriel in a different light. He had always been your best friend, but for the past few months you’ve had butterflies in your chest when he smiled at you or wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

And god, he was gorgeous. You’d seen girls crushing on him in school before, of course, and had rolled your eyes and had a laugh about it. But now… Now, you understood. 

You’d gone on a few dates since coming to college, but you couldn’t get Azriel out of your mind long enough for them to actually go anywhere. 

“I think you’ve just been going out with the wrong guys,” Azriel said quietly from where he sat on his bed.

“Clearly,” you said, forcing down the little bubble of hope that formed at the tone in his voice. “What kind of guy do you think I should try to find?”

Azriel leveled his eyes on yours, his face as stoic as you’d ever seen it. “Someone who knows you,” he murmured after a beat of silence. “Someone who understands you.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as he held your gaze, trying to read between the lines of his words as he looked at you expectantly. 

“Someone who…” your stomach flipped as you forced the next words out, “I’ve known for a long time?”

He nodded, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Someone who… loves you.” 

You were sure that you weren’t breathing at all now. “Someone like…?”

“Someone like me,” Azriel said gruffly. 

Your feet were moving toward him without your permission, and in a moment you were on the bed in front of him and his hands were in your hair, his lips on yours. 

“You love me?” you asked weakly against his lips. 

Azriel laughed. “Of course I do.”

It was a moment before you could pull yourself back from him and search his eyes. “I had no idea.”

He cupped your cheek in his hand, gazing at you with stars in his eyes. “Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

You laughed and kissed your best friend again. 

---

The elevator dinged and you fought the urge to frown when it was Azriel, not Tom that was waiting on the other side of it. You had been slightly worried about running into him when you’d decided to bring Tom lunch, but you figured that it was a big enough company that it would be unlikely. Clearly, you were wrong.

Azriel’s eyes dropped to the bag in your hands and winced slightly. “Tom’s out to lunch with a client.” 

You sighed, toying with the bag’s straps in your hands. “I guess I should’ve checked before I showed up, huh?”

He shot you that half smile that was so familiar to you, it made your knees wobble. “I think it was a last minute thing.”

You nodded, feeling awkward around Azriel for the first time in your life. 

After a moment, you took a step back, and Azriel reached out, grasping your arm so you wouldn’t run into the person that was quickly walking down the hallway who you hadn’t noticed. 

It was only a moment of embarrassment that you felt, because all the thoughts were quieted in your mind as you saw Azriel’s hand.

Scars. Horrible, deep scars that must have been from burns. A quick glance at his other hand showed the same thing. 

You sucked in a deep breath, unable to tear your eyes away. “Az,” you whispered. 

He flinched, flexing his fingers slightly, still gently wrapped around your arm. 

After a moment, you raised your eyes to meet his, and your heart constricted at how sad he looked. “I think it’s time I told you the truth.” 

---

You buried your face in Azriel’s chest, holding on tight. “I can’t believe I’m not going to see you for weeks.”

There were a lot of things that you couldn’t believe. You couldn’t believe that college was over. You couldn’t believe that your life was really going to start, with Azriel by your side. You couldn’t believe that Az had been dropping so many hints about rings and weddings. And you couldn’t believe that after spending nearly every day together for the past four years, that Azriel would be going home without you for several weeks.

“If you hadn't gotten a job before you even graduated like a badass, you could have come with me,” he teased, kissing the top of your head. 

You groaned, tightening your hold on his waist, resting your chin on his chest so you could look up at him. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you sweetly. “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But it won’t be long.”

You nodded, feeling slightly reassured. “I love you.”

He kissed you again, murmuring, “I love you,” against your lips.

The weeks had come and gone, and you hadn’t heard anything from Azriel. At first, you figured that he was busy, that he was soaking up the time with his family, but now you weren’t so sure. 

How could it be that you hadn’t heard anything at all? Was he okay? Surely you would have been informed if something happened, right?

As more weeks passed, you knew. You knew that Azriel was not coming back. That he had abandoned you without so much as a text. He didn’t love you anymore, or maybe he never did. 

The one person that had been a constant in your life since you were seven years old, was just gone, disappeared completely. 

You could go home, you supposed. You knew where he had gone, after all. Your own parents were right next door. But what would be the point, if he clearly didn’t want you anymore?

Things had been perfect for so long. It didn’t make any sense. What could have possibly happened to make him throw you away so harshly?

How could you ever move on from him? From the one you had loved so intensely for so very long?

---

You were so shocked that you silently followed him to a near empty cafe just down the block. 

He cleared his throat after the two of you got settled, his hands clasped beneath the table. “You know that things were always… tense with my brothers.”

You nodded, feeling completely unable to form words, wondering what he could possibly be about to say. 

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, and he raised his hands, placing them on the table in front of him. “When I went home after graduation, my brothers did this,” he said, nodding to his hands.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and gently tracing a prominent scar with your fingertip. Your eyes started watering, and you did your best to blink the tears away. “How could they do this to you,” you whispered. 

He shrugged, way too nonchalantly for the circumstances. “I don’t know. They were… experimenting.” 

“Oh my god, Az,” you said quietly, quickly brushing the tears away before they could fall. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly, tentatively running his thumb along your free hand. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Why didn’t you?” You asked, finally able to meet his eyes again. “Why did you just disappear?”

His eyes were swimming with emotion, guilt clouding his features. “At first I couldn’t face anyone. I just wanted to disappear completely.”

You didn’t try to hide the tears now, letting them fall freely as you focused on him, finally learning the truth. 

“I was… messed up. It took me a long time to work through it and feel like myself again. And by then, I felt like it was too late to contact you and explain. I felt so guilty for just leaving without a word, and thought that you would hate me.” 

You smiled sadly. “I did hate you a bit,” you admitted. “You were everything to me, Az.”

Azriel swallowed, his eyes softening. “I know. You were to me, too.”

Your mind was swirling, picturing Azriel all those years ago, hurt and alone. “I do wish you would have told me. But I do understand why. I can’t believe that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said sadly. “I should have.”

It was then you both seemed to realize that your hands were still touching and he slowly pulled away, settling his hands beneath the table again. It had felt like old times until then, and suddenly you were brought back to the present, to the world where you were married and Azriel was barely an acquaintance. 

You weren’t sure where to go from there. 

---

It had been a rough day. You hadn’t done well on the test you had studied all night for, you spilled your coffee all over yourself, and you hadn’t had anything to eat all day. 

The moment you walked into your apartment, you knew that Azriel could tell you hadn’t had a good day. 

Azriel took the backpack from your shoulders, immediately wrapping you up in his arms and resting his chin on the top of your head. “Bad day?”

You just nodded, burying your face in his chest. 

“What can I do?” he asked. 

“Mmm…” you thought for a moment. “Food?”

He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Do you want me to make something, or do you want takeout?”

You shrugged, exhausted. “Whatever you want.”

Az suggested that you go take a shower, and assured you that he would take care of it. 

By the time you walked back into the kitchen, you already felt better, dressed in your pajamas and endlessly thankful for Azriel.

He was putting your favorite comfort food on a plate as you sat at the table, warmth flooding through your chest as he placed the plate in front of you. 

“Thank you so much, Az,” you sighed happily. 

Azriel kissed the top of your head again, gently rubbing the tension out of your shoulders as you started eating. 

A short time later, the two of you were cuddling in bed, the stress of the day completely falling away at his touch. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you murmured into his skin.

“You’ll never have to find out, sweetheart,” he said. 

And you believed him.

---

You felt like your whole world had changed after you found out the truth of why Azriel had left. Your heart broke for him, for what he went through at the hands of his own family, and how alone he must have felt. 

It kept running through your mind, all the years with Azriel, all the years without him when you were in the dark. 

You tried to forget about it, tried to focus on your life now, on your life with your new husband, but it was honestly difficult. Azriel had been the most important part of your life for so long, and now that he was back in your life, even in the smallest increments, it had you thinking about the past all the time. 

What made you get stuck in your thoughts even more was how off Tom seemed lately. You had never felt so distant from him, and you weren’t sure if it was because of Azriel plaguing your mind, something that was bothering Tom, or some combination of the two. 

These thoughts were swirling around your mind as you ran your Saturday errands. You had asked Tom if he wanted to join you, but unsurprisingly, he had declined. 

You were debating what to get in the cereal aisle when Azriel appeared beside you. 

He smiled at you somewhat sheepishly. It had been weeks since that afternoon when he finally told you everything, and you hadn’t seen him since. 

“How have you been?” you asked. 

“The last few weeks, or the last few years?” he smiled, raising an eyebrow.

You laughed lightly, “I guess we’ve both missed a lot.”

It was hard to think about: everything about him that you had missed. 

“We could… catch up? If you wanted?”

You couldn't help but hesitate. You wanted to. Of course you did. But you weren't sure if it was a good idea.

One look at his hopeful face though, and all other thoughts flew from your mind. 

“Let's do it.”

The two of you finished your grocery shopping and got coffee down the street. 

After only a few minutes, you both resorted back to your old selves, any awkwardness dissipating as you discussed the last few years.

You couldn't help the swell of pride you felt as he explained how he had worked his way up in the company, becoming the co-CEO, just like Tom did.

It was crazy, how he had come back into your life, and you wondered if it would be possible to go back to how you were when you were kids, if you could possibly have your best friend back.

But then you remembered college, those long nights together, when he had told you in so many different ways that you were his. How loved you felt, how perfect you thought your life would be with him.

He could sense the shift in you, you knew that he could.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just… thinking. Remembering.”

He nodded, seemingly understanding exactly the kind of things you were remembering.

“How did you and Tom meet?” He asked, his voice dropping slightly.

It was clear that he was just trying to change the subject, and honestly, you found it difficult to tell him the story of how Tom had slowly picked up the pieces of you that Azriel had left behind. You kept it somewhat vague, not necessarily wanting to subject him to too many details. You certainly knew that you wouldn't want to hear all the gory details of whoever he had been with in the last five years. 

You secretly wondered if it was hard for Azriel to work with Tom, after everything that had happened. You and Tom hadn't talked about it since that night you told him that you knew Azriel.

Before you even realized it, it had been nearly two hours, and you realized that you should get home. 

“This was fun,” you said, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“It was,” Azriel smiled back and your heart beat a little faster. “Whenever you need a friend, I'm still here for you, you know.”

“You, too.”

A few days later, Tom had told you in the morning that he would be staying at work late, and suggested that you go out with some of your girl friends. You hadn’t seen them in a while, and you thought it would be nice to spend some time not worrying over your ex and your husband. 

You had been out with them for a few hours, and had returned home exhausted, but glad that you took some time to get away from everything. 

Tom’s car was in the driveway, and you were a bit surprised. He was back much earlier than he said he would be. 

You heard Tom’s deep grumble as you walked in the door, but what you weren’t expecting was the feminine giggle that came after it. You froze, dead in your tracks. 

Surely there could be a reasonable explanation that didn’t involve your husband sleeping with another woman, right? 

Although… he had been acting differently lately. Was this the reason? Had he been having an affair?

Your stomach was churning as you walked up to your bedroom, where the sounds were getting louder. 

That was it, then. Was there even a point in opening the door? Was it worth it to see something that you would never be able to unsee, something that would surely haunt your nightmares?

You would need proof, you supposed, to assure that you were right. To assure that he knew what you had found out. 

Like ripping off a bandaid, you quickly flung open the door, and there he was, naked in your bed with a secretary from the office underneath him.

“How cliche,” you choked out, desperate to keep any last shred of dignity that you could.

They both turned quickly to look at you, their eyes wide in surprise, Tom’s mouth open as if he was about to come up with some excuse. 

But, you didn’t want to hear it. You spun on your heels and ran out of that house, into the car, and away as fast as you could. In your rearview mirror, you saw him on the lawn in his boxers, watching you leave. 

You went to the only place you could think of. The only place that you knew, despite everything, you would be okay. 

Suddenly, you were thankful that Azriel told you what apartment building he was now living in during your little catch-up at the cafe only days ago. 

It took some time to find the right apartment, but then he was opening the door in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants and he was looking at you with the most concerned expression. 

“I really need a friend right now,” you sniffed. 

As soon as he ushered you inside, the dam broke and you were sobbing, your body spasming in a way that it hadn’t done since Azriel had disappeared from your life all those years ago. 

He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions, he just held you, settling you both on the couch and stroking your hair, murmuring reassuring things against your ear until you could breathe again. 

“He cheated on me,” you finally whispered, and his arms stiffened around you. “I think he has been for a while.”

“Fuck,” he said quietly, but with more venom than you had ever heard. “I can’t believe him. I’m so sorry,” he said, his tone becoming softer as he continued to stroke your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he had your whole life. 

A swell of emotion went through you at the contact, and you buried your face in his chest, wondering what your life would be like now if Azriel had never gone home after graduation. If he had been yours this entire time. 

The way it should’ve been.

“I never thought he was good enough for you,” Azriel murmured against your ear, sounding hesitant. 

“No?” you asked. 

“Of course not,” he lightly ran his hand down your arm and you shivered. “He’s so cocky.”

You laughed humorlessly, leaning into Azriel’s touch. “He is, isn’t he?”

The two of you sat back in companionable silence after that, Azriel gently running his hand along your arms, your back, soothing you in ways that you couldn't fathom. You should still be furious, you thought. But instead you just felt… safe. For the first time in a long time. 

“You’ve been on my mind a lot lately, Az.”

He stiffened very slightly and waited a moment before responding. “You’ve been on my mind a lot, too.”

You turned around to face him, and you swore his eyes were sparkling in the dim light, the way they used to when he looked at you. “Do you ever think about…what could have happened? If things were different.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “All the time.”

Your blood rushed in your ears as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. 

He pulled back, saying your name like a warning. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t we?” You asked. “You don’t want to?”

Azriel looked pained. “It’s not that I don’t want to. You’re vulnerable right now. Your emotions are all over the place, understandably. I won’t take advantage of you.”

“Az,” you said, looking him straight in the eye. “This is the first time in five years that things feel right. I promise you’re not taking advantage of me.”

He sighed as you lightly ran your fingertips along his bicep. “It’s a bad idea.”

You couldn’t resist kissing him softly one more time. “You’re saying you don’t want to?” you murmured, pulling away just slightly.

“I’m saying,” he paused and his eyes darkened as he looked at you, “it’s a bad idea.”

“Az,” you whispered. 

And that was all it took for him to mutter “Fuck,” and take your face in his hands, kissing you fiercely, like he had been drowning and you were his only source of oxygen.

You balled your fist in his shirt, pulling him closer to you, your other hand buried in the hair at the back of his neck.

He groaned and the sound brought you right back to your past, to every night you used to spend together. 

Heat rushed right through you, and all at once, you couldn't get enough of him.

“I never should’ve left,” he rasped against your lips. “I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“We’re here now,” you panted, rolling your hips against his, and he held you even tighter.

It wasn’t long before you needed more, pulling his shirt up over his head. He sucked in a breath as you ran your hands down his chest, your eyes fixed on his abs, the hard lines of his arms. 

He toyed with the hem of your shirt, looking at you questioningly. 

When you nodded, he pulled your shirt over your head painstakingly slowly, his eyes drinking in the sight of you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. 

You kissed him again, your hands trailing down to the waistband of his pants.

Azriel wrapped his hand around your wrist, stilling your movements. “Are you sure we should go further? It’s…”

“A bad idea,” you agreed, surging forward to kiss him again. 

“A really bad idea,” he murmured, holding your face in his hands again, kissing you gently. 

“I want you, Az,” you sighed against him.

He groaned, pulling you closer against him and picking you up, carrying you to his bedroom. 

Lowering you onto the bed, he hovered over you, kissing down your neck, across your chest.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he groaned. 

“I missed you,” you admitted, pulling his pants down to reveal that he wasn't wearing any boxers.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, and within a few moments you were completely bare underneath him, and he was lining himself up with your entrance.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his forehead resting against yours.

“I'm sure, Az,” you promised, and without another moment's hesitation, he pushed forward, slowly sliding into you.

Muscle memory seemed to overtake both of you, and you easily slid back into your old routine as he hit your sweet spot again and again while you raked your fingers down his back.

It didn't take long before you were on the edge, and you still knew him well enough to know that he was right there with you.

You held his face in your hands as you both came undone and he pressed gentle kisses along your cheekbones and your forehead as he caught his breath.

A little while later, you were laying together, tangled up in the sheets and you smiled, tracing the birthmark on his thigh.

You weren't sure where things would go from here, but you did know that in this moment, you were nothing but happy.

---

For the next few weeks, you tried to push forward and act like your life hadn't completely upended.

You got a divorce lawyer. You'd been staying at a friend's house. You had been seeing Azriel quite a bit, but you both decided it would be best to stay out of the bedroom until everything was settled with Tom, to avoid complicating things even further.

Still, you couldn't stop the butterflies that flew through your chest every time Azriel smiled at you. Tom had broken your heart, absolutely, but maybe it was giving you the chance to try things again with the one who got away.

Things seemed to be looking up, until you realized that your period was late. Really late.

Your hands were shaking as you turned the pregnancy test over and saw two little lines.

Suddenly, your world was upended all over again.

Azriel went pale the moment you told him. “You’re… staying with him?”

“What else can I do?” you asked, exasperated. “I’m pregnant, Az. This changes everything.”

“Does it? Does it change that he cheated on you, huh?” Azriel seethed. 

You sighed. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” he asked. “And how are you even sure the baby is his?”

“Of course it’s his,” you said, growing more and more frustrated. “It was only once, Az. It can’t be yours.”

“It can’t be? You sound like a high schooler.”

“Come on, be serious. The odds are miniscule,” you retaliated.

“No matter who’s baby it is, you can’t stay with someone who treats you like that.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Leave him,” he roared. “Be with me.”

“Az,” you said quietly. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he said, cupping your face in his rough hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your mind, to focus, but it was impossible when he was holding you so gently and he was looking at you like that, his eyes pleading. “I … I need to think,” you stammered out. 

His disappointment was obvious, but after a moment, he nodded, reluctantly taking a step back from you. “Okay,” he said gruffly. “Let me know if you need anything.”

---

Even though you were both broke, Azriel had taken you out to your favorite restaurant just because, and you were reminded for about the millionth time that you were so unbelievably in love with him. 

With graduation looming and the future uncertain, you had found yourself spending as much time as possible with him. Not that you didn’t before, but now it felt heightened somehow, like you had to soak in every moment with him that you could get. 

He held your hand in his across the table, toying with the ring on your middle finger, sliding it up and down over your finger, before sliding it off completely and moving it to your ring finger, running his thumb across it in its new spot. 

You looked up at him and the corner of his mouth turned up into a slight smile. So, he had done it on purpose, then. Your stomach flipped. 

“Looks good there,” he murmured.

Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you tried your absolute best not to read into it too much. “You’re an idiot,” you laughed.

He laughed, bringing your hand up to his mouth and brushing a kiss along your knuckles. “I’m serious,” he claimed, his smile brighter now. “The future is coming up soon, you know.” 

His eyes were full of stars as you gazed at him. All you could say was, “It is.”

“When we were kids, did you ever think we would end up here? Together?” he asked suddenly.

You furrowed your brows, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know. I definitely couldn’t have dreamed this up, though.” You smiled at him. “How perfect things have been, I mean.”

His expression lit up even more and you felt the butterflies in your stomach that he had given you for years. “I think I always knew deep down that we were meant to be together,” he said quietly. 

“Good thing it all worked out, then,” you beamed, glancing down again at the ring he had moved.

He followed your gaze, smiling. “Of course it did. What other option is there?”

---

Your head was spinning. You didn’t know what to do. Obviously, staying with Tom would be awful, after everything he had put you through. But, this pregnancy changed things. You couldn’t in good conscience keep him from his baby. And it had to be his baby, didn’t it? Nothing else made sense. 

But Azriel. You hadn’t known that he felt that way. That he was so ready to jump into being with you again. Just a little while ago, you had thought that was what you wanted. But, was it still true, if you were going to be raising Tom’s baby?

It was all too much, too complicated. 

You needed time alone.

After about a week without contact from Tom or Azriel, you had come to a somewhat tentative decision. 

Azriel’s relief after you had told him you’re not staying with Tom was obvious, and that made it so much harder to tell him the next part: “But I’m not ready to start something with you right now,” you admitted. “I need time by myself, to move on from my failed, embarrassingly short marriage, and to figure out how to be a mom.”

He nodded, his eyes full of emotion. “I understand. I’m sorry if I put too much pressure on you.”

His soft tone made you want to weep. “You didn’t. Thank you for understanding.”

There seemed to be something else eating away at him. “What’s wrong?” you asked after a moment.

“Can we still be friends?” he asked hesitantly. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you completely again.”

You smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “Of course we can be friends.”

And so, time passed, and it was Azriel who helped you move into your new apartment, who often drove you to doctor’s appointments, and was overall the one who was picking up the pieces of your shattered life. 

He never mentioned anything romantic after that day, but you could tell when it was on his mind, and you couldn’t deny that it had been on your mind more and more as the months passed and you felt like you were healing from Tom. 

But you were also more and more nervous about becoming a mother, and how in the world would you be able to juggle a new relationship when you became a mom?

It wouldn’t be an entirely new relationship, though, would it? With Azriel… in some ways it felt like no time had passed at all, you fell right back into step together. So, wouldn't a romantic relationship be the same way? 

You could never be sure until you tried, and that scared you, too. 

The months kept passing, and before you knew it, you were holding your baby boy in your arms, absolutely transfixed by him. 

After all the excitement died down, you got to have a moment alone with him, running your hands over his tiny arms, his tiny legs. 

Your fingers froze when you noticed a small birthmark on his thigh, exactly like the one Azriel had in the same spot. 

Surely that meant that Azriel was right. He was the father. All this time, Azriel had been the father of your baby. 

You were surprised by the intense relief you felt, the flood of emotion. 

After you took a few more minutes for yourself, you invited Azriel in from where he had been patiently sitting in the waiting room for hours. 

He looked relieved when he walked in, like he had been worried about you and the baby. His face softened immediately as he looked at the baby in your arms, gently running his finger along the baby’s arm. “He’s beautiful,” he murmured, before studying your face. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you smiled. “I need to show you something, Az.”

Azriel just looked at you questioningly before you turned the baby to face Azriel and pointed at the birthmark. 

His brow furrowed. “That looks like mine.”

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “I think I owe you an apology… Az, I think this is your son.”

Azriel’s eyes immediately filled with tears as he looked back and forth between you and the baby. “My son,” he whispered. “Our son.”

He let out a giddy laugh that made you want to cry and looked somewhat sheepishly at you. “Can I hold him?”

You held the baby out to him, and he gingerly took him in his arms, staring down at his face with all the love in the world.  

“Are you happy?” you asked after a moment. 

He looked at you incredulously, settling into the chair beside your hospital bed with your son in his arms. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m happy.”

In that moment, you knew you couldn’t wait any longer. “Azriel?” He tore his eyes away from the baby and looked at you. “Kiss me,” you whispered.

He was obviously surprised, but did as you asked, leaning in slowly and kissing you gently. 

“I love you,” you whispered. “I want to be with you… if that’s still what you want.”

“Of course that’s what I want,” he laughed incredulously, leaning in to kiss you again. 

He kissed you slowly until your head spun and he finally leaned back. 

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not for a second.”

Your heart broke a little. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Don’t be,” he said gently. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

The two of you sat there, basking in the moment under the fluorescent lights. This, somehow, was everything you pictured your life would be, and now it was finally yours. 

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @ecliphttlunar @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @halibshepherd @cigvrette-dvydrevms @lilah-asteria @evergreenlark @bookloverandalsocats @azrielshadows1nger @marina468 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @andreperez11

[dollfaceksj]

schemin’ | myg (m) MASTERLIST

➥ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: Your dream comes true when world renowned music producer and CEO of D-Town Records, Agust D, discovers you in the underground rap scene and wants to sign you to his label. It all goes well for a few months and you can’t believe you’re actually living your dream. However, things start to shift when Agust D offers to do something for you and you can’t stop thinking about it for weeks to come. Your boyfriend doesn’t like it one bit.

➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ slow-burn

➥ CATEGORY: series

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, infidelity, boss/employee, sexual tension (a lot of it), slowburn, ethically questionable, strong language, (kinda) fake!romance, y/n inner dialogue, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, cocky!yoongi, reader is v impulsive and v dumb at times, dark themes, mentions of misogyny, gonna add more later, minors DNI

➥ TOTAL WORDCOUNT: 70.2k

➥ STATUS: completed

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

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CONCEPT VIDEO:

©dollfaceksj // edited by me

song: legacy of new boyz – schemin’

— i n d e x ↓

♢ 00 – teaser ; 796

♢ 01 – i’d do anything ; 4.3k

♢ 02 – peeping tom ; 4.8k

♢ 03 – make the most of it ; 5.3k

♢ 04 – talk about professional ; 6.7k

♢ 05 – busted ; 7.1k

♢ 06 – greedy ; 6.9k

♢ 07 – bait taken ; 7.7k

♢ 08 – do you want it? ; 9.5k

♢ 09 – cat got your tongue? ; 8.7k

♢ 10 – schemer ; 8.2k

— d r a b b l e s ↓

♢ ✄…

➸ cross-posted to ao3.

➸ support me by buying me some coffee if you can☕︎♡

[tomssexdoll]

hi could you write tom from 2014 and yn(fem reader) where he is hiring a new maid to take care of his house to keep it clean and that and when he finds a maid (yn) she comes to his house and then tom started to fuck her in his in the living room

(only write it if you comfortable ❤️)

YES BABY GIRL OFC

His girl

PAIRINGS: Tom 2014 x Female reader

CONTENT: SMUT

SYPNOSIS: Y/N is hired as Toms maid, he is a CEO for a very imporant law firm. She observes his odd behaviour for weeks, the way he looked at her, the way he'd make flirty comments. It wasn't until a random day he decided to make his first move..

A/N: meow

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), nipple and breast play

I was a maid, desperately in search for work. Anytime I'd apply to work for someone there'd always be excuses, saying how I don't have enough experience or how I'm a lovely girl just not right for the role.

One day, I saw an advertisement for a man named Tom Kaulitz, a billionaire CEO of a law firm. He was in search for a maid, but I knew I would never have a chance, why would a billionaire hire someone like me? Would he even notice my application?

I decided to do it anyway, what's the difference if I don't get accepted, there's a chance I would get accepted, even if it's very slim. I filled it out, closing my computer and sighing, hoping one of the many people I applied for had accepted.

It had been about a week since I applied, no one else was answering, leaving me at home yet again, basically digging in pockets and between the couch for money. Then, a notification popped up on my phone, a message from an unknown number.

"Hello Miss Y/N, I am Tom Kaulitz, I wanted to speak about the application you've sent in. I am very impressed with your resume and want to set up an interview, perhaps this coming friday?" it wrote, my heart jumped out of my body, he wanted to meet with me?

I paced back and forth, thinking of ways to charm him, impress him, prove to him that I was worthy for the job. If I were to be accepted, I could live with him, eat free meals and get a monthly allowance.

As Friday came, I was panicked, wondering what I should wear and how I should do my makeup. I decided on something casual yet formal, not wanting to scare him away. He had planned for one of his drivers to escort me to his home, and as he arrived I hesitated going out the door, the fear consuming me.

As I gathered enough courage to leave, I approached the black sports car, opening the door and sliding in, greeting the driver. The ride was silent and a little bit awkward, tension from my fear filling the air.

We arrived shortly after, I stared in awe at the beautiful mansion in front of me, "beautiful, isn't it?" the drivers chuckled, "very," I smiled and walked with him to the front door, going inside and observing the walls around me, covered in lavish paintings and decor.

"He is upstairs, the first door to the left," the driver smiled, letting me find Tom myself. I sighed and nodded, nervously walking up the marble stairs, approaching said door.

"You'll be ok Y/N.." I whispered to myself before pushing the door open, I was met with a handsome young man, nothing like I imagined, he had long brown hair, tucked away in a low manbun and a kempt beard, sitting perfectly on his face.

"Well hello Miss Y/N, take a seat," he ordered, his piercing gaze boring into me as I nervously approached his desk, his posture straight and unyielding. He regarded me with a mix of curiosity and scepticism, his eyes roaming over my features.

"Hello Sir," I shyly smiled, taking a seat across from him, trying to keep as still as possible, leaving my hands in my lap. "Well, you're not what I expected, you're quite young," he chuckled, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk, his intimidating gaze never leaving me.

"What makes you think you'd be suitable for this position schatz?" he smirked, my heart fluttered at the nickname, knowing a little bit of german from past houses I'd looked after.

"Oh, well. I've basically been cleaning my whole life, I know I'm young and you may think I don't have much experience but I assure you I do," I smiled softly, he leaned back in his chair, studying me, "I'll be the judge of that.." his eyes flicked to my resume, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes, you're young and inexperienced, but I can see the drive in you," he chuckled, "tell me, how do you handle pressure?" he looked back up at me.

"Oh I do amazing under pressure, I've basically been under pressure all my life, my childhood, previous jobs and things I've gone through. When I'm met with pressure I'm always able to solve it quickly," I said, he hummed in approval, obviously satisfied with my answer.

"Good, so you know how to keep a cool head. You're going to need it here, I demand perfection and anything less than that is not acceptable," his look became more intense, his voice lowering slightly.

"Yes sir, I understand." I nodded, eagerly waiting for his acceptance for the job. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying me once again with a piercing intensity. After a moment he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, "very well, I'll give you a chance. But let me make one thing clear, if you can't keep up, you're out. No exceptions," he said firmly, leaving no room for further discussion.

"Of course, thankyou for giving me the job," I smiled. We both stood up, he simply walked around the desk. He extended a hand, meeting mine with a firm grip as he looked me in the eye, "I only hire the best, and I expect nothing less from you," he said with a confident air, his voice low and commanding.

"You'll start today, I can arrange for some people to pick up your things and move them here schatz," he said, towering over me. I lost my train of thought, focusing on his features, his beautiful brown eyes and perfect nose.

"Miss?" he called out, making me jolt slightly, "oh, yes I'm sorry," I softly chuckled, walking out the door and grabbing the cleaning products left outside the room for me to start cleaning.

The first few days were chill, I had gotten settled into my new room and did very basic jobs. Cooking for Tom, cleaning up his office after he was done working, nothing too hard for me.

As the days turned into weeks, I noticed he began to trust me more, assigning me more responsibility and eventually inviting me to sit in on important meetings. My hard work not going unnoticed.

Another thing I had also noticed was the way he'd look at me, the way he'd just stare at me when working, not like he was trying to intimidate me to work harder but like, his eyes would just soften.

For the time I'd known him he never looked at anyone like that, then the comments started, he'd say something that would spike my attention and make me giggle, obviously giving him pleasure in hearing my amusement.

Sometimes he'd just invite me into his office for no apparent reason, just saying he wanted me to be there. During one meeting, he leaned in and whispered into my ear, "you look stunning today.." his breath hot on my neck as he continued to study the documents in front of him. He was non chalant about it, but his gaze told a different story.

"I do? But I'm wearing what I always wear sir, how is it so different today?" I chuckled nervously, his lustful gaze taking a toll on me. "Because I'm noticing things now that I didn't before. You've caught my attention and I have a keen eye for detail.." his voice was low and husky, his eyes never leaving mine, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I guess that's apparent with all your decor and paintings," I tried to shift the conversation, but he wouldn't budge. Tom chuckled, closing the folder in front of him and leaning back in his seat as he turned his body completely towards mine. His eyes glinted with a hidden fire.

"It's not just decor and paintings, schatzi. It's about appreciating beauty when you see it.." he smirked, "oh.." I felt blush creeping up my neck and onto my cheeks, he chuckled at my reaction, loving to see me so flustered, only by his words.

He stood up, walking towards me, "mmm, you're blushing.." he reached out, gently tilting my chin to look up at him, leaving me no choice but to meet his gaze.

"How about we go watch a movie? Wind down a little..you seemed, bothered," he smirked, a playful look in his eyes. "Oh, of course," I stood up, met with his hand instantly locking with mine, dragging me out of the office and downstairs to his living room.

"No one's home tonight, they're all busy with running errands for me," he sat down, patting a spot next to him. "Would you like something to drink? Whiskey, brandy, wine?" he said, standing back up and walking to his bar.

"Just some white wine please.." I smiled, watching as he poured my drink and poured himself a shot of whiskey. As he walked back, I noticed the way his muscles would ripple under his shirt, feeling a burning in between my legs.

As he sat back down I gladly accepted the drink, "thankyou sir," I mumbled. He raised an eyebrow, sipping his whiskey as he sat back down next to me, his hand reaching out to rest on my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You're very welcome, now let's find a movie," he grabbed the remote, flicking through movie channels. "How about something a little more...adult.." he smirked, scrolling though the options, pausing on a steamy romance that looked like it would have plenty scenes to get my heart racing, just the things he wanted.

"Oh..s..sure.." I stuttered, the tension filling the air. He knew he was getting to me and it only made him want me more. He clicks play on the movie, leaning back on the couch as it begun.

"Come closer, relax schatzi," I felt his hand wrap around my waist and pull me closer towards him. As the movie went on the tension built up further, I felt myself getting hotter as the scenes intensified.

"Is it hot in here..?" I sighed, taking off my jacket. "Yes, it's very hot in here.." he smirks, seeing my jacket come off and knowing I'm getting closer to giving into his advances, his lips just inches from my ear.

My breath hitched as a sex scene came on, feeling his grip on my waist tighten. He watched with me, his body pressed against mine on the couch, making me feel his hardness through his pants as he grinds against me, letting out a low moan in my ear.

As the sex scene intensified, he couldn't resist the urge to touch me any longer, pressing his lips to my neck, trailing hot kisses down to my collarbone as his hand slips under my shirt, caressing my skin. "God, you're so fucking sexy.." he growled lowly.

"Sir..we can't.." I gasped, he ignored my protests, too consumed by his desire for me. His hand slips further under my shirt, finding the curve of my breast, "tell me to stop.." he looked back at me, I just stayed silent, giving him the permission he needed.

His pinched my nipple through the fabric, rolling it between his fingers as he continued his assault on my neck. "Sir..." I moaned softly, he groaned in response to my noises, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra from behind and pushing the fabric aside. He cups my bare breast, thumbing my nipple as he leans in to capture my lips in a hungry, demanding kiss.

I moaned against his lips, reaching down to my shirt and unbuttoning it. He smirks and pulls away for a moment, watching my shirt come off. As he buttons open he moves down to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking it in and swirling his tongue around it as he reaches down to palm my other breast.

The moans coming from the movie only made Tom hungrier, laying me down on the couch and quickly turning the movie off, wanting to hear my raw emotion and noises, not some bimbo on the TV.

"Good girl.." he smirked, moving his lips down to my stomach, dragging the zipper of my skirt down and removing it, revealing my red panties, "ah, red is my favourite colour," he chuckled, tugging my panties down my legs and tossing them aside, pressing his hips between my thighs.

His hard length pressed against me, teasing me as he reaches down to rub my clit in slow circles, "do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" he looked down at me, I softly nodded, "please.." a quiet whine leaving my lips.

He nodded, quickly removing his pants, his cock straining against his boxers, the size making me question everything. Then, he started to unbutton his shirt, flinging it off and revealing his hard, muscular chest.

"Oh fuck.." I bit my lip, closing my legs and pressing my thighs together to get some sort of relief, he chuckled darkly, leaning down to suck on my neck, leaving a mark as he reached into his boxers, pulling his thick, veiny cock out.

"Sir.." I whimpered, "shhh..just call me Tom," he smirked, his fingers grasping the base of his cock. He lined himself up, the tip nudging my entrance before he thrusted forward, burying himself to the hilt inside me with a low groan, "fucking hell, you're so good.."

He began to move, his powerful hips setting a relentless pace as he fucks me hard and deep. The couch creaked beneath us with each rough thrust, the sound mingling with my moans and the slap of skin on skin.

His hands gripped my hips, pulling me into each powerful stroke, "oh Tom!" I moaned loudly, my hands flying to his shoulders for support. He chuckled low in his throat, the vibrations sending shivers through me as he redoubles his efforts. His thrusts grew even more forceful, pounding into me with an animalistic intensity.

One hand released my hip to move up my body, meeting my breasts another time, pinching and rolling my nipples as the other hand kept me grounded. "Such a good girl, taking me so well.." he moaned softly, his eyes locking onto mine, dark with lust and possession as he watched my reactions.

He increased the pace, the tip of his cock hitting my cervix with each dominant thrust, "you like that baby? You like it when I fuck you dumb like this?" he said, love seeing how I melted from his touch.

"You're such a good little slut for me. Taking my cock like this, so wet and ready for me," his words only served to fuel my desire, my hips bucking back to meet his thrusts. He shifted, lifting one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me up further. The change in position allowed him to hit even deeper, his cock spearing into me with unrelenting force.

"Ohh my god! Tom, it's so good!" I cried out, arching my back as the pleasure got more intense, he groaned at my desperate pleas, his pace becoming almost brutal in it's intensity.

He sensed my impending climax, feeling my pussy start to clench around his throbbing cock, in need for release as well. "Cum for me, baby. Let go and cum all over my fucking cock.." he demanded, his own orgasm building in response to my awaiting peak.

"Fuckkk!" I yelped, one last harsh thrust triggering my orgasm, my juices spilling all over his cock.

Feeling my tight walls milking his shaft as I came, Tom followed suit, his cock pulsing as his hot seed filled me. He continued to thrust, riding out the aftershocks of my orgasm, the feeling of my walls clenching around him an almost unbearable pleasure.

He collapsed on top of me, his chest heaving uncontrollably, "fuck, that was amazing.." he panted, sitting back down on the couch and pulling me into his lap.

I buried my head into the crook of his neck, calming down from my earth shattering orgasm. "You wanna come up to bed with me, get some rest?" he chuckled, tilting my chin to look up at him, "yes please.." I whined. And with that he stood up, holding me against his chest and walking up to his bedroom, gently laying me down on the luxurious bed.

He pulled the covers over me, sliding in behind me and pulling me closer, his strong arms wrapping around my trembling frame. "Get some rest.." he whispered, kissing my hair gently.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @ballhair

tags: @kaulitzsbabyy @kaulitzswhxre @bkaulitzlover

tags: @bills-wife-1 @ella1289 @20doozers

tags: @tomsonlyslut @miyukafujii

[jiyascepter]

───── May

So I decided that I should be making my monthly reading lists to promote some fellow writers even more, even if one person reads a fic from here it would change something, wouldn't it?

(idk if tumblr would let me tag so many writers at once, but the links to fics work so pls check out their profiles too!)

And also if I ever want to reread them it would be easier to find 👀 I'll try my best to make these lists every month ✨️

So here are some lovely fanfics I've read this month, please make sure to give them some love by commenting or reblogging, it means a lot to us writers 🤍

Fluff: 🥰 | Angst: 💔 | Hurt/Comfort: ❤️‍🩹 | Smut: 🔥 | Dark: 🖤 | Humor: 😆

@ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Loki's Island Fever [Avengers!Loki x reader] | ongoing 🔥😆

@vbecker10

Talk to Me [Loki x f!reader] Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 is wip | ❤️‍🩹🥰

@lokischambermaid

From The Horny Misadventures of Nomad Steve:

Disciplinary Action [Nomad!Steve Rogers x Agent!reader] 🔥

Positive Reinforcement [Nomad!Steve Rogers x Agent!reader] 🔥😆

@lokisgoodgirl

Distractions [Loki x f!reader] 🔥

Like a Queen [Loki x f!reader] 🔥

Also check out her upcoming series : The Rite

@buckys-wintersoldier

His name, his property [Dark!Steve Kemp x f!reader] 🖤🔥

Glazed (donut) Holes [Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x girlfriend!reader] 🔥

Teasing [Dom Bf!Bucky x Sub gf!reader] 🔥

Little Perv co-written with @lanabuckybarnes [Stepbrother!Bucky Barnes x Stepsister!Reader x BestFriend!Steve Rogers] 🔥

Bucky Offers You a Better Job [CEO!Bucky x Assistant f!reader] 🔥

Domination [SoftDom!Bucky x Sub!reader] 🔥

How Love Works [Ransom Drysdale x reader] 🥰

@foxherder

Loki imagine (based off The Avengers) [Loki x reader] 🥰

@vbecker10

Help you bear it [Loki x f!reader] ❤️‍🩹

You Can't Hurt Me [Loki x f!reader] ❤️‍🩹

What Prank? [Bucky x f!reader] 🥰😆

Running Into Trouble [Loki x f!reader] 🥰

Whatever It Takes [Loki x f!reader] 🥰 slight🔥

The Dress [Loki x f!reader] 🔥

Don't Forget [Loki x Disabled Female reader] 🥰❤️‍🩹

@loki-cees-all

Keeping Score [TVA!Loki x f!reader] 🔥

@sarahscribbles

Vanilla and Honeycomb [Loki x f!reader] 🔥

@bookishtheaterlover7

How Long Could We Be a Sad Song? [Chris Evans x Secret Girlfriend!Reader] 💔

@muddyorbsblr

Curiosities [Loki x f!reader] 🔥

@mischiefmaker615

Feral [Frost Giant!Loki x f!reader] 🖤🔥

@buckets-and-trees

Give Up [Alpha!Bucky x Fem Omega!reader] 🔥

@simplyholl

The Interview [Rockstar!Bucky x f!reader] 🔥

Truly Desperate [Loki x f!reader] 🔥😆

@lulubelle814

The Accident and the Misunderstanding [Tom Hiddleston x Reader] 💔🥰

@sergeantbarnessdoll

You Stayed [Steve Kemp x reader] 🥰

@buckysdarling

If You Wanna Come, Give My Brother Some [Steve x reader x Bucky] 🔥

@mrs-illyrian-baby

No Sacrifice Without Blood [Vampire!Loki x reader] 🖤🔥

@divine-knight-hand

A Show Of Temptation [Loki x f!reader] 🔥

So yeah these were all the amazing stories I read this month, make sure to give these a read ! Also if you have any fic recs please let me know ;)

[canyouiimagine]

DO I WANNA KNOW ? | CL16 x Black! Reader

PART 1

Masterlist

✧ Paring: CEO! Charles Leclerc x CEO black!reader

✧ Warning: Mentions of cheating, no smut but some sexual tension.

✧ Summary: How far is Mr. Leclerc willing to go to get you.

✧ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own nor know these people personally. I also do not claim this to be an accurate depiction of their character. 🥰

✧ A/N: This was actually about someone else but I thought why not use Charles for this 👀. Also, English is not my first language so 👉🏾👈🏾.

It had been five years since the last time you were here.

Nothing had changed much. The same African Blackwood walls, the same wood flooring. The same lingering perfume in the halls. His perfume.

“Mr. Leclerc is ready to see you.” The receptionist told you. Five years ago, you were at her place. Which is how you knew that Mr. Leclerc enjoys coming to get his guests in Person. Matter of fact, you remember him getting angry more than once when guests were sent to his office instead of him being called to come and greet them. Sure, anything could change in 5 years, but you knew more than anyone that Mr. Leclerc was a creature of habit and that he would not be so quick to change something he had been practicing long before you even worked for him. You also knew that he was doing all of this to rile you up.

You got up and followed the receptionist towards the oh so familiar door of Leclerc’s office.

You entered and there he stood before you. Mr. Charles Leclerc in all his glory. The same luscious hair that you longed to run your fingers through. The same well-tailored suit. The same expensive Tom Ford perfume. And the same smile. A smile that used to make your day. A smile that you felt like belonged to you, and only you.

“Miss Y/L/N! I’m glad you could find the time to see me! I know you’re very busy these days.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would think his comment was genuine. But you had gotten to know him like the back of your hand. Mr. Leclerc was used to always getting what he wanted. He wanted to see you, and he made sure you had no other choice but to come to him.

“As you said, I’m very busy these days so let’s just get straight to the point. What do you want?”

He wasn’t taken aback by your rude response. He just smiled and motioned for you to sit down while he made his way around his desk to do the same.

“Leclerc has been looking into expending its horizons to fashion.” He started. But you knew better. While it is true that Leclerc was a group of the diverse ventures, the billion-euro transnational had never shown the slightest interest in anything fashion related, or in selling goods in general. Matter of fact, his family would probably have a meltdown if they knew about this. If they knew what he was willing to do to get close to you. “There are additional millions in turnover that we aren’t making by neglecting the fashion industry.”

“There are more than a hundred fashion brands to choose from in this country alone. So why go after mine?”

“There might be as many as you say but no other independent brand has your numbers, Miss Y/L/N.” He said to and smirked.

He knew how to talk himself way out of any questioning, and this was no exception. Your company was doing well, that is true. Some might even say it was doing better than most. He knew you couldn’t argue him on that. But as you said earlier, Charles is a man that knows how to get what he wants, and if your company was what he wanted, he would have just gone for it. Instead, he had gotten a formal acquision proposal sent to your office adding that if you did not agree to a meeting, he would resort to buying up company shares until you would be left with nothing.

“If my company was really what you wanted, you wouldn’t go out of your way to threaten me with a meeting Charles. What do you actually want?”

He was no longer smiling.

“Come here Y/N.” You couldn’t help myself. You did exactly as he said and made your way to stand before him. He looked you up and down and the smile that he adorned earlier was back.

You dressed up for him and he knew it.

“Sit down.” You didn’t need to ask where, you already knew “where you belonged”. It felt like a repeat that night. Except today you would be standing your ground. Today, you wouldn’t be falling for his lies. Your face hardened.

“The proposal for the acquisition better be withdrawn by tomorrow, Lee.” You said with a cold tone, before turning around to leave.

“We really did divorce Y/N.” There he went again with his lies. His comment had made you stop but you quickly regained your composure and left.

Charles was a married man. Something you wish someone had told you before you fell for him.

Hope you enjoyed it 🥹💖

Here's my ko-fi in case any of you want to support me by giving donations 🥰: https://ko-fi.com/canyouiimagine

[userholland]

snowed in hell

you didn't think a weekend with your boss could get worse... actually, it does once you're snowed in with him and away from home. you thought he was the worse, but there is something beneath his cold exterior that's very passionate and romantic and you're curious if you can explore that.

PAIRING: ceo!tom holland x assistant/secretary!reader

GENRE: smut 18+ minors dni!, pwp, enemies to lovers (?), secret crushes, lots and lots of longing and pining, dom!tom + dom!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.2k [the longest one so far lol]

A/N: merry christmas eve/happy holidays! sexy present here lmao. i haven't written smut in a while so apologies in advance but i thought id just throw one in there. honestly may post more on my smut sideblog now that i have a bit more time to write! let me know if this series has been great for you guys :D

𑁍 masterlist 𑁍

"A weekend away didn't seem like a bad idea"... is what you should be thinking. The winter wonderland that was this beautiful snowfall was all nice and cheery until you're going with your boss for one of his many conferences before the holiday season can start.

Now, Tom Holland wasn't bad looking, but once his egotistical comments spouted out of his mouth, you were able to snap back into reality. Not only could he sound like the most out-of-touch guy, but he flaunted how successful he was on-top of his looks.

So when he invited you－ no, expect you－ to come to this conference, it was a bit of a disappointment when you thought that it would be your one weekend of not doing anything that revolved around him. Now it was all about him... as per usual.

Carefully driving to the five-star hotel, all he did was talk about his own expectations and try to figure out what to say at the big dinner they were holding before tomorrow's conference. All you could do was make mental notes since you were driving and he was checking himself in the mirror in the backseat.

Luckily, you had adjoined rooms so there was some separation between your lives these next two days. While he was working in his room, you hoped to go on the slopes and enjoy breakfast on the nice outside deck while reading a book. Maybe even meet someone like in some cheesy romance movie.

"No, no, we have the charity ball on the 5th. The opening of the library the week after." Tom sighed, "Yes, yes, darling, I'm aware of that, but we can move all those dates... Trust me, I know Mr. Morales isn't with his wife on Tuesdays and Thursdays..." He continued, his left eyebrow arched.

You could roll your eyes, but all you did was take a deep breath.

"Well, I checked in the mirror and I can say that today is gonna be a great day." He smirked.

Oh, God. You needed this thirty remaining minutes to turn into thirty seconds.

"Y/N, slow down a bit. We're in no rush." Tom signaled his hand, looking through the front windshield.

"Yes, sir." You grinned, fixing your posture as you eased your foot off the gas pedal.

♡ ♡ ♡

You're relieved once you're checked into your room, knowing there was one wall between you and Tom. When you lay on your bed, basically hoping into the soft mattress, you let out a huge sigh of relief.

After a few minutes of hearing Tom's muffled voice through the wall, it was silent. You fix your skirt and button up before knocking on the door until Tom said you could come in.

When you step in, you see Tom standing in front of the full-body mirror by the window. As much as you wanted to complain, he did look good in a dark suit. You saw him adjust his sleeves under his jacket, but his tie was crooked.

"Here, I let me fix your tie." You trailed as you walked over.

You leaned into your heels, pulling the tie a bit down before pulling it perfectly where the top button of his shirt was. His brown eyes glossed over as he watched you, admiring how the orange light from the sunset laying against your face.

When you lifted your head, you saw his eyes, but you two could just produce awkward laughs. When you were hired, all your friends envied that you worked for someone as handsome and suave as Tom, and so were you. It was his huge ego that got in the way. Then, there were moments like this where that small crush bloomed back up.

Tom couldn't disagree that there weren't some feelings in the beginning as well. Workplace relationships were frowned upon, and already keeping his father's company afloat, there was no need to try to impress you. He would rather fight off those feelings then see where it goes.

"Thank you, Y/N." He said before clearing his throat.

"Of course, sir." You grinned.

"You don't have to always call me that. It's Tom, darling."

"I know." You quickly said, but you felt heat on your cheeks.

"Well, we need to get down there." He quickly gathered himself before the two of you left your rooms.

When you entered the elevator, it was just the two of you. There wasn't much said but it stopped on the floor below, a few people filed in and you felt Tom place his hand on your lower back as you took a few steps back.

You leaned next to him, placing your hand on his chest. Tom's heart hadn't beat so fast in a while, but in that moment, he thought everyone in the small space could hear it.

"Sorry, sir." You said, pulling your hand back and then tucking your hair behind your ear.

"You don't have to apologize, darling."

Your eyes fixated longer on him before the doors opened, and he walked out with the others.

Quickly, you followed him before he was practically mobbed by his peers, asking all these questions and statements while you stood behind his back. A few times he'd look over his shoulder to make sure you were close, and you would show him a small smile.

Time got away as he loved to talk business before timidly tapped his shoulder and he turned his attention toward you.

"Sir, the conference starts in five minutes."

He chuckled, "Oh, I have to go but nice seeing you guys. Let's catch up this weekend." Tom smiled at the few men.

As the two of you walked away, Tom's smile fell and his hands played with the first button of his suit jacket.

"What happened?" You asked, trying to keep up with his fast pace.

"Just because I have the money to finance their plans doesn't mean I can. I'm not..." He trailed, "Well, I'm not some dream maker. Let's put it at that."

"Sorry about that, sir." You cleared your throat.

"Remember what we spoke about?" He asked, turning to you.

"Tom... I meant Tom." You trailed, giving a half-smile.

He actually smiled back, something you rarely saw but the two of you continued to the hall, taking your seats before a long meeting.

♡ ♡ ♡

After an hour and a half, you and Tom went to the bar as per his request. Instead of sitting at the stools, you were sat at a table and you weren't use to spending a dinner with him. When the waiter came by, you were going to order for the two of you until Tom spoke first.

"One glass of scotch neat and a gin and tonic, light on the tonic." He said, impressing you.

"You remembered?" You asked, sounding like an old friend.

"Of course. It's not always your job to do that." He grinned.

Once you got your drinks, you cheers to the night and a successful start to the weekend. You almost wanted to toast to Tom not getting on your last nerve, but a man came by with 'manager' written under his name on his tag.

"Excuse me, but we just wanted to tell you that there is a harsh snowstorm right now. There may be some bad cell service and the roads are completely covered so, I would advise you not to go out tonight if you were planning to leave."

"Thank you for telling us." Tom nodded.

"We can send anything complimentary to your room if needed, Mr. Holland." He reassured him before leaving.

"Wow, so you're not new around here." You joked a bit and wondered if it was okay.

"Yeah, I've come here a few times. With my dad before I took over the business. Anything you need, on me."

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink, and then the rest of the hour was getting to know one another. He got to know you better than when you were first interviewed, but now that he was relaxed, Tom got to know you better than the side he aggressively showed in the office.

He had been meaning to sit down with you for a long time, wondering if there was any chance he would, but he thought about his reputation too much. He knew it could be a mood-killer sometimes, but there was a lot to hold yet being with you right there made him forget all of that.

There was an unspoken tension at the table and neither of you two wanted to address it... but there was still enough time in the weekend.

♡ ♡ ♡

That night, you weren't sure how to feel. You wondered if there was actually anything you felt romantically toward Tom. You paced the room a few times and ended up staring into the night sky through your deck.

Once you tried to focus on the silence of the room, you could hear the muffled TV noises coming through the wall that shared your rooms. You took a few deep breaths as you approach the door, talking yourself through this in your head.

You knocked, "May I come in?"

"Yeah!" Tom shouted.

When you entered his room, the beginning of the movie Charade starring Audrey Hepburn was on, oddly fitting with the location you were staying at. Tom walked from the bathroom, his tie loosen and his shoes off. He seemed more relaxed than you did, but he probably wasn't wondering what was coming of this in your mind.

"Hi... I uh, I just heard the TV and thought I would um... I uh, come over." You said, knowing how awkward and childish it sounded.

"Yeah, just an old movie. I was practicing my speech for tomorrow's conference." He said, gently pulling off his cuff links.

You hummed, standing there and your knees suddenly felt weak.

Tom took a second look at you, "Is everything okay?"

Butterflies swarmed inside your stomach, fuzzy feelings exploding and all you could do was slowly walk over to him. He sensed what move you could make, but Tom stood tall and strong, able to easily do it.

"Y/N, look at me." He softly commanded.

Your eyes met, and all you could hear was the TV in the background and the sound of your heart beating in your ears. Just as you took a step closer, he placed his hand on your soft cheek. Soon, your lips met in the middle for a spontaneous kiss that tasted heavenly.

As your tongue pressed against his, practically melting at how soft his was, his firm hands began to unbutton your top before he pulled away from the kiss.

"Is this okay?" He practically whispered.

You hummed, "Yes. Yes, keep going."

Just like that, he contiuned pulling apart the buttons one by one as your noses brushed against one another's and you could barely take the tension.

Once you undid the last button, you let your shirt fall near your feet. Standing there in your silk white bra and skirt, you slowly pushed him toward the bed until he sat down. His eyes trailed your body as you stood only a few feet away and your hands met the back of your skirt.

He watched you slowly peel down the zipper, the fabric pulling from your body before it fell to the ground as well. Tom's mouth gapped a bit, seeing your stockings were attached to a white garter belt and the matching lacey, white panties beneath them.

Tom was loss for words, the dim lights not doing any justice for your body. He leaned up as you walked toward him, and his hands immediately met your hips. He slowly pressed his lips against your lower abdomen, giving you butterlies as he continued to tease.

As you watched him carefully place his wet kisses, your hand met his soft curls and carded through them each time he got lower. He used his teeth to pull at the top of your panties, letting the fabric lightly slap your skin.

"You look like an angel, you know that?" He muttered.

You wanted to nod, but he ran his hand up your inner thigh before meeting your clothed slit. He smirked as he massaged the wet spot on the center of your panties. Your swollen clit ached, trying not to let your knees get weak as you still stood infront of him.

Your hands met his shoulders, and your fingernails lightly grazed his freckled skin. He kept moving his two fingers ever so slowly as he left a small love bite on your hip.

"I bet you want me to fuck you senseless, yes?" He groaned, "Until you can't even say words... just my name."

A small moan left your throat as he switched to his thumb rubbing on your clit. You gulped, wanting him to pull them off already but instead he brought you down to your knees.

"Not before you prove to me you're a good girl who deserves to be fucked so good." Tom nodded, holding his eye contact with you.

At first you wanted to pout, but you also wanted to show him that you were no force to be reckon with either. He thought he had the control and you were going to change that.

"Yes, sir." You trailed, giving a new meaning to the respect addressing he always told you not to use.

After unbuckling his belt, you threw it to the side before unzipping his pants. His cock pressed against his briefs, bigger than you expected. You tossed his pants along with his belt before your hand moved against his hard that stayed below the soft fabric.

Your fingers pulled each side of the band of his briefs, watching his cock spring up and all felt was your face feeling hot. He carefully watched your hand perfectly grip his base, pumping his hard slowly as your tongue ran over his red tip.

"Fucking christ, fuck." He groaned, using his weight to push up on his elbows as he laid back on the bed.

He expected you to be fast, but the slowness of your pace was killing him. Your hand moved up and down, your spit lubricating his base and your mouth wrapped around his tip.

"Don't fucking tease me all night, darling." He lowly growled, his hand moving through your hair to keep it from your face. He wanted to watch every second of his cock in your sweet mouth.

As your hands pushed against both his thighs, you felt his cock grow harder as his tip pressed against the back of your throat. You couldn't see Tom, but heard his moans he was obviously trying to hold back.

"No teeth, darling. Open your mouth wider... fucking. Yeah, fucking feels good." He practically panted.

Before he felt himself on the edge, you pulled away and all he could hear was his own heart beating. He didn't question fast enough, and you were already on your feet before straddling him.

"You had your fun, now you're gonna show me why you deserve to fuck me." You giggled, half-smiling then pressed your lips against his. He liked this side of you.

Tom rolled the two of you over, the cool sheets against your back. He parted your legs as he trailed wet kisses over your bra, down your stomach then over your panties. You tilted your head watching him unclip your stockings from your belt, then pulling your panties to the side.

He propped your left leg over his shoulder before placing a kiss on your clit, so swollen and wet. His tongue perfect stoked below your clit and right above your slit, just the place to make your whole body squirm. Tom continued to flick his tongue right at your sweet spot, holding down your hips as they tried to move.

A trail of quiet moans left your lips, completely in awe of how he took his time. Just as your stomach turned, his two fingers slipped inside you. They curled and moved slowly as his tongue worked your clit.

You could cum right there, letting him watch your whole body wither but you wanted to play the long game too. Your grip moved to his curls, tugging so hard the move you tried to hold back your orgasm.

"Oh... oh, I wanna..." Your voice strained, ending up biting your lip.

Tom smirked before leaving wet kisses up your slit and then further up toward your hips until wrapping his lips around your right nipple.

You leaned up on your elbows, smiling to yourself before he kissed you again, "I wanna be in control now." You whispered.

The two of you switched positions again, straddling him as he leaned his back against the headboard the of bed. You slowly wrapped your arms back around him, pecking faint kisses up his neck before meeting your noses again.

Your one hand guided his tip to your slit, rubbing it against the wet entrance before sinking down on his lap. His low, rough grunt was against your lips, but all you could do was smirk.

"I bet you want me to move now on your cock. I can feel it stretching out my tight hole." You whispered once more.

He didn't think such a dirty sentence could come from those lips.

"God, you feel fucking amazing, you tease." He said, his fingers pushing into your hips.

"I don't want you to cum until I say..." You kissed him, "Think you can do that, sir?" You teased.

Surprisingly, he nodded his head but he was completely putty. You fixed your posture to make your back straight, then start moving your hips. His head falls, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

Tom tried to refrain from moving, bucking his hips a few times. You tried to take control by kissing him and make sure he's distracted, but there was no stopping his wanting to turn the two of you over and have his own control back.

"Don't be shy, tell me if you're gonna cum." You whimpered, also feeling your walls tighten around his throbbing cock.

"God, yes. I'm gonna cum." He grunted between your kiss.

You sped up the pace of your hips, hearing the slapping of your skin fill the room. You gasp and whine, "Don't cum yet."

But, he was so eager.

"Not yet... not yet." You trailed as you felt near your edge. You wanted him to wait until you were right there too.

By this point, he didn't want to move his hips, afraid of letting go since he was holding back. Your nails dug across his back, your clit incredibly swollen and your wetness trailing down your inner thighs.

"Fucking cum now, God!" You announced in a whiny tone.

Tom pushed down your hips, and his cock bottomed out inside you. Your voices were shaky and hoarse by the time you came back down from your highs.

Your head fell against his shoulder, both of your bodies settling as you huffed to catch your breaths. You slowly rolled off of him and lay next to him in his bed. Quickly, he pulled the covers over you two and leaned on his side to look at your tired self.

"Think we can go for round two in say..." He checked his watch, "Ten minutes?" Tom joked.

You smirked, "Make it five and I promise I'll have you screaming louder than me."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Not for me, sir."

[shawnxstyles]

Kk so it 2 in the morning and I’m horny so fem reader x tom Holland or Nathan Drake which ever you prefer where tom/ Nathan is always cocky in public and reader is shy and quiet but In bed the opposite and reader is like really dominant and stuff and Tom/Nathan is kinda like babyish idk only if your ok with it tho tyyyyy

talkative

warnings: smut; (unprotected sex, cockwarming, dirty talk), fluff, and language

note: i wrote this very fast because i feel bad for procrastinating my other writings :) also, i’m not a huge fan of sub!male but i tried it anyway (probably won’t do again)

(slight) sub!ceo!tom x (slight) dom!reader

—

“we made it official in january,” tom chats with his co-worker, harrison, and his wife that are seated across the table from you. tom squeezes your hand on the white-cloth table. tonight was a simple dinner with tom’s best employee who has been working with him for years. they grew to be great friends over time.

“you always did know how to close a deal,” both men share a hearty laugh while you smile softly at tom. he returns a smile graciously, making your chest bubble with love.

even months after the wedding, that honeymoon feeling never faded away. every day with tom was like a dream. you couldn’t have asked for anyone or anything else.

“well, you two make just the loveliest pair,” harrison’s wife compliments with a fond expression. yours and tom’s smiles deepen with love and warmth as you stare into each other’s eyes.

“we do, don’t we, darling?” tom puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in for a forehead kiss. a heated rush runs through your head at the action. you were never good at pda; it always made you flushed and you couldn’t hide how it affected you.

you talked little throughout the rest of the dinner. sure, if someone asked you a question or two you’d answer, but you were never the most talkative. you grew up a listener, curious to hear what others had to say. however, when it was just you and tom, you were more open and detailed when you spoke.

especially when it came to the bedroom. you didn’t know you were that talkative until you met tom. well, until you had sex with tom.

it was freeing and comforting to know that there was always someone who was just as curious as you. so, out of curiosity, you married him.

even with separate chairs, you leaned close into tom’s side as the night continued. your hands intertwined under the table, resting on your smooth legs. tom would rub reassuring circles over your knuckles and occasionally kiss your temple to remind you that he was right there. his little actions of care was something that you not only craved but grew to need.

a familiar, fuzzy feeling burned in your lower stomach that you had to endure until you went home.

when the dinner ended, you all said your polite goodbyes and shared charming smiles. tom and you walked toward the car and headed home.

—

as tom and you got ready for bed, your need for him was growing uncomfortable.

“tom.”

“yes, baby?”

“i need you.”

with the simplest words, you were crawling over tom’s lap in an instant. your silk nightgown rose to your hips as your legs spread over his hard bulge underneath his boxers.

“you’re already hard?” your hands rested on his muscular shoulders as you rolled your hips in a circular motion. tom groaned and put his hands on your hips to guide you. “poor tommy.”

“‘course i am. looked fucking gorgeous in that dress tonight,” he huffed out as your movements got faster. “fuck. need to be inside you.”

“why should i let you?” you teasingly questioned as you pulled down the delicate straps of your gown, revealing your pebbled nipples. licking your lips, you stopped rolling your hips until tom gave you an answer. he puffed out, irritated at how much control you have over him.

“i waited all night. talked to harry and madeline the whole time so i wouldn’t be too tempted to take you in the bathroom stall,” tom negotiated breathlessly.

“hmm. i guess that’s valid enough,” you shifted your panties to the side while tom hastingly slid down his boxers. his eagerness to be with you always caused a smug smile on your face. you were just as eager, but way better at hiding it clearly.

you rubbed your arousal against his cock, edging you both. without wasting any more time, you lifted your body up and angled his cock deep inside of you. you both hiss at the feeling as if you’ve never been together. but your bodies knew each other more than anyone else you knew.

his smooth, rough hands caress your sides as you pick up your pace. your breasts bounce as both of your moans collide in the heated air. your hands crawl around his neck and dig into his scalp. your cunt squeezes his cock causing him to whimper with a rough bite of his lips.

“k-kiss me,” tom moans with his head moving loosely.

“what, no ‘please’?”

“baby, please fucking kiss me,” his fingers twist your nipples, nearly stealing all your words from you. you bite your lip at the pinch of pain, leaning into his touch.

“that’s more like it.”

your lips crash together in a burning kiss. the fire between you two never seemed to dwindle, and you both melted together as if you were one. your hips never ruined their accelerated pace, even when tom began to thrust up into you.

the additional movement had you both moaning and groaning desperately against each other’s mouths. too immersed in tom’s lips, you were blind to notice tom slipping his hand between you both. he slyly rubs your throbbing clit, getting you closer to your orgasm.

sweat dampened at your foreheads while your legs burned from the vertical repetition. you felt tom’s cock twitch inside of you, alerting you that he was very close.

“come inside of me. i need your cum in me, tommy,” you encouragingly demanded in shaky breaths. obeying, tom releases inside of you, coating your walls.

“come with me, darling,” tom directed. you clutch around his length, squeezing everything out of him. the sensation of his fingers and his orgasm have you coming right soon after. he guides your hips as you ride out your blissful highs together.

all that can be heard are your panting breaths and your racing hearts as your forehead falls onto his shoulder. tom caresses and rubs your back, cock still sitting warm inside of you. neither of you make any movements, too afraid to ruin the euphoric experience. you both close your eyes, but know better than to fall asleep like this. you both know you’d feel sore and achy if you didn’t lay down on the bed.

but you wanted his cock to stay warm and tucked into you forever.

“c’mon, darling, let’s go to sleep,” tom insists, slowly lifting you up.

“but i want you in me,” you whine, not caring how dramatic you may sound. tom reassures you that he’ll slide back inside of you once you’re lying down.

tom’s body disconnects from yours and you feel a wrath of coldness flood your body. you remove your panties completely and discard them somewhere across your bedroom floor.

once you’re laying down comfortably, tom fulfills his promise and gently slides back into you. you hum at the satisfying thickness and fullness that fills you. you can’t help but rub your ass into him, causing him to hiss from behind you.

“goodnight, you minx,” tom tucks your hair to the side and kisses your cheek lovingly.

“goodnight,” you smile, all warm and cozy.

it’s easy to fall asleep when you’re entwined with the love of your life.

—

tags: @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya

crossed out= not able to tag

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 22

Part 21 | Part 23

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: another Rhys pov! (to make up for the long hiatus lolol) Enjoy <3

Song: And so It Begins – Klergy 

“The disappearance of Tom Lockwood, sir.”

Bloody hell.

Even in death, the bastard managed to find a way to disrupt Rhys’ life and well-crafted plans one way or another. 

He felt a surge of adrenaline, but whereas most other people would succumb to the nerves, start sweating and rambling, make mistakes. Rhys didn’t. Instead, it only sharpened his focus, making him that much more dangerous. 

The reporter had used the word disappearance, meaning Lockwood’s body hadn’t been found, meaning there was no physical evidence that could potentially link him to the crime, which ultimately meant that he was in the clear. At least for now. If he played it right, perhaps Rhys could even turn this little hiccup into a story that would reflect him positively in the press.

The mob of journalists and cameramen were waiting with baited breath for him to comment, silence befalling the crowd once more. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the bustling city around them—the honking of a double-decker bus, London’s never-ending construction noises, and the screeching of a police siren a mere two blocks away. 

Rhys allowed a mixture of emotions to pass over his features. Initial shock—which hadn’t involved much acting—followed by a hint of grieving sadness, before he settled on a more calm, compassionate look. Because, like any good psychopath who studied the intricacies of human emotion, Rhys knew that that’s what the public needed to see in a leading figure. Someone who showed the appropriate level of feelings and compassion, but ultimately was able to offer reassurance and take action if need be. 

“Mr. Lockwood…” Rhys shook his head, unfolding his clasped hands to convey a subliminal message of openness and sympathy. “I must say that I am deeply shocked by this news. Is there any more information regarding his disappearance?”

“News surfaced after an anonymous tip was made to The London Dispatch, a spokesperson for the T.R. Lockwood Corporation has just released a statement that they are and have been aware of the circumstances and are working on an internal investigation, the Met Police have also just reported they are launching their own investigation,” the same reporter summarised, reading off of his phone. “Any thoughts on what could have happened, Mr. Montrose?”

Any thoughts… Oh, he had plenty, alright. 

An anonymous tip. To The London Dispatch. That could only be from one man: Jonathan. 

Did he seriously have the balls to go to the press, knowing full well that Lockwood’s disappearance could be traced back to him? Rhys hadn’t thought he would raise the alarm after revealing that detail to him, but it seemed Jonathan was keen to call his bluff.

On the upside, Lockwood’s employees had tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, just like you and Rhys had predicted. But now that it had come out, the peace and quiet would come to an end, especially with the police’s involvement as well.

“I could not say at this time, I’m afraid,” Rhys stated, schooling his actual thoughts. “I think, as of now, the best course of action is to allow all parties involved to conduct their investigations without adding unnecessary speculation that could potentially hinder their job.”

That prompted an immediate response from the crowd.

“You don’t think Lockwood’s partners should’ve been upfront about their CEO going missing?”

“Lockwood was last spotted in Prague–”

“Hasn't his staff already been hindering the police?”

“–over two weeks ago, what are the chances that–”

“Considering these suspicious circumstances–”

“–could this be another murder?”

“I understand,” Rhys interrupted, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the masses. “I understand the demand for answers. I do. But we have to let them do their jobs. The Met Police will get to the bottom of this and find Mr. Lockwood, I have every faith.”

Lukas stepped up to the press then, drawing their attention with a wave of his hand. “That will be all for today, everyone. Please, step aside to let Mr. Montrose pass.”

They did so begrudgingly, some ignoring his campaign manager as they kept shouting questions left and right. Rhys walked past them, thanking them for their time. His head of security met him halfway, guiding him the last couple of metres to the car.

“Where’s Y/N?” Rhys asked.

“She’s waiting in the car, sir,” Reggie answered.

“Mr. Montrose!”

“One final question, please!”

Rhys easily picked up on the thinly veiled exasperation in Lukas’ voice as he tried to reason with The Telegraph. “No can do, sir. Mr. Montrose is already late for his next commitment. If you have any follow-up questions, please feel free to send them to our office.”

But the seasoned reporter wouldn’t just let it go, following Rhys all the way to the kerb.

“Mr. Montrose! What about his family?”

Reggie had already opened the passenger door, but Rhys paused, turning back around. He had to give it to the guy, no politician in their right mind could ignore that type of question.

He wetted his lips, a mournful smile flickering across his face. “Ofcourse, I give my deepest sympathies to Mr. Lockwood’s family during these uncertain times. I hope he will soon return in good health, and be reunited with his loved ones.”

Rhys dipped his head, pouring all the sympathy he did not actually feel into a final smile before he slid into the back of the car, where he was greeted by you, sending him an amused but troubled look. 

Reggie shut the door as Rhys leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Take us back to Primrose.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded. “We might hit some traffic, though. There’s been an accident on Holborn and City Road.”

“That’s alright. Nothing we can do about it. Get us there as quickly as you’re able.”

“Straight away, sir.”

Rhys raised the soundproof, glass divider between the front and back of the car, giving you the privacy to talk about all that had just transpired without the driver being able to eavesdrop. 

You turned to face each other as the car pulled into the stream of ongoing traffic.

“So. Deepest sympathies, huh?”

“Why yes, ofcourse, darling,” he grinned.

You snorted. “Liar.”

He was about to retort when his phone started ringing. Rhys checked the caller ID, and sighed. “Excuse me, this won’t take long,” he said, accepting the call. 

“I don’t want to hear a word about Cynthia, Luke,” Rhys announced, wanting to move past his indisputable error in judgement quickly. “Go back to the office, coordinate from there. We need to get an official written statement out ASAP, one that is based on all the facts known at present.”

“Agreed, sir. I’ll fetch Brian to–”

“No. No, have Sam write it, she’ll need the experience. Just make sure to double check it before you post it online.”

“You don’t want to read it yourself? Are you not coming to the office?”

“No, I’ll meet you there later. There’s another pressing matter that requires my attention first. I trust you to handle the situation while I’m out.”

“Yes, Mr. Montrose.”

Rhys ended the call and pocketed his phone before resting his head against the headrest. What a day this was turning out to be. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. 

He must have involuntarily let out another sigh, for he felt the softness of your touch, your slender fingers wrapping around his hand. 

“How is that patience of yours doing?”

“I won’t lie, it’s hanging by a thread.”

“Figures,” you smiled, squeezing his hand.

Your smile was quickly overshadowed by that same troubling look from before, one which you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“That anonymous tip… it must be–”

“Jonathan? Yes, I think so, too,” Rhys finished. “Unless you called The London Dispatch and failed to inform me of a new tactical move.”

You shook your head no as the car slowed to a stop, now officially stuck in the busy rerouted traffic. “Nope, it definitely wasn’t me,” you said, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of St. Paul’s looming presence.

It was a cloudy day, ten a penny for London, even during the summer time. The storm front may have passed, but the uncertainty of what was coming still lingered in the air.

“Whilst you were giving your statement to the press, I kept thinking, why?” You looked back to Rhys. “Why would Jonathan do this now? He knows that we put the account that was used to bribe the pilots in his name. That was supposed to keep him quiet, at least for a little while longer. So, what’s his angle?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, the same question dominating his thoughts. “Jonathan’s calculated. But also rash, and unpredictable, as today has clearly demonstrated… We need to act quickly before he goes from being a liability to a full-blown threat.”

You chewed your lip. “You know who else can become a threat?”

His eyes flickered between yours, trying to find an answer there as he mentally went down the long list of possible enemies he made along the way. The ones that were still able to draw breath, that is. 

Only one name came to mind.

“Marcus Atkinson.”

The man who conspired with Lockwood to have Rhys removed from the upcoming elections, by categorically trying to erase him from the face of the earth. 

“Atkinson,” you agreed. “So far, he’s been quiet, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now that the news of Lockwood’s disappearance has been made public.”

Rhys hummed, affirmative. “You’re right. We need to prepare for every possibility.”

“Is that why we’re going home?”

“No,” he said, a little reluctant. 

You frowned, not following. “Then why did you tell the driver to take us back to Primrose Hill?”

He sighed. “Because you’re going home, whilst I go and pay dear old Jonathan a visit.”

You paused, slowly letting go of his hand as the meaning of his words landed.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys set his jaw, his decision already made and final, but that didn’t stop you from glaring at him.

“And you’re sidelining me because…?”

He looked away, something flicking over his expression. “It’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “What about me and what I do for a living gives you the impression that you need to keep me safe?”

Rhys winced. He’d anticipated this reaction from you. But there was no way in hell he would allow you and Jonathan in the same room ever again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could fend for yourself, because, as more than one occasion had attested, you certainly knew how to throw a punch or two. And make it hurt. He himself was privy to the knowledge. 

However, he didn’t trust Jonathan and what he would do… Especially now. Besides, as far as Rhys could tell, Jonathan still didn’t know anything about your true identity. And he’d very much liked to keep it that way. 

“He’s a psychopath, Y/N,” Rhys stressed. 

“Right,” you drawled. “Do you want me to look up the exact definition? Because I’m pretty sure it would also include present company.”

He smiled, bitter. “I’m not planning on hurting you. Jonathan might. You know the things he was mixed up in across the pond. If he figures out how important you are to me…”

His forehead creased with genuine concern, and even in your anger, your eyes softened a little at the admission.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he amended. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want to keep you as far away from him as I possibly can.”

You nodded thoughtfully, still far from happy with his decision. But Rhys wasn’t going to change his mind, and you knew it as well.

Once again, the sound of a phone pinging interrupted your conversation. Privately, Rhys hoped it would put an end to it as well, although you quickly relieved him of that illusion. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“A man can hope,” he muttered.

You shot him a warning look as you retrieved your phone, effectively making him shut up.

He looked around, noticing they were still motionless. No. That wasn’t right. They had moved about three car lengths in the last five minutes. Progress, he thought, clocking his inner voice’s sarcasm with a wry smile. At least the extended travel time would give him a little more time to prepare for his surprise attack on Jonathan. Although, that twat was likely already waiting for Rhys to show up after the shit he pulled earlier today… 

Rhys gritted his teeth as he thought of Jonathan. How he must have watched the press interview live on tele, probably thinking he’d won this game… Well, Rhys would make damn sure that his victory would be short lived. 

A startled noise came from your side of the car, and his eyes shot back to you, jerking him from those thoughts. 

Your wide eyes were scanning whatever message had appeared on your phone’s screen, four times over, as if making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. A wave of worry careened through him as he watched the colour drain from your face.

“Y/N?” he said, alarmed.

“Oh my god…”

Frantically tapping the screen, you brought the phone closer to your face. “Oh my god.”

Before Rhys even got a chance to ask what the hell was going on, you’d already pressed the device to your ear, fingers now tapping restlessly against the car’s interior door.

“Y/N,” he said, firmer this time, clasping your hand in his. You looked at him, panicked, uncertain… terrified. Rhys felt his own stomach drop. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The call went straight to voicemail, and you groaned in frustration. “Damnit, she’s not answering her phone.”

“Is it Zoe? Sadie?” Rhys tried, concern slipping into his voice. 

He softly squeezed your hand to garner your attention. It worked. You refocused on him, visibly swallowing a tang of adrenaline before shoving your phone into his hands. Rhys read the ID: Zoe. He was right—there were only so many people that could pull this type of reaction from you. He could probably count them on one hand.

His eyes slid down to read the most recent incoming texts, and he sucked in a breath, immediately understanding your nervousness.

>>> mum’s back

>>> please come

Your mother… 

Alarm bells went off inside of him, his concern slowly getting replaced by something sharper, harder. 

You’d both known the day would come, yet the words on the screen still shocked him to silence, the only thing he could muster a feeble, “Fuck…”

“Yeah…”

Rhys closed his eyes. Another person who had completely disappeared—albeit not by your doing—resurfacing. It had been quite the mystery as to what had happened to her, and you had spent many a night trying to figure out where she could have possibly gone. Without much success. But now she had seemingly returned.

The timing could also not have been better. Apparently Murphy’s Law always lurked around the corner somewhere.

“Where did she come from all of a sudden?”

“From hell, likely.”

He huffed a strained laugh. That was certainly one possibility. Rhys met your gaze, then. The initial shock had lifted, and now the fire he’d grown to love glowed bright in your eyes.

“I’ll kill her,” you whispered, unyielding. “I swear to god, if she’s hurt them… I will kill her.”

You snatched your phone from his hands, your thumbs flying over the keyboard as you typed out a series of messages in quick succession.

“Hey,” Rhys said, pitching his voice into a soothing range. “They’re gonna be okay. Just like their big sister, they can fend for themselves.”

“I know they can,” you said, still holding your phone in an iron grip. “But after what happened last time, I can’t help but worry.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “I know the feeling...”

You dropped your phone, turning to him with a look that made it abundantly clear that now was not the time to test you. 

“Rhys,” you warned.

“Sorry…” he muttered, squeezing your hand again. “How do you wanna tackle this?”

“I’m going over there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now. I have to make sure they’re okay. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you shot back, eyes narrowing.

Rhys pursed his lips. Yep. He deserved that.

You looked outside to find that you were, still, stuck near St. Paul’s. And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. Sighing, you clasped the door handle, but before you could sprint out, Rhys tugged you back to him.

“Whoa, wait a second,” he said, worry seeping back into his voice. He didn’t want to part like this. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself? I can help.”

You looked at him evenly. “This can’t wait. And neither can the Jonathan situation.” 

Damnit. 

No, it couldn’t.

“I’ll take care of my mother while you take care of our professor,” you offered, running your thumb over his hand in an attempt to persuade him. However the grim look on your face wasn’t helping.

He held your gaze for a long moment, equally grim, before nodding once. There was no other way. 

“Be careful, and call me when you need me,” Rhys implored, already cursing himself for agreeing to this plan. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said, purposeful, determined.

And with that, you were off, shutting the car door with force. 

Rhys watched you go, worry now mixing with guilt. By trying to protect you from one situation, he was now the sole reason you were diving head-first into unknown danger all by yourself.

Although, you would have gone either way. No matter the circumstances. You were just like him in that respect. Once you’d made up your mind, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade you. Rhys had to let you go. Leaving you the space to deal with problems the way you saw fit. He didn’t like it, but if he wanted to keep you by his side, there was no other choice. 

As far as he was aware, your mother wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. But even so, she’d come pretty close to manslaughter with the Hackney house fire. Rhys also knew for a fact that you hadn’t yet told him about all of the harrowing things you’d endured during your childhood. Some details, yes. But definitely not all. He hadn’t wanted to push you too hard, you would tell him when you were ready. Just like with everything else. 

Rhys shook himself. Dwelling on this wasn’t going to do him much good either. He had his own headache to deal with. After that, he would work to make things right with you.

He pressed a button, lowering the glass divider. “Change of plans. I need you to take me to South Kensington.”

—

An hour later, after trudging through London’s busy traffic, the car parked in front of Kynance Mews. The driver hastened to open his door, and Rhys slid out, glancing left and right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his suit.

“Yes, sir.”

The ride over had given him plenty of time to consider his options, which in the end boiled down to two simple objectives: kill Jonathan, or not. 

As tempting as the first option was, Rhys had to accept that it wasn’t the most prudent one. Now that Lockwood’s disappearance had become a public affair, and the police were conducting their own investigation, there would be a lot of heat bearing down on the case. Sooner or later, the police would find out about the bribe money, and once they’d successfully trace the money and start making connections, ‘Professor Jonathan Moore’ would be the subject of a lot of scrutiny. 

Like with Atkinson, the risk would be too great. If either of those two were killed right now, people would surely start asking questions. Questions Rhys didn’t want to be asked. 

Therefore, with a tinge of annoyance, he opted that the best course of action was to keep the professor alive a little longer. 

However, Jonathan couldn’t continue on like this. He had to be reined in—reminded of who was in control here. Good thing Rhys had one more trick up his sleeve, and now was the time to use it.

He made his way inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time, determination edged in his pace. Once he made it to number ten, he lifted his fist, landing a series of powerful knocks on Jonathan’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung open. 

Rhys bursted into the flat, the door nearly hitting Jonathan in the face. 

“You’ve been busy, mate.”

Jonathan recovered quickly. “So have you.”

His dark eyes tracked Rhys as he strode around the flat, making sure there were no unwanted third parties present. Once he made sure there wasn’t, he stopped in front of Jonathan, meeting his gaze.

Rhys took a breath and nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s hard work, winning these elections—making sure all possible threats are dealt with accordingly.”

Jonathan looked him up and down, measured. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Among other things... I was starting to miss our fun little chats.”

“I wasn’t,” the professor sneered.

“Oh, pray tell,” Rhys said, light.

Jonathan appeared calm, but the tightness around his eyes told Rhys all he needed to know. A single, disdainful head-tilt cinched it.

So, this would be fun.

“You’re a cold-blooded psycho.” 

His mouth twitched. “Ah, one that needs to be taken down? Is that why you tipped the press?” 

“I’m done with your bullshit and your fucking mindgames,” he hissed. “And I’m not going down for your sins whilst you become mayor of this godforsaken town.”

“And yet here you are,” Rhys snickered, waving a hand at him. “Digging your own grave. Or did you forget that Joe Goldberg helped cover-up Lockwood’s murder?”

“I’ll tell them the truth about you,” Jonathan promised. “You’re not getting away with this.”

“And who do you think they’ll believe?” Rhys returned, tilting his head, a challenge. “A suspected murderer who faked his own death, or the man that’s working tirelessly to strengthen their police force—making sure their kids will have access to a higher education, someone who’s battling corruption and fighting for what’s right. You tell me.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No… No, you will go down for your crimes.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “And what crimes are those? Do you have any proof? Or will this be another case of your word against mine?” he taunted, stepping up to the fuming American.

Jonathan stood rigid, frowning in contemplation. He took a moment to mull over whatever thoughts held him before he looked at Rhys askance. 

“There has to be proof. People always seem to mysteriously disappear or die around you. Like last night.”

Rhys remained entirely unfazed. “That Fernsby bloke, you mean? Well, if you’d listened to the news, you would know he died of natural causes. Very unfortunate but it happens,” he said, inscrutable, picking a piece of lint off of his suit. “Besides, I have an alibi.”

“Of course you do,” Jonathan mumbled, more to himself. “Your girlfriend?”

Anger simmered under Rhys’ cool facade at the mention. But he couldn’t let Jonathan see it. 

“She serves many purposes,” he smirked, lewd.

Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re using her.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s all she’s good for anyway. A pretty face for the cameras, and an excellent shag at night.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable despite his own nature. He took a beat, his eyes locked in an endless stare, seeing seemingly nothing. Then he blinked, once, and looked up to Rhys again. 

Something in his eyes had changed. Like he’d made up his mind about something. Rhys couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t sit well with him, at all. That much was clear.

His smile faded, it was time to get down to business.

“Alright,” he exclaimed, delightfully startling Jonathan in the process. “Enough chit-chat. I think it’s about time I remind you of a few things…”

Jonathan stiffened, but didn’t respond. Rhys sauntered over to the window, the one providing a perfect view into the flat of one Miss Kate Galvin. The flat was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Do you know where she is?” Rhys asked, peering through the window.

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Not to a seasoned stalker like him.

“At work,” Jonathan said, clipped. 

Rhys glanced back over his shoulder, clocking Jonathan still standing in the exact same spot, shooting daggers at his back. Rhys’ lips curled. 

“Remember this feeling, Jonathan,” he said as he zeroed in on the fireplace, bending to pick up the fire iron. “Remember how it feels to know where she is. To know she’s safe…”

He twisted the metal object leisurely, feeling the weight of it in his palms. “But above all, remember how I can take all of that away, in the blink of an eye.”

If possible, Jonathan stiffened even more, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. 

Rhys’ eyes sparked with amusement. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to play any more of his ‘mindgames’, but unfortunately for the professor, he was only just getting started.

“Now, we wouldn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father, would we?” Rhys mused, using the metal tool to prod at some charcoal remains. “Because speaking of unfortunate things, I’d say that would definitely qualify as such.”

Jonathan glared at him, not even attempting to cover the hatred he felt for the man daring to enter his home like he owned the place—and threaten him, his girlfriend, and everything he had tried to rebuild for himself. 

“Stay away from her,” he said, voice as cold as ice.

“Come now, Jonathan. There’s no need to get snippy,” Rhys tutted, eyes flicking to him. “You and I both know that whatever happens to her, it’s entirely up to you.”

The sound of metal scraping against the fireplace's stone surface caught Jonathan’s attention, his eyes flying to where Rhys was still playing around with the rod. He relished the look on Jonathan’s face, a sweet mixture of trepidation and rage. It meant he was listening carefully. 

“Fun fact about fire,” Rhys went on, off-kilter. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you may be familiar with,” he added jokingly, stabbing at a larger fragment of unburned wood. 

“Nothing ever truly vanishes. There’s always something that remains. And what’s so amusing about this fact is that you never know which pieces are left behind… or when they might resurface.”

This was it. The last card Rhys could play to keep Jonathan silent—short from killing him, ofcourse. 

To threaten him to complete the framejob by planting Lockwood’s other hand that you and Rhys had kept as a backup, and call in the cavalry. Physical evidence tying Jonathan to the crime, in combination with the paper trail already set up in his name, would ensure Jonathan’s arrest and indictment. And he knew it.

Jonathan swallowed. “Lockwood?”

Rhys walked up to him, eyeing him steadily. “You better stick to our first agreement, and keep quiet,” he warned, tapping the fire iron against Jonathan’s chest. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re going down for all of it.”

Defeat flashed over Jonathan’s face. He was still angry, no, livid would be the better term… But the growing apprehension and doubt was unmistakable.

Satisfied that his message was received loud and clear, Rhys dropped the metal rod to the floor. The loud clang of the object hitting the wooden floor caused Jonathan to flinch back, much to Rhys’ pleasure.

He turned his back on the American, gleefully making his way towards the front door where he paused, resting one hand on the handle, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“It’s all about who holds the power, mate,” Rhys smirked, looking back to Jonathan, whose jaw was clenched tight. “And at present, that isn’t you.”

–––– 

A/N: FINALLY a Joe and Rhys meet… I know it’s been a long time coming 🙈 I had a lot of fun writing this particular scene, I hope you enjoyed it as well. Now let’s see if Jonathan will heed Rhys’ warning or… not. hehe

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Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[safarigirlsp]

Satan Wears Burberry

Satan Wears Burberry

Modern Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Humor. Romance. Enemies to Lovers. Fur.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: For a Valentine's Day special, and as a gift for the lovely and wonderfully talented @kyloremus , here is a fun bitchy Fashion AU inspired by Cruella DeVille and The Devil Wears Prada! This is only the intro, if it is well received, I'll do more with it. There’s not even any murder or mayhem! What’s wrong with me?

Fashion is a viciously cutthroat industry where appearance and manipulation often win over sincerity and benevolence. Weapons of choice are razored nails, deadly heels, and backstabbing smiles. Everyone who is anyone and all the someones aspiring to be something in the fashion industry know there is no event more seminal than Paris Fashion Week. Statuesque models strutting runways, aggressive designers gauging their competition, and hawkish agents scouting new talent can all be found amid the crowds and press.

As the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine, your front row seat at every event was reserved. This season, Annees Folles had even surpassed Vogue in sales and influence. Before anything became fashion, it had to receive your stamp of approval and be featured in the pages of your magazine. Brands rose and fell pursuant to your approval or condemnation just like a gladiator’s life dependent upon the tilt of an emperor’s thumb. Among the other more illustrious attendees, were the heads of the most preeminent fashion lines in the world, the CEOs and moguls whose names had forged the foundation of modern fashion.

La Maison Gris, a relatively new brand from an old and noble French family, had made a meteoric rise to the very summit of the industry. Helmed by its formidable and charismatic CEO, Jacques Le Gris, La Maison Gris had firmly secured a position high among the most distinguished names in fashion. Le Gris had fast become synonymous with Chanel, Versace, Lagerfeld, Gucci, Valentino, Tom Ford, Dior, Dolce and Gabbana. Aided in his ascension by his calculating mind, his almost irresistible charm, his devilish good looks and imposing size, Jacques had steamrolled his competition like a tank over protestors.

Jacques Le Gris always dressed to the nines and was dashingly groomed and coiffed, his image immaculately maintained. From a finely tailored bespoke suit that flattered his impressive and athletic 6’4” physique, enhancing the breadth of his great shoulders and the taper of his fit waist, to a simple signet ring bearing his century’s old family crest that drew attention to his enormous hands, he used fashion to emphasize his towering size and noble bearing. He wore a neatly trimmed van dyke, and his thick black hair down to his shoulders. An intentional streak of silver shot through his glossy ebony mane like the milky way shimmering across the night sky, giving him the regal air of a melanistic lion. He was dressed now in pieces from his own line, a charcoal suit with a chic glen plaid pattern, black shirt, unbuttoned down two buttons from his throat, and a black overcoat with a subtle flair of silver Persian lamb around the collar.

Notably broader without exception than everyone in attendance and standing a head taller than most, save for the willowy models, some of whom hoovered near his airspace when in heels, Jacques cut an impressive and unmistakable figure where he stood next to the runway in the dimly lit audience. The room was filled to capacity with the crème de la crème of fashion, interspersed with the journalists and photographers who would relay their chosen highlights to the public. While he waited for the show to begin and the first model to strut down the runway, Jacques discussed his line with anyone who would listen, showcasing his renowned affability. He was cordial where others were aloof, a trait that had helped spur his rise to the top.

Jacques was confident that his spring line that was to be revealed at this show would impress all those in attendance, but still, it never hurt to grease the wheels with a few dashing smiles. He could charm almost anyone into submission, a talent that cut across many different lines of social interaction. Only one major player had remained staunchly immune from his allure, and she unfortunately wielded one of the most important opinions. In fact, it was as though the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine took pride, a morbid relish even, in eviscerating the designs of La Maison Gris. With each scathing article, La Maison Gris and its profits took a hit and took months to reclimb the ladder from several rungs below. To say Jacques was ruffled by it was an understatement, he was mad as hell. He had yet to meet the woman in person, which he assured himself was the reason he had so far been unable to exert the full magnitude of his charm and magnetism.

The lights dimmed and the music picked up tempo, indicating the show would soon be starting. Jacques was focused on the runway, and didn’t see you approach and squeeze in beside him for a place at the head of the runway. The room was packed as tightly as a nightclub, but filled with an exponentially more beautiful crowd. Jacques recognized you with a visible start, his affable manner momentarily dampened with worry, fear even, at being in the presence of the one woman with the power to unseat him from his high horse. The pen was indeed mightier than the sword when it was you who wielded it, writing the destinies of every hopeful designer in the pages of your magazine.

You were dressed in a Dolce & Gabbana dress of ebony lace that hugged and flattered your shapely curves to perfection paired with a charcoal gray double-breasted Burberry Prorsum coat with military-style epaulets and cuffs. You wore five-inch Burberry heels that, although pointed-toe stilettos, they were fitted with Burberry’s signature lug sole, adding to your combative appearance and reputation. Although it was dark in the room, you wore a pair of aviator sunglasses by Maybach, also in gradients of carbon, that concealed your infamously ferocious eyes. Your hair was elegantly styled and your bearing was as proud as any model on a runway, but your presence was of a military general standing on a battlefield.

The sight of you took Jacques’s breath away. He had never been so taken aback by a woman, so instantly devastated by beauty.

With a deep steadying breath and a visible effort, Jacques composed himself. It was absurd, he reasoned, to be so unnerved by a woman. He was a master at seduction, and what was business but a different kind of seduction? Both involved a degree of manipulation and power plays. Even if Jacques didn’t know how to deal with you as a cutthroat editor who struck fear into the hearts of men, he knew how to deal with a red-blooded woman.

“I think you’ll find the florals are luscious,” he whispered with a smokey depth to his voice. He moved closer beside you until your shoulders brushed, perfectly acceptable in the crowded room.

“Florals? For Spring?” you scoffed. “Groundbreaking.”

“Well… Florals are classics for a reason,” he stumbled at the sharp rebuff. “Spring lines always have florals. It’s what you do with them that matters, is it not?”

“Have you sustained a head injury?” you derided haughtily, turning to look at him briefly over the rims of your sunglasses. “Yes, follow like the little lemmings toward the cliff of the cliché and the mediocre. The market – that is, sellers who have already made you rich -- want to get their winter fashions off the racks. Something inventive, something charming and clean, for example, would sell regardless of the season. Are you marketing to the likes of Kohl’s or Target?” You dismissively returned your attention to the runaway. “Dolce & Gabbana is the only designer who has any business at all dabbling in seasonal florals. Perhaps, an honorable mention to Dior.” Jacques tried to retort, but you steamrolled over him. “But not La Maison Gris, I assure you, and my assurance is the only one that will ever matter.”

This silenced him as he looked away, a strange and foreign mixture of rejection and embarrassment mingling inside him with an all-too familiar anger. He then looked back at you tentatively, feeling hesitant to challenge you.

“Just last spring Vogue raged over my florals,” he stated with a confidence that for once he didn’t feel, his deep voice undercut by an undertone of fear. Because of his size and physicality, deep voice, and wealth, he often unwittingly intimidated people. He was unused to being on the other side of that scale, and he couldn’t recall being so as a grown man. It was a challenge, he realized, and he savored challenges.

“Then, they were novel. Now, they are tired and uninspired,” you sighed as if bored by his simpleness. “Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative -- that’s Oscar Wilde, mind you – and I do believe he had a sense of fashion. He even went to prison for his fashion genius, among other proclivities.”

Jacques’s handsome features broadcast he was ready to retort but thought better of it, chewing his lip instead to bite back the argument that wanted to leap from his tongue. As the first model made her appearance on the runway, the audience applauded, approving of her floral dress with fox trim. He puffed his chest and looked at you as if to say he told you so. The next model wore a lynx shawl over a dress of gold floral brocade.

“Mixing fur and floral, are we? I always thought fur looked best on its original owner.” You studied each ensemble carefully with the eye of a critic. “Models should be comfortable in their own skin, not someone else’s, don’t you think?”

“This line is novel, sleek and vivacious. If you wish to stand out and feel good about yourself, my line is for you,” he huffed and retorted as another model stalked toward you wearing a beautiful lavender dress trimmed with tasteful sable fur in a complimentary dusky hue. The crowd roared in approval. “Nature has evolved to flatter animals of every shape and size. Do you argue that natural evolution shouldn’t be used when one is designing clothes to flatter women?”

You paused at the audience’s enchantment with Jacques’s line. He, too, saw it was a hit and raised one eyebrow at you. The next model wore a sleek aviator jacket with a collar of sheared beaver dyed in a subtle chevron pattern. The crowd actually clapped at that one.

No matter, people often didn’t know what they really liked until you told them.

You gestured for him to lean closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Like I said, the unimaginative masses are easily impressed. They can’t do what I can do: convince the biggest retailers in the world to market your line, and the populace to buy it.”

Jacques took a deep breath, gathered his courage, smiled mischievously, and said with a seductive tenor, “Well, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

“I suppose you would know,” you quipped as another lynx trimmed ensemble walked past. “Regardless, the details of your incompetence do not interest me.”

“My incompetence?” Jacques huffed. No one else in the world would dare to call him incompetent. But arguing the point with you would get him nowhere. He decided to try a different tactic. “Let us continue this tete-a-tete somewhere more private, and I’ll try to find something about myself that does interest you.”

“Bold of you to assume a ridiculous man like you could please me in any venue. Be assured, I am demanding in my personal life as well as my professional one.” You let your appraising gaze rake over his body. “I want the best. I deserve the best. And I demand the best. In all things and in all ways.”

“My fashion lines may bore you, belle comandante.” Jacques grinned and asserted boldly, “Trust me, as a man, I would make you purr.”

“I have no commitments and I find myself rather bored by Paris, but I’m sure you have a parade of floral harlots vying to charm you into letting them walk your next runway. Who would I be to deprive them of the valuable life lesson in regret they would learn from a night with you?” You eyed another fur-trimmed model skeptically. “Dear God, you’re not into furries are you?”

He said nothing more until the show was over, but a sly lupine smile played on his plush lips. When all the models had walked the runway and the din of conversation filled the room, he made you a darkly illicit offer. “I’ll make a bet with you. If I can make you purr for me, then you will write a splendid review of tonight’s show.”

Removing your sunglasses, you eyed him with unveiled skepticism. “And if I find you are not up to the task of pleasing me?”

“You won’t.” He winked at you.

“Graduating from fashion to prostitution, are you?” You raised a judgmental eyebrow. “I can’t deny it’s a better fit for you.”

“Not publicly.” He grinned at you, flashing a predatory glint of white teeth. “But for you, I will make a one-night-only exception. I’m a gambling man, and what higher stakes could I play with? If I can wring a good review out of you between the sheets, you will write a nice review for my fashion line on the pages of Annees Folles. We’ll enjoy ourselves in the process, that I promise you, cherie.”

“It is an interesting thought.” You smiled. “To wonder what I will find worthy of review. The before or the after?”

“Yes, I agree,” he boomed loud enough for everyone to hear. You had heard he was a showman and viciously sarcastic. “You know why failed designers become harping editors of fashion magazines? It’s a petty facet of human nature that we feel the need to tear apart others who have talents one does not.”

“Is that what you think?” you laughed at the absurdity, meeting his challenge and projecting your voice. “Designers are many. On the other hand, people who dictate the tides of fashion and control the very destinies of men like you are few. The truth is, no one can do what I can do.”

“It must be lonely at the top for a maneater like you,” Jacques teased, his voice low again. “Who keeps you warm at night?”

“Renew your offer at the end of the evening,” you replied coyly. “And I’ll decide who’s keeping me warm tonight.”

*******************************************************************************************

Nearly as important as the fashion show itself was the afterparty. This was where most of the schmoozing and deal-making were conducted, where connections were made and alliances were formed. Swanky upscale clubs were privately rented for these glamorous soirees. The afterparty for La Maison Gris was celebrated at L’Arc, the highly exclusive nightclub at the top of the Champs Elysees. Jacques had rented the club for the night, open only to those on his well-pruned guest list. The neon strobes of the club ordinarily played across a beautiful crowd but during Fashion Week, its lights never fell on someone who wasn’t either rich, famous, beautiful, or otherwise extraordinary.

Jacques was the man of the hour and had to make himself seen at his own party. You, of course, were on every guest list of every afterparty, but only an elite few were deserving of your attendance. After making your rounds at parties hosted by Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry, Dior, and Tom Ford, you decided to make an appearance at the La Maison Gris party and see if Jacques’s bet still intrigued you. Your arrival was just late enough to be aptly fashionable.

A redwood of a doorman recognized you and ushered you in ahead of a winding line of at least one-hundred hopeful partygoers, much to their displeasure. The floor of the club writhed and undulated with women in chic dresses and men in suits dancing in time with heavy driving bass. You would have been hard-pressed to squeeze up to the bar that was so tightly packed that even the attempts of waifish models were foiled by the mass of humanity.

The freshly bleached smiles of several of the biggest names in Hollywood caught your eye from various corners of the room. One perfect smile belonged to the actor who had just landed his big break in being cast in the newest reboot of the Superman franchise. Clark Kent du jour had the build of a linebacker, a square jaw to match, cerulean blue eyes, and jet back hair, complete with a Superman curl he had cultivated since landing the part. He had also been pursuing you since you had toured the set for a piece on the costumes, most of which had been crafted by Zegna. He wore a suit by La Maison Gris, complete with a dyed sable pocket square instead of the usual silk. Tragically, he had both buttons done on his jacket, a glaring faux pas that required all of your limited reserve to overlook. You could take the man off the farm, but you couldn’t dress the farm out of the man.

Aspiring models stalked through the crowd on mile-high legs like otherworldly creatures, eager to impress designers for a chance to walk down their runways. And there was Jacques Le Gris, standing in the middle of an entire harem of them. A flock of scantily and colorfully dressed models surrounded him like birds at a feeder, some batting their eyelashes, others stroking his body, others still giggling vapidly, all desperate for any crumb of attention he deigned to toss their way. Though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was gesturing magnanimously, smiling and laughing at his own infectious humor, and very much enjoying the attention.

The spectacle of the fawning models was enough to make you return Clark Kent’s smile just long enough to encourage him to make an approach. Your timing was perfect; like all the best predators, you had the gift of precision. Jacques noticed you just as the handsome actor made a beeline for you and procured a flute of champagne from the tray of an obliging waitress who flitted by on his way. The actor was only the first to approach you. Within moments, you too were encircled by a mass of noisome people, even larger than the group that surrounded Jacques. Everyone wanted your attention, your approval.

At the sight of Clark Kent sidling up to you, a dark veil passed over Jacques’s dashing features, turning them murderous for the breadth of a second. It went unnoticed by most if not all, but you saw it and you smirked. Clenching his jaw, Jacques pushed through the throng of humanity and shooed away the plumage of women, heading not toward you but to the bar.

You smiled as the actor handed you the champagne, trying not to dwell on the state of his tackily buttoned jacket. But you drew the line at champagne, telling him with your usual stridence, “Oh, you can keep that for yourself. I don’t drink champagne, but I’m sure a large country boy like you can handle mine and yours and many more after.”

The poor pretty idiot didn’t know if you were serious or teasing, but since he had no basis in experience dealing with such a direct and assertive woman, he took your harshness for humor and laughed. He would be so easy to rip to shreds, which could be a fun passing amusement. He was exceedingly lucky you were in a good mood tonight. Adding to your relative levity was the towering figure of the CEO of La Maison Gris striding purposefully toward you and fighting to keep his composure and grin through his jealous anger. He held a drink in each hand, filled with amber and ice.

“This is my party,” he said by way of greeting you, making his voice notably deeper than the actor’s. Jacques was taller, but only just, which added to your amusement when he tried to look down his charmingly hooked nose at his more classically handsome opponent. “How is it that you just waltz in here and everybody gravitates toward you like you are the sun.”

“I’ve found that Nietzsche’s herd concept applies in a variety of ways.” You smiled icily back. “The human herd often has a collective sense of who’s the most important person in the room.”

Still looking at the actor, Jacques wordlessly handed you one of the two drinks he carried. You accepted it with a raised eyebrow and lifted it to inhale its aroma. Then, you gifted him with a genuine smile. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have. Your drink of choice is an old fashioned made with Midleton Single Pot Irish Whiskey and garnished with an orange peel.” He took a sip of his own drink, the same as yours, closing his eyes briefly to savor the taste. “But I think you’ll like this better. I prefer Redbreast twenty-seven year old Irish Whiskey.”

You took a skeptical drink, your eyes not leaving Jacques’s. The old fashioned was remarkably flavorful. “It’s tolerable, I suppose.”

“I better get a nicer review than that from you after I’ve given you a taste of something else that’s full-bodied and old fashioned.” Jacques winked at you as he took another drink.

“I’ve already been here fifteen minutes, and already this is growing dull.” You pointedly looked at the Breitling watch strapped to Jacques’s thick wrist. “When are you going to make it worth my while to have come at all?”

“Finish your drink,” he challenged and downed the better part of his own. He gave the actor a dangerous glare, but the other man was too focused on you to notice, still standing beside you, hopeful and oblivious.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said to Clark Kent with unveiled sarcasm, the man was utterly clueless. “I forgot you were there. You may go now.”

“I may actually grow to like you.” Jacques grinned and took your elbow, his large hand squeezing you for emphasis.

“I would expect so,” you replied haughtily. “It is a sentiment I acquire often but return sparingly.”

“Carpe nocturne, ma jolie fille,” he growled as he pulled you through the crowd and out of L’Arc to his waiting car.

*******************************************************************************************

Enroute to a more comfortable and conducive location, you and Jacques each downed two more old fashioneds as his driver maneuvered through the labyrinthian Parisian streets, overfull with tourists for Fashion Week. With his drinks, Jacques smoked a thick cigar on the drive, billowing smoke from his nose like a regal dragon through a cracked window. It came as no surprise you were both staying at the Ritz Paris, after all, it was the finest luxury hotel in Paris and some say in the world. You discovered it had been Jacques who had sniped the Suite Imperiale, the finest suite in the opulent hotel, out from under you, leaving you to book the only slightly less decadent Suite Windsor for yourself.

Jacques strode with you proudly through the lavish hotel, past numerous celebrities and icons. His hand rested possessively on the small of your back, leaving no doubt as to the nature of your evening.

“People are staring,” you said without a trace of shyness, relishing the attention.

“Let’s make it worth their while.” Jacques took your hand and twirled you like he was dancing with you and then dipped you for a passionate kiss in full view of the bustling lobby.

People indeed stared, their captivated gazes following as he then led you to the bank of elevators. Inside the elevator, he pushed you against the wall and propped his hands on either side of your head, caging you inside his arms as he loomed over you.

“Want me to say goodnight, jolie fille?” he asked, his voice dripping with husky desire.

Biting your lip as you paused to consider his words, you looked up at him. “Not for a few more hours.”

A broad toothy smile broke across Jacques’s features as the elevator chimed and you stepped out of his arms, enroute to his suite.

Jacques walked so closely behind you as you approached the door to the Suite Imperiale that you could feel the heat radiating off his massive body. Hot breath huffed on the back of your neck, raising goosebumps and sending electric currents down your spine. At his door, he handed you his room key and let you fumble with the lock while he trailed his hands down over your hips and then back up your thighs. Hooking his fingers in the hem of your dress, he pulled it up over your ass, the cool air on your skin a stark contrast to his hot hands. His broad chest pressed into your back and his head fell to your neck. His lips teased at you tantalizingly as he dug his thick fingers into your soft hips, pulling your ass back into the massive bulge in his pants.

“I knew you had a luscious ass,” he growled into your neck. He teased you with the scratch of his beard near your ear and smiled against your skin when he dipped his hand between your thighs and felt the moist heat of your arousal. “It would be a shame to ruin your lovely clothes. We need to get you out of them before they get too wet.”

You laughed breathily as you opened the door and stumbled inside with Jacques still pressed to your back. He kicked the door shut and spun you to face him, crashing his lips to yours as you each clawed at each other’s clothing. His jacket and shirt were the first to be discarded. You wanted to see his body before revealing yours, and you were not disappointed when he peeled his shirt away. His chest was larger and more impressive than you had guessed and his arms more thickly muscled. He had the finely sculpted look of a performance horse, massive, sleek, and powerful all at once.

Backing away from him sultrily, you slowly unzipped your dress as you angled toward the bedroom. Inspired by the Chateau de Versailles, the living room of the Suite Imperiale was done in burgundy and cream, with vaulted ceilings and enormous airy windows. The burgundy and gold drapes were open, letting the lights of Paris glimmer into the otherwise darkened room.

Before you could step out of your dress that had fallen to your feet, Jacques lifted you up into his arms, all but yanking you off the ground in his fervor. He was so powerful and solid that he made you feel weightless in his arms, a feeling that heightened your anticipation as much as his expert touch.

Jacques twirled once inside the suite’s bedroom with you still in his arms, taking every advantage to show off. This room was decorated in cream and mint with a green and mint brocade canopy enshrouding the lavish bed. Jacques laid you gently down onto the plush bedding and traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back to brusquely discard the rest of his clothing. You eyed his body shamelessly, very pleased by every magnificent part of him. His aurous eyes were even hungrier than yours as they devoured the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen true beauty before tonight,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and darkness.

Jacques crawled over you, a predator over his prey, caging you beneath him with his impressive arms on either side of your body. When you put your hands on him, you could feel his heavy muscles tense and flex as he moved. The feel of him alone was a potent aphrodisiac. He could read all the signs of your body, the way you moved and sighed and responded to his touch. He knew you wanted him, and wanted him now. But Jacques wanted to savor you, to spend as long as he could possibly stand it, to sear every moment of this night into his memory like a firebrand.

Agonizingly slow, he returned his lips to your skin, kissing and teasing every part of your flesh he could cover. He knew he would have you several times tonight, and he decided he wanted to make you moan with his tongue before he made you scream with his cock. It was quick work for him once he settled between your legs and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. He had barely traced his name into you a handful of times when he felt the shuddering rush of your ecstasy.

Positioning himself above you, he captured your lips as he thrust into you, fast and fluid but gentle too. Slow at first, he followed the pace you set as your pleasure deepened. He was a consummate lover, and he shifted his hips until he knew his angle was perfect, like a marksman hitting the bullseye. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure, and he thought that he had never seen anything so lovely in the world of fashion and art as the sight of you beneath him.

Your arousal mounted as vigorously as he pistoned into you. Everything faded from your world until there was only the handsome man above you and the pleasure that flooded you until you were bursting with it. Jacques crested with you when a powerful orgasm throbbed through you and he carried you through every delicious shudder until you were both delirious with exhausted bliss. He kissed you with a slow lingering passion and when he pulled back, it was to look at you with adoration. His gaze was brief, but the emotion was unmistakable.

In the sultry minutes between your first session together and the next of the evening, you lay across Jacques’s chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat and the resonant timbre of his voice that sounded much like a contented purr beneath your ear. His hair was tangled and wild, and his chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat. His arms were strong around you and his hands huge and comforting on your skin. The man was an absolute fever dream.

“This is only the beginning, ma belle amour,” Jacques whispered much later that night, careful not to wake you. Even in sleep, he dreamed of you and of the bright and glamorous future you would forge together.

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Jacques prided himself on being part of the 5am Club, but this morning he felt that he had earned some extra rest after his robust performance the night before. You told him that he was incredible, and he couldn’t disagree with you. He was an exceptional lover – he made a point of excelling in all areas of importance to him – and he knew it. He had pulled out all the stops for you. He wanted you not only pleasured but impressed; hooked, and wanting more and more. He grinned sleepily at the realization that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he was just as hooked after this first time as you were sure to be.

An obnoxious beam of sunlight soldiered through a gap in the curtains to shine on Jacques’s face, forcing him to blink into consciousness. Groaning at the light, he rolled over to curl into you and pull you close to him, and maybe have you again for breakfast. But his hand fell on a vacant sheet, cool to the touch. That brought him into full alertness like a bucket of ice water dosed over his head. He propped himself up on an elbow and brushed the hair out his eyes as he looked around the room. All of your things had been collected and were gone, and no sound emanated from the open door of the adjoining bathroom.

Jacques was alone.

No woman had ever sneaked out on him before the dawn. Of course, he had done so countless times to countless women, the number of which he couldn’t have remembered or even closely estimated with a gun to his head. But no woman had ever given him the same treatment. It was unthinkable! Jacques had only ever slipped away from women he considered unimportant, disposable – which, admittedly, were most of them – but he would never have ducked out on you, not after the night the two of you had shared.

Last night was only the beginning, he told himself, knowing it must be true. Anything that felt that good, that right, had to be only the start of something great.  

A bitter thought slithered into his mind, worse than the gravelly morning-after taste on his tongue. Surely, he wasn’t a disposable fling to you. He couldn’t be. He was more than a one night stand, when he wanted more, anyway. It was unfathomable to think a woman, any woman, wouldn’t want more with him. It was blasphemous, even.

No, that couldn’t be it. Jacques knew you were a busy woman, you must have had things to do and places to be. He too was in demand and could hardly begrudge you the same. Throwing the covers aside, he stood and proceeded to walk around the room naked, looking for anything you may have left behind. He was sure he would find a letter or just a brief note, but there was nothing. He even fogged the bathroom mirror in the chance you were prone to mystery and had left a message on the glass that only mist would reveal. He called your suite, received no answer, and had no better luck calling reception. When he checked his phone to see if there were any messages from you, he realized with a sinking feeling that you had not exchanged numbers.

The room was as though you had never been inside it at all. Only the smell of your perfume on his sheets and the scratches you had traced across his skin were proof that last night had not been only a fantasy.

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Never before had Jacques felt so compelled to chase after a woman, but he restrained himself. The rules of a burgeoning relationship were new to Jacques -- not that he ever played by the rules at anything -- but he thought it only fair that since you had been the one to leave, that the burden was on you to make the first contact. He waited for days for a call or email or text, at first angry and then despondent when nothing came.

Jacques Le Gris, the CEO of La Maison Gris, would not chase after a woman. But for this woman, this one singular woman, he consented to casually saunter in her direction. And he was not pleased about having to do so.

It was Friday morning, nearly a week after your evening together, when Jacques relented. He stood restless in his luxurious office, surrounded by walnut paneling, rich colors, and oil paintings. His office had a regal ambience reminiscent of a Victorian study but with a decidedly masculine touch. Every appliance was ultra-modern and colored in sleek carbon, contrasting chicly with the otherwise vintage style. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the city of Paris, offering an unobstructed view of the Champs Elysees.

Being at the tops in your respective industries made you each easy to track down, even if then making contact was exponentially more difficult. Jacques called the main branch of Annees Folles Magazine in Manhattan and was given the runaround for the better part of an hour. Christ, it was worse than dealing with an airline. He wondered if he would have to fax a copy of his ID just to speak to a living human who had any authority at all. He was near the limits of his temper, his notorious good humor completely expended, by the time he was put through to your office.

“Editor in Chief’s office.” A curt nasally male voice answered Jacques’s call with a note of disinterest. “Armitage Hux speaking.”

“I’m calling to speak to the Editor in Chief directly, please,” Jacques said in his most diplomatic tone. He added his name, which alone opened most doors for him. “This is Jacques Le Gris.”

“The Editor is not to be disturbed. Furthermore, she only takes calls from those listed on her approved call list.” Came the snide reply. “There’ s no Jack.”

“Jacques,” he enunciated more clearly, adding more force to his voice. “Jacques Le Gris.”

“There is no le Grease on the list either.” A withering sneer could almost be heard through the phone.

“Le Gris,” Jacques corrected, fighting to keep from losing his temper.

“My apologies,” Hux answered without the barest hint of contrition. “Regardless, you are not on the list, Mr. le Grease.”

A frustrated growl slipped out before Jacques could stop it. “For fuck’s sake, ask her about me!”

“There’s really no need for profanity. I’ve already told you, she is not to be disturbed,” Hux continued in a tone that was now verging on bored. “Certainly not by people who aren’t important enough to be on her approved call list, Mr. le Grease.”

“Important?” Jacques laughed at the absurdity. “Do you know who I am? I’m the CEO of La Maison Gris!”

“I’m legally required to say that my opinion does not in any way reflect the views of Annees Folles Magazine, but I have always preferred Gucci,” Hux lilted in his superior manner.

“If Le Grease doesn’t spur her memory, tell her I’m the man she spent last Saturday night with!” Now, Jacques was pissed. Comparing his distinguished line to that family of garish Italians was like slapping a glove across his cheek. “She knew my name then because she was fucking screaming it!”

“Ah, maybe you’re on that list.” Hux smiled deviously, which could be heard on his voice.

Jacques ground his teeth until he thought they would surely crack while he listened to the other man’s unhurried keystrokes as he pulled up that list. Jacques made a mental note to clear that fucking list out for you real fast.

“Barber… McHenry… — forgive me, I’m skimming here — Mills… Ren… Zimmerman…” Hux read through each name with relish. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that this list is Grease-free as well.”

“Listen, you trumped up little shit.” Jacques finally lost control of his temper. “If I have to get on a fucking plane, walk right in there, and kick the door down to her office —“

“Hold please,” Hux intoned, utterly unconcerned. Music only slightly trendier than elevator music assaulted Jacques across the line.

Jacques punched the end button with as much force as he could muster with his finger on the button that was too small for his thick digit. He caught himself just before he threw his phone across the room, and instead turned and swung a savagely powerful punch into the wall, slamming his fist straight through the plaster.

*******************************************************************************************

Bright and early the following Monday a fresh copy of the American edition of Annees Folles Magazine was delivered by courier to Jacques’s office. There was no accompanying note, but the magazine smelled of the sultry exotic perfume he remembered so well. Jacques knew with absolute certainty who it was from. It was longer than he wanted to wait for an overture from you, but at least it was something.

One of the subheadings on the cover read, A Special Editorial and Behind the Scenes Look into the New Fashion Line of La Maison Gris. Jacques seated himself behind his imposing desk, leaned back in his tufted leather chair, and propped his long legs on his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. He intended to savor your special editorial on him and his fashion line, expecting to fall even deeper and more hopelessly into the abyss of his feelings for you, into this new and uncharted territory.

Jacques rustled through the pages, eager to find your editorial. Splashed across the page was an extra treat – a startlingly high-quality photograph of his runway with a model in a floral dress with fur cuffs, and front in center silhouetted by the runway lights, the pair of you stood side-by-side in the crowd watching the show. He decided to have it framed for his office, a memento of the night your relationship began. He imagined your smile when he showed it off to you in person.

Below the photograph, the article was not what he expected. It was five-hundred words of honeyed vitriol.

La Maison Gris, with CEO Jacques Le Gris at its helm, has been the rising star in the fashion industry and with good reason. His designs mix ultra-modern chic with the classiest and the most decadent styles history has ever seen. From Victorian era draping and corsets to Regency-esque frocks and slippers to beading and sequins that would flatter the most exuberant 1920’s flapper, Le Gris’s inspiration is regal and refined and imbued with his own signature twist and flourish.

Ascensions, however, are precarious. Climbing to the top in fashion is just as perilous as climbing Mount Everest. One misstep can cost one his career.

Confident in his own grandeur, Le Gris opened his show at Paris Fashion Week with a new line featuring a daring use of fur on every piece. Icarus, too, was daring in his flight toward the blazing Sun. Just like Icarus, Le Gris has reached beyond his capacity and will soon find himself plummeting back to Earth to crash and burn with so many other has-beens whose names are not worth remembering.

Swept up in his penchant for melding modern with iconic, Le Gris does not consider the advances that we as a society have made. No longer do we need to resort to the barbarism of the fur trade to clothe ourselves. Nor do we, as Le Gris would have us believe, need to resort to fur to dress ourselves in the finest fashion and haute couture. Rest assured, dear readers, La Maison Gris is not in the upper echelon of fine fashion and haute couture.

In addition to the heinous and overdone use of fur, Le Gris has the tastelessness to cobble together a kaleidoscope of florals ranging from pastel to electric. His florid color palette can best be described as ‘A Murder of Unicorns,’ as painted by Monet. It reminds one of a cheerily painted playroom inside a children’s mental institution. A more cultured eye will gravitate to Dolce & Gabbana for florals, to Burberry for iconic; and if one is looking for fur, a vintage fox, mink, or sable from a boutique will always carry the day.

Le Gris’s approach to fashion seems to be that a lack of quality can be disguised by flair and concealed with fur. This mirrors the man’s approach to life. A boisterous grandstander, Le Gris tries to project a distinguished air. However, like a magician’s trick revealed, all his flash and charm are little more than smoke and mirrors with no real substance.

A little fur here and there can make a girl purr, but an overuse, such as the spring line of La Maison Gris, is barbarous at best and utterly gauche at worst.

One wonders if Le Gris has the capacity to bear a defeat with dignity, but the smart money will bet on the negative. Like a scavenging hound, Le Gris will likely refurbish his failed spring line for another runway this coming fall or winter. He will certainly gain no traction on any runway of repute. With his brash sensationalism and garish taste, perhaps he shall find his true calling outfitting cosplayers or larpers.

Jacques crumpled the offending magazine in his fist as if he could choke the life from its Editor in Chief through the abused pages. He viciously ripped it in half, throwing each segment across the room in different directions. He wanted to punch another hole in his wall, but his knuckles were still scabbed and bruised from his recent outburst. Not for the first time, he decided to hang a heavyweight punching bag in his office. He glared around his office, looking for something to break. Why the fuck was everything his decorators chose some one-of-a-kind antique?

Sparing his knuckles further damage, he let out a savage growl like a wounded lion. Jacques was breathing as hard as if he had run a mile, his huge chest straining the buttons on his tailored shirt. As he tried ineffectively to calm himself, his shrewd mind began to calculate and strategize. After a few moments of huffing, he decided on his course of action. If you wanted to play dirty, he could roll in the mud with the best of them. Retrieving his phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“Jacques!” Pierre D’Alencon, the Creative Director of La Maison Gris, answered with friendly ebullience. “I was just going to call you. Drinks this weekend? I happened upon a gorgeous set of twins -- redheads, no less -- and of course I’m willing to share with my closest friend.”

“Put the twins on ice for now,” Jacques grumbled gruffly. “This is business. Did you see the editorial in Annees Folles?”

“I did, indeed,” Pierre’s voice lost a hint of its buoyancy. “Hence my offer of drinks and women to lift your spirits.”

“I’ve made a decision, and it involves you. If that glorified tabloid wants to blast me for using fur in my line, I’m going to single-handedly revive the fur-in-fashion trend! We’ll see who holds more power in this little game.” Jacques grinned devilishly at his own newly formed plan of attack like a knight finding a chink in his opponent’s armor. “Which is where you come in. I want to see designs for an entire line with fur on every piece by the end of the month. Get on it, Pierre! Give me your best.”

“Do you not think it best to respond with more dignity and sweep all this unpleasantness under the rug?” Pierre asked with a heavy sigh. “This is why you have PR people.”

“Who was it that said any publicity is good publicity?” Jacques asked, unphased.

“That would be the American spectacle, P.T. Barnum,” Pierre replied with resignation.

“Smart man. I always admired his joie de vivre.” Jacques smirked as he paced across his vast office. “That’s exactly what I want. I want a spectacle. I want a public circus. I want a showdown. We’re going to revive the fur trend, you and I, and I’m going to rub it in that demoness’s face!”

“Ah, so this is all motivated by astute business acumen and professionalism, is it?” Pierre gave a laugh that was ignored.

“Use every kind of fur you can get your hands on. The crueler the fucking better! Lynx, fox, sable, Persian lamb – all the cutest and cuddliest animals. Are chinchillas still a thing? Those too. Can we still get leopard? If you can design a full-length coat made of puppies, do it! Dalmatian with a lynx collar, how about that?” Jacques ran a hand along the shimmering silver streak in his black hair, thinking. “And I don’t want faux anything in sight. I want it all real, all genuine fur.”

Pierre confirmed his understanding of his marching orders and signed off. For so long as their mission remained retaliation and war, anyway. He also decided on a side-quest of sorts, to put his second greatest talent to work while he created a runway line trimmed in fur. He would try his best at figuring out his friend and boss’s quarry, and aid him in hunting the most dangerous game of all, a powerful woman. Perhaps if Jacques could seduce her personally, there would be no need to batter her into submission professionally, and Pierre knew he was just the man for both jobs.

Jacques was still wound up after the call, but now he had a course of action, a focal point, a target at which to channel his anger and frustration. The embers of rage still alighted Jacques’s nerves and the sting of betrayal still burned in his chest. He still wanted to punch something, to find a release. It was a poor substitute, but he ranted and bellowed instead.

“That frigid bitch!” Jacques snarled, glaring out of his window over the streets of Paris. “That shrew. That succubus. Satan. That woman is fucking Satan!”

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To be continued…

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© safarigirlsp 2023

Tagging some fashionistas:

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @babbushka @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @reborn-rekall @maybe-your-left @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @darkhairedmenrule @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @bensolodyad @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @durangoninetyfive @reveluving @vedavan @fax4life27 @lumberjack00fantasies @kyloremus

[captainmarvels]

wicked games [5]

Summary: Tom can’t seem to help himself when it comes to you. Is that really such a bad thing?

Pairing: CEO!Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Smut - NSFW, 18+ ONLY || oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex [wrap it before you tap it, pls], highly prominent daddy kink

Word Count: 8,822 [merry christmas]

A/N: This is only the tip of the iceberg, my friends. There is still so very much to come. I’m dedicating this chapter to my sweet Blade - happy birthday, you sinner. I hope this is a worthwhile birthday present. xx | series masterlist

Lust and control have always been at odds with one another.

A never ending war between desire and strength; one always seeking superiority.

What happens when control has been in power for far too long?

Tom slapped your ass hard, the sting turning you on more than you had expected. You whimpered as he pushed you onto the bed, unbuckling his belt as he guided you forward until your knees met the edge of the bed.

“Turn over, baby girl.” He pulled his pants down, revealing your new favorite sight. His cock was straining against the thin material of his boxers, the outline already more impressive than you could have ever imagined.

You sat up, resting on your elbows as you watched him sink down to his knees, his hand reaching out towards you.

“Give me your wrists, now.” You dropped down onto your back, holding out your wrists to him. You watched him undo the tie, joining your wrists as he wrapped it around once more, tying it just a bit tighter than before. He looked up, meeting your intent gaze as he pushed your hands up, moving them out of his way.

He pulled down the panties he had just put on you, his lips leaving wet kisses along your inner thighs, his breath barely hitting your core. You tried not to squirm under his touch, but the ache between your legs was growing more impatient with his teasing.

He picked up on your neediness, stroking his thumb through your folds without any warning. You whined as you lifted your hips up, only to feel his arm push you down onto the mattress, his grip tight on your waist.

“Let’s start on a positive note, sweetheart. Be good for daddy,” He cooed, his thumb spreading your wetness over your lips as he held your hips down. His gaze was trained on you, eyes watching the way your chest rose and fell with every pant that left your wanting mouth.

He ducked his head down without another word, his tongue licking a long stripe through your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” was all you could get out as you threw your head back, your bound hands covering your face. Tom chuckled, the vibrations rippling through your cunt as he licked his way around your entrance, relishing in your taste. His thumb found your clit in no time, flicking the sensitive nub gently as he flattened his tongue.

You were falling apart just from his mouth, your hips straining under the weight of his arm. He replaced his thumb with his tongue, flattening it once again over your clit before moving his head back and forth. He pushed two fingers in, curling them right against your sweet spot.

You couldn’t hold back your moans, your hands dropping down to his head as he thrusted his fingers in and out, rubbing your sweet spot in sync with his flicking tongue. His grunts were pushing you closer to the edge, and with your fingers tangled in Tom’s hair, you pulled hard, eliciting the most delicious growl from him.

He took the hint, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking like his life depended on it. His fingers pumped in and out faster with every passing second, his thumb joining his mouth as he finally sparked your orgasm. The pleasure was blinding and heavy, overwhelming you. Tom worked you through the high, his mouth never leaving you.

Once you remembered how to breathe, you looked down at him, a new wave of pleasure coursing through you as you took in his disheveled appearance. He had pulled away, his hair an unruly mess, chin and lips glistening still. He flashed you his fingers to show how wet they still were, a smirk forming on his lips as he caught you biting your own.

“You taste better than in my dreams, princess. Come here,” He whispered, helping you sit up. Tom placed a chaste kiss on your lips, slipping his fingers into your mouth the second he pulled away. He grunted when you immediately swirled your tongue around the digits, moaning quietly as you tasted yourself.

“Good girl,” He murmured, dropping his hand to palm himself as you licked his fingers clean. You let them go with a soft popping sound, licking your lips as your eyes followed his movements. He lifted your chin up so you met his dark gaze, his chest heaving with anticipation and lust.

“Usually, I’d have my girl take care of me, but I don’t think I’ll last with that talented mouth of yours, baby. Turn around,” He grabbed ahold of the tie, pulling you off the bed, only to push you back down on your stomach. He slapped your ass, soothing and kneading the bruising flesh as he guided you onto your knees, his hand still wrapped around his cock. You pushed your ass against him, whimpering when you felt the hardness of his cock. The growl he let out was not far from primal.

“Ready for daddy?” He said, voice rough with lust. You looked over your shoulder, purposely biting down on your lip as you nodded, letting slip a noisy whine as he splayed a hand over your back, pushing you against the mattress.

The bed dipped under his weight as he positioned himself, dropping his boxers just enough to finally release his cock. You whined again when you felt his fingers graze your sensitive cunt, a moan falling from his lips at the sight of fresh wetness.

“More than ready, aren’t you, baby girl?” He asked.

“Please, daddy,” You whimpered, moaning the moment he entered you, his cock slowly stretching your walls. Tom grunted as he bottomed out, stroking your back as you winced from the slight pain. Fuck… bigger than I thought, oh fuck, You thought to yourself as you clenched around him, his hands tightening around your waist.

“Do that again, and I will leave your ass raw, princess,” He gave your ass a hard swat as you moaned. “Understand?”

You managed to whimper out a soft “...yes, daddy” before he pulled out, snapping his hips harshly against yours.

Tom’s grip on your hips was beyond bruising as he kept at his hard pace. You moaned with every thrust, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot without fail. You rested your cheek against the cool material of your sheets, watching Tom out of the corner of your eye.

His face was flushed, his curls falling in front as he pounded into you, never missing a beat. Your cunt clenched at the gorgeous sight, your hips pushing back to meet his. He slowed his pace, almost completely pulling out as he looked at you.

“Did I say you could turn around?” Tom smacked your ass again, grunting as he dropped his hand to your pussy, rolling your clit between his fingers. He started working you up to your high, teetering right on the edge. He pushed his cock in deep, hips flush against your ass. He picked up his brutal pace quickly, the tip of his cock going further than before.

“Daddy… please,” You didn’t care that you were begging at this point; the coil in your stomach was going to burst at any moment, and you would be damned if he didn’t let you come.

Tom chuckled at your whines, wrapping his hand in your hair as he continued his relentless pace. He gave it a sharp tug, pulling you flush against his chest. His hand snaked around the base of your throat, gently adding pressure as he continued thrusting.

“Does my princess need to come?” He whispered, his teeth nipping your earlobe.

The only thing you could reply with was a moan, your eyes shut tight as you felt the slowing drag of his cock against your walls.

He gently tightened his grip on your throat, catching up to his previously brutal pace as he pinched your clit. “Come for me, baby.”

The gentleness of his words paired with the roughness of his voice pushed you over the edge. The coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm throwing you way beyond bliss - wave after crashing wave of sweet, savory pleasure racked your body, practically stealing your breath away. Tom’s grip on your throat loosened as he felt your cunt clenching around his throbbing cock, a deep growl from his chest pulling you out of your high.

“Daddy,” You weren’t sure if what you were saying would even do anything. All you knew was that you needed him to come.

Tom didn’t know whether to be ashamed or amazed that your needy voice begging him to come actually worked, but he didn’t have time to think as he bit down on your shoulder, his hips stilling against your ass as he came; hot streams of come coating your walls.

His entire body was tense as he slumped forward, taking you down with him. His rough, ragged breathing was heavy in your ear as he turned you both on your sides, his softening cock still buried inside you.

Your eyes had fluttered close, a pleasant tiredness pulling you to sleep. You whined when you felt Tom’s soft lips on your back, his arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into his chest.

“This was just the beginning, princess.”

Your first exam of the week was English Literature on Tuesday at 4pm sharp. Probably the best and worst exam time possible, but you didn’t really care anymore at that point. You just wanted to get all this over with, and finally have some time to relax.

The exam period was two hours long and knowing your professor, you wouldn’t be leaving the classroom until at least an hour had passed. The final itself wasn’t too strenuous; there were just so many questions. 100, to be exact. At least your professor had a heart and made them either multiple choice, true/false, or matching; the only break you’d most likely be getting this exam season.

You were waiting for the bus when you decided to scroll through the notifications that had gathered on your home screen while you were away.

You immediately, and quite pathetically, perked up at the sight of 3 missed messages from Tom. You opened them, only to quickly lock your phone again as you covered your gaping mouth with one of your hands.

He did not… oh my god.

You unlocked your phone, discreetly scanning your surroundings to make sure no one was close enough to see your screen as you brightened the screen just a bit.

You looked at the time stamp again, noting he had only sent them about thirty minutes ago. Should you respond now?

You racked your brain for answers, terrified of the consequences of either decision you could end up taking. Opting to call him just so everything would be more clear, you took a few deep breaths before dialing his number. The line rang once before going directly to voicemail.

“Seriously?” You muttered, waiting for his message to finish. Once you heard the short beep, you took your chance.

“Hey, uh, it’s… me? Yeah, anyways, were those messages… is this… do you want me to come over?” You didn’t know how to end it, so out of panic, you hung up after that. You didn’t have time to overthink what you’d just done when you received a text notification from none other than him.

I wish, love. I’m currently en route to Nice. Best of luck on your exams. xx -t

“I… wow.” was all your brain could come up with as you read over his text. Note to self: don’t be an idiot and call him. Ever again.

Finals week was slowly turning into complete and utter ruin. You didn’t know how you survived most of Tuesday and Wednesday, but thankfully Maggie came around to spark some life into you after your third exam of the week.

You watched her stir your mug of hot chocolate from across the kitchen, your body covered in a fuzzy blanket.

“How many more exams you got left?” She asked, setting your mug down on the counter.

“3 more, unfortunately. Natalie invited us out for drinks Saturday night, but I don’t know if I’ll even be a somewhat functioning human being by then!” You sighed, taking a long sip of the sweet drink as Maggie shook her head.

“I don’t know why you insisted on killing yourself this time around, to be honest. All this, just to graduate a semester early?” She raised her eyebrows when you threw a glare in her direction.

“It’ll be worth it, just wait and see!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Yo, can I borrow your phone for a sec? I can’t find mine, again,” Maggie muttered, patting her pockets as she scanned the kitchen counters. You grabbed yours off the seat next to you, handing it over.

“Sure, here,” You took another sip of your drink, watching Maggie unlock your phone, only for her to almost drop it.

“Oh my god! Bitch!”

“What?” You almost spat out your drink, looking over at her as she flashed the screen at you. You would have barely recognized the texts on the screen if it weren’t for the all-too familiar photo in the conversation.

“Oh, shit,” You whispered, covering your eyes with your hand as Maggie came up behind you, pulling the blanket off your back.

“Somebody has got some explaining to do! Now!”

“You did what?” Harrison swallowed thickly as he met Tom’s gaze across the car.

“Oh please, like you’ve never done it, mate. It’s all good fun,”

“You’re leading her on, Holland. Or do you forget how to be a decent human being… always?” Tom rolled his eyes, downing the rest of the champagne in his glass.

“What would you rather have me doing in my free time? Sending nudes or doing drugs?” Tom laughed when Harrison nearly choked on his drink, mirroring his obscene hand gesture.

“I’d rather you treat women with decency and respect, but clearly that’s asking far too much of you,”

“Low blow, Osterfield!”

“Anyway, you whore, how long do you plan on avoiding her this time around?” Tom raised an eyebrow as Harrison finished the last of his drink, pouring some more in his glass as Tom spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“When’s the next time you’re gonna see her?”

“So? When’s the next dick appointment?”

“Maggie!”

“I’m serious!”

You were sitting across from her on the couch as she nursed a beer, your own glass of wine long forgotten on the coffee table. You threw a decorative pillow at her head, rolling your eyes when she tossed it back.

“It’s whenever… he wants, Mags - he’s on a business trip right now, so probably when he gets back?” You shrugged, resulting in a disappointed glare from across the room. “Dude, let me live, please?”

“Just promise me you’re using protection, for the love of everything holy,”

“Oh my god, yes, we are! I’m on the pill, it’s all good. Relax, alright?”

“You didn’t use a fucking condom? Oh my god, you really are a fucking idiot.”

“She’s on the pill, mate! Relax, would you?” Tom adjusted his tie in the mirror of the bathroom, running a hand through his moussed locks.

“The pill isn’t always effective, you twat!”

“Whatever. Now, keep your mouth shut. My parents don-”

“Don’t know, yeah. Let’s hope they never have to find out,” Harrison muttered as he opened the door. Tom patted his shoulder, a somber look clouding his eyes.

“Tonight’s gonna be a rough one.”

“Tell me about it.”

You slumped down on Maggie’s couch, stretching as you watched her walk around the cramped living room. Your phone was sitting next to you, the screen lighting up with a few texts from your friends, who had gone to a pregame in anticipation of your celebratory bar crawl. You ignored them, trying your hardest to bury the nagging feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.

Tom hadn’t texted you all week since his… tasteful messages from Tuesday night, and you didn’t know why you were even expecting another message from him anytime soon. You had to force yourself from stalking his social media, especially when you knew there was no point; he didn’t even run the accounts himself. Has to have someone to do every little thing for him, huh?

Maggie’s fingers snapping in front of you brought you back from your thoughts, an annoyed look on her face.

“Stop daydreaming about fucking the hot CEO! Let’s take a few shots and get going, bitch!” She grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“I need hard stuff tonight, Mags. Think you can pull through?”

“Do you even know me?” Maggie left you outside the kitchen as she grabbed her handles of vodka and tequila off the counter. She handed them to you, heading towards a nearby cabinet to pull out a few shot glasses.

Once she had the liquor and chasers poured out and the glasses all lined up, she handed you one, clinking her glass against yours as she cleared her throat.

“To not failing out of college, yet again. Real life, here we come!” You laughed at her cheers, shaking your head before tipping the glass back, savoring the burn in your throat as the liquor slipped past your lips.

“To getting what we deserve, yeah?” You said, raising your next shot in the air. Maggie giggled, nodding as she mirrored your movements, quickly downing the clear liquid.

“To getting what we fuckin’ deserve!”

The rest of the night went by quickly, some bits and pieces more or less fuzzy. You managed to sober up after an hour or two, only to be dragged into a drinking game by Maggie and Natalie to fix ‘your problem’. You had fun, there was no doubt about that. Laughs and tears were shared all night long - good and bad.

You ended up spending the night at Maggie’s, too tired and drunk to call an Uber to take you home. Nights out drinking until the early hours of the morning were supposed to be a thing of the past, but clearly your friends had had other plans.

The hangover you woke up with at 7 on Sunday morning was doing you no favors; a massive headache and constant nausea plagued you for the entire day, despite following your traditional remedies.

“I think m’gonna kill myself if this suffering doesn’t end soon, my god,” You muttered, your face half-buried in Maggie’s pillow as you watched her come back into her room.

“Maybe your sugar daddy can fuck you to death? Here,” You raised an eyebrow at her words as you grabbed your phone from her. You skimmed the notifications, trying your best not to show any emotion when you spotted a few messages from Tom.

Hope you’ve been well, love. How were exams?

I need to see you Monday, whenever you’re available.

Let me know when you’ll be coming in - t

“Did you make the appointment at Optimo?” Tom asked, adjusting his cuff links in the mirror.

“Yeah, you’re all set for tomorrow evening. Told him you’d be bringing in another customer, too. Anything else you need before I go?” Harrison was leaning against the bedroom door, typing away on his phone. Tom looked back at him through the reflection, nodding his head.

“Mass email; everyone has the day off tomorrow. Leave Tess and Y/N off of it. I need her to run a few errands for me when I’m here in the morning. Other than that, you’re good.” Tom smoothed his hands over his suit jacket, smirking to himself as he took one last glance in the mirror.

“You better not fuck her, mate. That’s one thing you won’t be able to sweep away that easy,” Harrison mumbled as they walked out of the room. Tom smacked his arm, rolling his eyes as they made their way down the hall.

“I’m not a slut, you ass. I know when to keep it in my pants,”

“Oh, really? I wasn’t aware you had such amazing self control!”

“Fuck off. We’re meeting as professionals. I’ll see you back here later?” Tom pressed the button for the elevator as he looked at Harrison, whose disapproving look only soured his mood.

“Yeah,”

“Stop worrying, would you? Everything’ll be fine,” Harrison rolled his eyes, nodding as Tom finally got in the elevator.

“Whatever you say, mate.”

The office was surprisingly very… vacant when you arrived Monday afternoon. You ran into Tess in the lobby as she was leaving, mentioning something about some last minute errands to run before she finally went home. You hadn’t been paying attention, in all honesty. The anticipation and tension building up inside had been messing with you since you had read Tom’s messages.

The fact that the entire office would be empty did nothing to help the dirty, hopeful thoughts sprouting in your mind on the elevator ride up.

Nor did it help when Tom surprised you right outside his office, a small bouquet of roses in hand.

“How are you?” He asked as you took the gift, following him into the room.

“Good. Less stressed since the… last time you saw me,” You forgot what last time had entailed, but clearly he hadn’t. He smirked at your answer as he leaned against his desk, hands clasped over his legs as he looked at you.

“That’s good to hear, love. Now,” Shamelessly eyeing you up and down, he stood up, rounding the corner of his desk. “... the reason why I asked you here today was because I have a little something for you. Here,”

He held up a tiny envelope. You took a step forward, taking the envelope and opening it. Inside was a brand new credit card, your name typed out in gold letters over a smooth, black background.

“This card is linked to the shared funds. You have unlimited access, as per the contract.” Tom was smiling as he watched you study the card. “Everything alright?” He returned to his seat, raising an eyebrow as you locked eyes with him.

“Yes, everything - everything’s fine,” You said, running the pad of your thumb over your name. What else is there to say?

“You can tell me anything, darling. That’s what I’m here for,” Tom rose and walked up to you, taking your hand as he sat down in one of the seats behind you. He pulled you down, grabbing your waist as he sat you on his lap.

Tom could sense your fear, inciting his own as he looked at you. He flashed you a small smile as he slowly rubbed your arms, goosebumps forming as his warm hands made contact with your freezing skin.

“I know it’s a lot, love. But there’s no need to be shy,” He whispered, one hand dropping to your thigh, gently squeezing. You met his soft gaze, hyper aware of how close the two of you now were.

His hand ran down the length of your leg draped over the armrest, his eyes slowly dropping to your lips. As his hand slowly passed over your knee, you pressed your thighs together, trapping him. You bit your lip while meeting his darker gaze, his hand tightly squeezing the flesh he could reach.

“I don’t like playing games unless I win, princess.” You bit back your tongue, trapping the moan that was bound to escape as he spoke. Nodding, you leaned forward, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

“You always win, daddy,” You whispered, your fingers intertwining with the loose curls at the nape of his neck. Tom growled, wasting no time in pulling you down to him, crashing his lips against yours.

You whined into the kiss, Tom’s lips soft and rough against your own. He took the opportunity and slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you readily let him do so. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as you felt his tongue trace over yours with ease. Your lips moved in sync, as if they were a perfect match.

He grunted the second you tugged on his hair, the sound absolutely divine to your ears. You couldn’t help but smile, only to have it fade when he pulled away. He smirked at the soft mewling falling from your lips as he pushed your legs off the armrest, forcing you to stand.

“I want you to feel my hands everywhere, darling,” He said as you looked at him in confusion, gasping as he gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling you back onto him. Now that you were straddling his lap, Tom brought you back down to him, biting your bottom lip hard, his tongue slowly licking over where his teeth had just been. One of his hands was cradling the back of your head as he slipped his tongue past your lips, while the other dropped to your ass, kneading the flesh.

Your hands pulled on his hair every time he smacked your ass, making him groaning into the kiss with every tug. His lips never left yours for a second, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth like it was the first time.

The first time.

It clicked in your mind right then that this really was the first time Tom had actually kissed you. Your heartbeat seemed to race even faster than before, but you were too busy to give it much thought.

You weren’t even aware that you had been grinding on him while you kissed, until you felt his fingers rubbing you over your leggings.

He moaned into the kiss as you tugged on his hair again, pushing your hips down against his as his fingers quickened their pace. The knot in your stomach was starting to tighten, Tom’s lips moving in tandem with your own as he lost himself in you.

Everything was so close, yet so far.

The knock at the door made you both jump, Tom’s grip on your ass keeping you pressed against him as he motioned for you to stay quiet.

“Who is it?” He called out, his breathing dripping with anticipation as he tried to fix his hair with one hand, the other still on you.

“It’s me, mate. Dunno why you’ve locked the door, you freak, but -”

“Shut up, Harrison. Give me a second, for fuck’s sake,” He patted your ass gently, nodding at his desk as you both stood up. “I really don’t want to ask this of you, love, but I need you to hide… under the desk.” He flashed you a sheepish smile, his hand smoothing over his tie as you sighed, nodding.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” He whispered as he squeezed your ass one more time, watching you manage to quickly duck down under the desk and out of plain sight. He adjusted his suit jacket as he walked over to the door, taking a deep breath as he unlocked it.

He didn’t even get a chance to open it himself before Harrison made his way in, almost hitting Tom square in the face with the door itself.

“Jesus, have you ever heard of manners?” Tom scoffed, running a hand over his slacks as Harrison walked by. When he brushed up against something standing out slightly more prominently than he had thought, he tried not to blush as he quickly shut the door.

“What is with you, Holland? Did you not hear what I just said?” Harrison raised an eyebrow as Tom hurried back to his desk, nearly slipping on the rug his chair sat on.

“No, you fucker. What did you say?” Tom’s face was flushed, but Harrison paid no attention as he set down a familiar envelope.

“You got her fund access? You’re joking, right?”

“No, clearly I’m not, you imbecile. Why do you care, anyways? It’s my money.” Harrison rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he looked down at Tom.

“Yeah, it is your money. You only ever think with your dick and your wallet, don’t you? God, you’re so blind,” He muttered, running a hand through his hair as he started to pace back and forth.

“Don’t be such an ass, Haz. What’s that supposed to mean anyway?”

“Which part, twat?”

“Where I only think with my wallet and my dick - oh, fuck,” Tom cursed, dropping his gaze as he felt your hand running up and down the outline of his length. You were out of his view, but your hand was all he needed to see as you gently gripped him through his slacks.

“What’s wrong?” Harrison’s voice drew his attention away before he could stop you. You smirked to yourself when you noticed him pushing his chair forward, seeking you out.

“No - nothing, everything is perfectly fine,” Tom spoke through gritted teeth as you slowly palmed him, squeezing his cock just right every few seconds. Harrison simply nodded, even though he wasn’t thoroughly convinced.

“You better not be dying because of something you to-”

“No! Definitely, no, not that.” Tom muttered, your teasing pushing him closer to the brink. Not now. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly when he felt your thumb put desperately needed pressure on the head of his cock, a growl almost forcing its way out of his chest. “I’m fine, it’s just a fucking stomachache, I promise. Did you need anything, or did you just come by to annoy me?

“You know it’s my favorite hobby, Tommy.”

“God, don’t call me that,”

“... Anyways, I’m actually here to remind you about that dinner we have with your parents tomorrow. That’s why you had me make the appointment at Optimo later, remember?” Shit. Tom bit down on his lip as he felt you squeeze his cock tight, your hand massaging him as you moved up and down his length. He grabbed your wrist, halting your movements as he looked up at Harrison, nodding.

“Yes, thank you for that wonderful reminder, mate. I didn’t forget. I just have some more paperwork to finish before I head over there, so if you don’t mind,” He gestured towards the door, rolling his eyes when Harrison jokingly bowed.

“Of course, my good sir. Or, actually - ”

“No, don’t you dare say it, otherwise I will rip your head off, you twisted fuck. I’ll text you later, yeah?” Harrison laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, sounds good. Later, man.”

The second Harrison shut the door, Tom pushed his chair back, practically dragging you on your knees out from under his desk. He stood up, taking your other hand and roughly pulled you to your feet.

“Go lock the door so I can punish you for what you did. Now.” Tom pushed you away, slapping your ass hard. Wincing at the sting, your heart racing loudly in your ears, you quickly went up to the door, turning the lock with ease. You definitely seemed needy and desperate at this point as you practically ran back to him, panting as you stood before him.

“Get on your knees, princess,” He whispered, cupping your cheek and locking eyes with you as you did what he asked. “... and keep your eyes on me.”

He let go, moving his hand over the zipper of his slacks as he slowly undid them. You watched his movements with a growing eagerness and sense of fear building up in the pit of your stomach.

You rested your hands on his hips once he finally pulled his slacks down, revealing his boxers.

“Get to work, baby girl. Show daddy you’re sorry.” He caressed your cheek as you met his gaze, nodding. You dipped your fingers under the waistband, gently nuzzling your nose along the side of his clothed erection. You tried your hardest not to smirk when you saw the way his cock strained against his boxers with the slightest touch.

Tom grunted as you finally pulled down his briefs, his cock slipping out and coming up to rest against his dress shirt. You practically moaned at the sight; he was painfully hard, precome dripping down the head of his cock.

His hand was cradling the back of your head, watching you through a heavy lidded state. Keeping your eyes on his, you drew your tongue from the base, all the way along the underside of his cock until you reached the head. Lingering for just a second to collect the dripping precome on your tongue, you sat up on your knees, pulling away to kiss up his stomach as you pulled his dress shirt up.

He groaned and thrusted his hips out, seeking your mouth. You smiled, nipping at his stomach, careful not to touch his cock at all.   “No teasing me,” He growled.

You glanced up at him, but his eyes were shut tight.  You kissed back down his body, pulling away until your mouth was hovering just above his tip.  Your hand moved down from his hip, barely brushing against his balls, eliciting the softest groan from him.

“Daddy,” Your voice was breathy and aroused, and it had Tom muttering curses and blinking his eyes open to look down at you.  You knew your shallow breathing on his cock was driving him insane, since his hips were shallowly thrusting towards your mouth.

“Come on, princess,” his voice low and strained with arousal and frustration. You slowly opened your mouth, keeping your eyes on his as you slowly took his cock into your mouth.  He groaned as he watched you take him in, inch by inch. His thick cock stretched your mouth wide, making your jaw ache right away. You heard him muttering softly, one of his hands slowly moving up to brush a few strands of hair off your face. His fingers were shaking slightly with effort, forcing himself to hold back from grabbing you and thrusting into the back of your throat.

You pulled back until just his tip was in your mouth, and you sucked softly, smiling around his cock. You looked up and gave him a curt nod, with a look that said go ahead, and he groaned. “Such a good girl.”

He threaded his fingers through your hair to hold you still and thrusted his hips forward, pushing his cock back into your mouth until he bumped the back of your throat.  His cock muffled the whine in your throat, yet he still felt the vibrations and groans from the feeling, his hips bucking into you, chasing it.

“God, you’re such a good girl for daddy, yeah?” His voice was wrecked, deep and rough, and it sent a heart stopping thrill straight to your aching core, making you shift on your sore knees to squeeze your thighs together. He thrusted again and again, grunting at the wet sounds and moans coming from your throat.

“Oh, fuck.” He was growing relentless with his pace, getting more desperate the closer he got to his orgasm. You closed your eyes, soft, desperate noises coming from you; you were practically overwhelmed by him.  A few tears slipped out of the corners of your eyes, and you felt Tom’s thumb wipe them away.

“So fucking perfect. Look at me, darling,” You blinked, clearing away the tears to lock eyes with Tom, his chest heaving and eyes wide, fixed on your mouth around his cock.  

“You want me to come in your mouth, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, nodding as best you could. The rough edge to his words suddenly made you so fucking desperate for his cum, to make him come. “Too bad.” 

A look of confusion crossed over your face as Tom pulled you off his cock, lowly grunting as it slapped against his lower stomach. He pulled your hair sharply, eliciting the neediest mewl from you as he motioned for you to stand up.

“You don’t get what you want when you tease me, princess. Let this serve as a reminder,” He growled in your ear, slapping your ass as he turned you around to face his desk.

He pressed you down against the cold top, grabbing your wrists before you could get ahold of the desk’s edge. He pulled open a drawer to his left, pulling out the tie he had placed there earlier.

He looped the tie around your wrists, binding them together against your back. Once he was satisfied with the tightness, he braced himself against the desk, running a hand over your ass.

“The things I’d love to do you…” He cooed, dipping his hand between your thighs, gingerly brushing his fingers over your drenched folds.

“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you, princess?” You whined in response, pushing your ass back. Tom chuckled, spreading your wetness around, actively avoiding your sensitive clit.

He pulled his hand away and you hissed in response, turning in time to see him stroking his cock with his fingers soaked in your arousal. You moaned at the sight, biting down on your lip when Tom locked eyes with you.

“I know how badly you need this sweetheart, but unfortunately, you’ve been a very bad girl,” He stood between your legs, spreading them with his hand as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. “So don’t you dare think for a second that I’m going to let you come.”

He punctuated that last word with a deep thrust into your cunt, your walls clenching around him instantly. Tom growled, bracing himself against the desk with one hand as he pushed you down on your stomach with the other. You moaned as he pulled out, the slow drag of his thick cock against your walls driving you insane.

Thankfully, the teasing didn’t last too long.

He picked up a rough pace, his thrusts pushing you hard against the desk, bruises bound to form on your hips. He gripped your hip hard as he pounded into you, the sound of his hips smacking against your ass echoing in the empty office space.

“Fuck, just like that, princess,” He groaned, dropping his hand to your ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze. You moaned at this words, pushing your ass back to meet his hips. With every thrust, you could hear the squelching sound your arousal was making around his cock. The friction was enticing; every pass of his hard cock against your clenching walls drove you closer to the brink. His pace was picking up, the grip on your ass getting tighter with every thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunted, slamming into you again and again, chasing his release. He leaned over you, dropping his head against your shoulder as he kept his brutal pace. You clenched around him once more, triggering his release. You moaned as you felt his teeth sink into your shoulder, his growls muffled against your skin.

Your cunt milked him through his orgasm, hot spurts of come coating your walls as his cock throbbed inside you. He didn’t let you savor the moment for too long, pulling out once he came down from his high.

You moaned at the sensation, becoming aware of just how wet the inside of your thighs were and how tight the coil in your stomach was before it slowly dissipated. This fucker.

Tom undid the tie around your wrists, gently massaging the sensitive skin as he helped you stand up.

“You did so well - wait here, sweetheart,” Tom whispered in your ear. He sat you down in his chair, pulling up his underwear and slacks and stripping off his dress shirt as he walked away. You closed your eyes, drifting off into a post-sex haze, even when you didn’t come.

Tom opened the closet door, pulling out a new dress shirt, and a few small towels. He slipped on the new shirt, tossing the other into a small hamper in the corner. He shut the door, slipping into the bathroom off to the side. He ran the towels under warm water, wringing them in the sink.

He returned, a small smile on his face as he walked up to you, stroking your arm. You slowly opened your eyes, returning his smile as you looked up at him.

“Let me clean you up before we leave, love,” He said, dropping down to his knees. You perked up at this words, watching him gingerly brush the warm towel over your thighs. You moaned quietly when he passed the wet cloth over your sensitive pussy, your thighs instinctively pressing together at the sensation.

“I meant what I said before; I’ll make it up to you, princess. I just,”

“It’s fine, I promise.” You interjected, cupping his cheek as he looked up at you. Tom smiled, gently pulling your hand away as he finished up, rising to his feet. He tossed the towels in a wastebasket, holding his hand out for you. You stood up, feeling a bit exposed as he walked you around his desk.

“I have a different change of clothes for you, if you’d like them,” He said, stepping back as you stood in front of the seat the two of you had been sharing what seemed to be ages ago. You only nodded, your voice hitched in your throat as you watched him walk away.

He came back with two small bags in hand. He gave you one, setting the other on the seat next to you.

“This is new lingerie; again, it’s not exactly fitted, but it’s better than wearing something I may have ruined. These,” he gestured to the second bag on the chair. “... are some new clothes. I have to make a call, but I’ll be waiting for you outside, okay?” You nodded again, teeth digging into your bottom lip as he wrapped an arm around your waist. He pulled you into his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. You gasped when you felt his fingers brush against your clit, your hips bucking against his hand.

“If you behave, I’ll reward you so well, darling. Now, if you will,” He chuckled, dropping his hand to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. You watched him leave, your chest heaving as you finally let out a deep breath.

Holy shit.

Once you were dressed, you stuffed your old clothes into the bag Tom had given you. You walked out of the office, spotting him at the end of the hall, pacing back and forth.

“I don’t care what he says, Sam. I can’t be there by then, the ride is too long and I can’t leave the office early! Tell him I’ll call him later, alright? Thanks,” He ended the call right as you reached him, a hand running through his messy, post-sex hair. When he saw you, he smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist again.

“Hi,” He whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

“Hi,” You said, growing flustered with every passing second you spent standing so close together. You walked in tandem, passing the elevators as you headed down the hall. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

“My tailor’s shop. I need to get new suits fitted for some upcoming events, and I thought I’d get your lingerie fitting done at the same time. If that’s okay with you, love?” Tom didn’t look at you, his phone the sole focus of his attention as you continued walking.

“No, that’s - that’s fine. Events?”

“Yes; I’ll get you the list of when and where, because I need you with me for all of them. They won’t be for a little while, so I’ll have time to get your outfits ready before then.”

“Outfits?” Your eyes widened in surprise, following Tom as he led you down an adjacent hall, where another elevator was located.

“Yes - ball gowns, that sort of thing. This,” Tom stopped in front of a set of black chrome elevator doors. “Is the elevator that takes you directly to my private garage. If I ever need you to meet me somewhere and you’re here, this is where you’ll come. Okay?” He looked over at you as he pressed a button, typing in a code.

“Yes,”

“Wonderful. Come along, darling.”

Tom’s driver was waiting for you as you stepped into the garage. He was leaning against the passenger door of a sleek Mercedes SUV. Tom waved him away as you approached, taking it upon himself to open the back door for you. You sat together in the back of the luxury car, essentially ignoring each other until the driver rolled up the partition.

The entire car ride there, Tom’s hand stayed on your thigh, never moving an inch. The ache between your legs grew intensely with every shared glance between you, but he never made a move. You didn’t know if it pissed you off or turned you on even more, but either way, you were suffering and he was to blame.

When you pulled up to the shop, you couldn’t stop staring. It was massive; spanning three floors, it was the corner suite of a fancy building in the heart of New York City, gold and black decorating the outside. The driver pulled up around the back of the building, opening the doors for you both. Tom helped you out, keeping his arm around you as you headed into the shop.

You were greeted right away, two older men ushering you into a private section of the main floor.

“Mr. Holland, dashing as ever.”

“Mr. Ricci, you’re too kind. This is Y/N,” You smiled at the tailor, shaking his hand as he nodded.

“Miss Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you. This is Bernardo, my brother.” You smiled at the other man, Tom’s grip on your waist keeping you from moving to shake his hand.

“Well, how can we be of service tonight?”

“I need to be fitted for four new suits; Osterfield sent over the design schemes earlier this week, correct?”

“Yes, sir, we have them in the sewing room. And for the miss?”

“We’ll need Ana to take in her measurements for undergarments, please.” Tom squeezed your hip, smiling at the tailors as they nodded.

“Perfect; let’s get to work.”

You enjoyed the little show the tailors helped put on for you; they had Tom stand on a pedestal, taking in measurements for his suit jacket, dress shirts, and slacks. He snuck a few glances at you through the mirror, his eyes glinting under the bright lights. You always smiled back at him, giggling when the brothers’ fussed over Tom’s proposal to make his dress shirts a little tighter.

When they finished, they packed up their things, handing Tom back his jacket.

“Would you like to wait for Ana, or should we send in our other seamstress?”

“How long until Ana is finished?” Tom motioned for you to come by his side as he slipped his jacket on.

“At least another thirty minutes, sir.” Tom nodded, pulling you to him once you arrived.

“I think we’ll wait, then. You mind if we stay here, Ricci? I want to show her around the room a bit - she’s never been shown the finest tailor work in all of New York,” The brothers laughed, blushing at Tom’s words.

“You flatter us too much, Mr. Holland. Feel free to look around; I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” They parted with those words, waving goodbye to you as Tom left your side. You watched him part the curtains to one of the private dressing rooms, smirking as he called your name.

“The best tailor work of New York is in this dressing room?” You quipped, giggling when Tom playfully smacked your ass, gently pushing you into the room.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll find a long overdue orgasm just as amazing,” He whispered in your ear. You couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out at his words, earning you another smack on your rear.

Tom shut the curtain, pushing you up against the wall. He spread your legs with his knee, roughly pulling your leggings down your thighs. You mewled when Tom started sucking on your neck, his lips finding your soft spot in seconds.

“You’ve gotta stay quiet, princess. Think you can do that for me?” He whispered in your ear, his breaths coming out as pants as he toyed with the band of your new panties.

“Yes,” You answered, pushing your hips forward in search of his hand. He chuckled at your response, his hand pushing you back against the wall.

With one hand holding you down, the other finally made its way over the thin strip of fabric barely covering your soaked pussy. Tom pulled your panties to the side, grunting deep in his throat as he brushed two fingers through your wetness.

You moaned at the feeling, the tight coil in your stomach reappearing instantly. Tom wasted no time in thrusting his fingers in, a loud squeal escaping you as he did so. He pulled them out right away, tutting under his breath.

“What did I just say, sweetheart?” He looked you dead in the eyes, the rough edge to his words flooding your core with another wave of arousal. Your voice was long forgotten, your eyes focused on Tom’s hand as he brought his two glistening fingers up to your mouth, brushing them gently against your lips.

“Open wide, baby girl.” Once your mouth was open, he slipped them in, the two of you moaning in unison as you tasted yourself. You whined when you felt Tom’s other hand part your folds, your sounds lost in your throat as you sucked on his fingers.

Tom growled as you swirled your tongue around them, his thumb flicking your clit as he slowly buried his fingers deep in your cunt. He curled them right against your sweet spot, rubbing hard. You moaned against his hand, resting your head on the wall behind you as Tom pressed his lips against your exposed neck.

He sucked on your sweet spot just below your ear, hard enough to bring you closer to the edge. He removed his fingers when he felt your walls clenching around them, a low grunt in his chest flooding your pussy even more.

He rolled your clit between two talented fingers in lazy circles, teasing you, keeping you on the bare edge of your desperately needed release.

“Does my princess need to come?” He cooed in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

All you could manage was a nod. He smirked, pushing two fingers into your pussy again, thrusting in and out. The heel of his hand grinding deliciously against your clit with every movement, while his lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking your soft skin along the way.

The wet sounds your arousal made as he continued thrusting his fingers pushed you to the brink, your moans growing louder with every move. Tom pulled his fingers out of your mouth, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you steady as you bucked your hips against his hand.

He brought his lips to yours, swallowing your mewls as you came with a whimper, your orgasm washing over you like the sweetest relief you had ever tasted. Tom worked you through it, slowly pumping his fingers in and out, dragging his thumb over your clit. His arm held you up as your knees gave out, your forehead resting against his. He nipped at your bottom lip as you came down from your high, his tongue soothing the sweet sting as you slowly regained some composure.

“How’s that for a nice reward, darling?” He said against your lips. You sighed contently, nodding your head as he started to pull away. He brought his fingers to his mouth, locking eyes with you as he slowly swirled his tongue, licking them clean. You whined at the sight, adjusting your panties back over your sensitive center. Tom chuckled, bringing his hand up to soothingly rub your arm.

“What do you say to coming over to my place after we finish up here? I’d love to show you something.” He bit his lip as you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“Should I fear for my life?” Tom chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled your leggings up to your hips, letting his hands linger.

“I would hope not, love. Just want to show off to you a little bit, is all. Only if you want to, of course.” Tom’s anxiety was flaring up, but he ignored it as he awaited your reply. You wrapped your arms around his neck, twirling around the loose curls at the base of his head.

“As long as you promise it’ll be a good time, Tom,” You flashed him a cheeky smile, giggling when he squeezed your ass, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I can guarantee it’ll be the best time of your life, princess.”

[youandtom2]

Praise You Like I Should (CEO!Tom Holland) 18+

Summary: You were always a people-pleaser, desperate to do right by everybody no matter what they asked. Being an intern, your boss Jackson exploited your people-pleaser tendencies in a very unprofessional manner, and CEO Mr Holland wasn't happy about it... Themes: smut! little bit of fluff and angst, dom!tom and sub!reader, oral (m+f), major praise kink, sir kink, overstimulation, masturbation (alone) , slight jewelry kink w/c: 10k+

MASTERLIST

You look over the dimly lit hall before you, tables decorated to the nines with hand-folded serviettes, silver-ware suited for royalty, gleaming as they sit on a fresh white linen table cloth, surrounded by tall plum-coloured cushioned chairs. There’s about twelve tables dotted around the hall identical to one another, waiting to be filled by guests in about an hour or so. The room sparkles with the metallic colouring of birthday banners and balloons floating around the room, illuminated by the dancing, multicoloured disco lights. 

The surprise birthday party you were instructed to organise is for Mr Holland’s business partner, Taylor. They’re each other's yin and yang, mixing together like oil on water but somehow they make it work. The informal Taylor bases his relationship with his employees on friendship and a sense of mutual equality, where the formal Mr Holland prefers professionalism and respect on top of trust. Nevertheless, both are equally respected as bosses and businessmen in their own right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you all prefer one over the other, but if you had to make a choice as to who you would rather hang out with, the answer is an obvious one.

As an intern, it isn’t exactly part of your remit to organise and host birthday events, but your boss, Jackson, ordered you to do it. Jackson’s notable within the workforce for several reasons; he’s outgoing, social, ambitious, confident, and is unofficially Taylor’s kiss ass. He appointed himself (ahem, you) with the responsibility of organising Taylor’s surprise party, not because he thinks he’s capable, but because he’s looking for recognition. What people don’t know is that he’s actually a lazy guy who has gotten himself drunk with the taste of superiority, abusing you as his own personal slave for favours both big (entirely consequential and out of your depth) and small (worthless and petty). Unfortunate to be his first intern, you’ve realised how gluttonous he’s become with you at his disposal how and whenever he pleases. However, being placed at the bottom of the pecking order, you’re not at liberty to say no. 

Jackson’s not your favourite boss by any means, but by God he keeps you busy. It tooks weeks for you to organise the venue, the catering, the entertainment, the decorations, the invitations, most importantly the cake, and the little oddities that everyone forgets about like hand-written name tags and having straws at the bar. You’ve been working relentlessly and after weeks of stress, late and often sleepless nights, numerous phone calls and emails, cancellations and rebookings, tonight is the night that all of that can end. The curse of being a perfectionist and a people-pleaser can finally release its hold on you.

Just as you finish clarifying the itinerary with the hotel’s bar staff, you notice a dark figure walking through the entrance. Your eyes trail nervously from the black patent shoes to the white shirt peeking beneath the black suit of which belongs to Mr Holland. He has his tortoise shell glasses perched perfectly on his nose, reflecting the colours of the disco lights as he walks towards you, stoic and poised. A silent ‘fuck’ crosses your mind. 

Being the CEO eight floors above you, Mr Holland’s face isn’t one that you see as consistently as Jackson’s. He’s at least 6 tiers above you in the pecking order, one of two to take superiority over a long line of directors, specialists, managers, supervisors and assistants before you. So you can hardly blame yourself when you start to feel nerves gathering in your chest, despite how well-respected he is amongst the workforce. 

His eyes finally find yours and he clarifies your name. You can appreciate that he’s at least taken the time to learn your face. “You're Jackson’s intern, right?” 

Wow. He knows you more than you thought. “Yes sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“No, thank you. I was just coming to take a look around. I’m normally part of organising the celebrations but this year I’ve been too busy.” He wordlessly waves a hand before weaving in and out the tables, reading each name tag as he passes by. You watch nervously as he inspects the room until finding himself in front of what you call The Shrine with folded arms, almost bursting at the seams. More simply, it’s a collage of photos of Taylor taken over the years pieced together in a mosaic standing on an easel, gathered and no less arranged by you, of course. Next to it stands an empty corkboard, waiting to be filled with pictures from tonight's celebration, provided by the pop-up photobooth beside it. 

“Whose idea was this?” There’s a warm smile on Mr Holland’s face.

“Mine, sir.”

“And the handcrafted name tags?”

“Also me, sir.”

“I love it. It’s very creative.” You exhale loudly, relieved. The people-pleaser inside you starts to buzz, fluttering wildly at Mr Holland’s praise. “Did you…” His eyes squint narrowly, honing in on you. “Did you organise all of this?” 

“Yes, I did. The venue and catering took some negotiating but once that was planned, the rest came with time.”

“Impressive.”

You’re about to thank him but you're interrupted by the obnoxious calling of your name in a voice that booms from the entrance of the hall. Jackson marches towards you and you stand a little straighter. He doesn’t notice Mr Holland standing in the corner of the room next to the shrine. Instead of Mr Holland announcing himself, which is what you expected him to do, he sinks his hands into his pockets and quietly observes from afar. 

“I need a rundown--” Please, that would be great. “--and for the love of God where is the present I was supposed to get Taylor?” Thanks for getting me a present for him, I’ll pay you back.

Your answer is succinct and to the point. “I’ve left it in your hotel room; it’s a dinner reservation at Keens Steakhouse in New York. As for tonight, the bar will be open for guests when they arrive at 6:30pm, Taylor will arrive between 7:00pm and 7:15pm for his surprise, the buffet will open at 7:30pm and cake will be served at 8:30pm. Last orders are at 11:30pm and the curfew is midnight. Everyone has checked in and has their hotel room key, although Kelsey couldn’t make it tonight, so her room is spare.”

Jackson gives a gruff nod, mumbling something intelligible under his breath. He cautiously looks to the bar, then narrows his eyes at you with a pointed finger wavering in your face. “I need tonight to be perfect so I need you to be sober. No alcohol. Got it?” In other words, I can’t be bothered making sure everything goes smoothly so I need you to stay sober while I get shit-faced. You nod, pursing your lips angrily as he walks away from you without a final word.

With Jackson no longer in sight, the tension finally deflates and your shoulders relax. You hate that every interaction with Jackson is a test of your skill and knowledge, caught in a vicious cycle of having to prove yourself worthy time and time again. 

As Mr Holland emerges from the corner of the room, it’s an observation he also confronts having finally witnessed Jackson’s true authoritarian nature. His eyes are fixated on the golden doors in a stare so firm it could burn holes through the metal, and just when he steps into the brighter lights of the bar, his overall demeanour changes. 

His jaw ticks when he finally faces you. “Jackson’s keeping you on your toes tonight it seems.” 

“He always does, sir.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, recounting the numerous occasions his brutal demands have worked you to the bone.

“I don’t think I appreciate the way he talks to you.” 

“Oh I’m used to it by now.”

“So he talks to you like that all the time?” Shit. In truth, Jackson would never have spoken so harshly to you had he known anyone was in the room let alone Mr Holland, but that was his mistake. One you’re not sorry for. “Well, if he isn’t going to tell you what an amazing job you have done, I will. You should be proud of organising all of this by yourself, it’s not easy. Well done.” 

Your chest swells with pride as Mr Holland pats a gentle hand against your upper arm. Finally, your first taste of positive reinforcement. “Thank you, sir.” 

Mr Holland’s smirk quirks at the edges. His hands find themselves deep within his pockets once again as he coolly and oh-so-calmly exits through the doors. 

~~~~

You are insomnia personified. As relieved as you are that the night is going exactly to plan, with the nervous anticipation over, you just cannot wait to get to your bed knowing that the stress is over. You have hours of sleep to catch up on, a stone of weight to put back on and friends and family to respond to, and without a single alcoholic drink to lift your spirits, you’re finding it harder and harder to keep the exhaustion at bay. Beyond the exhaustion, however, there’s a sadness hidden deep within your conscience and while you glance over the decorations you hung up as the melodic singing of ‘happy birthday’ rings in the air, it spreads. It’s clear that people are oblivious to what makes you so downcast on a celebratory night as they pass nothing more than a glance your way, but in all honesty, you much prefer it to be that way. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the tear building in the corner of your eye. 

For now, you thrive on the compliments you’ve heard about the venue, the decorations, the drinks and the food, each and every one of them satisfying your perfectionist mindset. Okay, so what no-one knows you organised the party, and sure, you can oversee the fact that none of the compliments are directed to you in particular, because in the end, you’ve gained Mr Holland’s approval and that’s enough for you.

Well, it was enough until Taylor took to the stage for a speech.

“...and a special shout-out to Jackson for putting this all together for me. This is absolutely amazing, I couldn’t have asked for more.” 

Your heart sinks in your chest and your ears instinctively drown out the clapping and cheering of the crowd around you, eyes set in stone as they watch Jackson accept the dedication so graciously that it makes you sick to your stomach. It takes every ounce of energy you have left in you to suppress the wobble in your lip at the sight of Jackson soaking up the glory like a sponge. Jackson taking the credit for your hard work was something you should’ve expected from him. After all, he is lazy and will never be willing to admit it, definitely not in front of Taylor. Still, the chase for recognition was always going to be a losing battle for you; you’re an intern for fuck’s sake, you are merely just a name and a face for most, unfulfiling of the protagonistic arc the people here want in their stories. Jackson, the kiss ass, makes much more sense being the hero than an underdog intern. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, accepting defeat. 

You claim an empty seat at an empty table in a dark corner of the room, far from the crowd mingling on the dance floor and you remain there as the party continues into the night. The glass of tepid water looks pitiful in your hands, its lack of taste offering no respite from your sorrow. 

With fifteen minutes until last orders, you begin counting down to the moment you can retire to your bed which you know won’t arrive until after you’ve cleaned up the hall. You’re jealous of some of the guests who have already decided to leave the party.

The chair to your right suddenly scrapes across the floor and you’re slightly taken aback when Mr Holland sits close beside you and abruptly rests an elbow upon the table, blocking your view of the crowd and demanding your attention. A cedarwood scent silently announces itself and you inhale it deeply, finding sanctuary in its presence despite how startled you are by it. Your breath is simply taken from you when he shuffles himself closer. He isn’t wearing his usual attire; something a little less formal, but likely to be just as expensive. With that expensive taste comes his expensive appearance: clean, styled, decorated admirably and booming with authority. A warmth starts to take a hold of you. 

His movements are harsh and his body moves with brute intention, but behind those curls, his eyes hold sympathy, knowing what is upsetting you before it even spills from your lips. You try to fake a smile but he can see right through it. 

“I thought it was you that organised the party,” he calmly states. 

“I did. But because Jackson instructed me to plan a party means he takes responsibility for it.” 

Mr Holland doesn’t waste a single second. “It isn’t right. It’s one thing to speak to you so rudely, but it’s another to take credit for your hard work, and I’m starting to believe that Jackson doesn’t value you as an intern as much as he values the superiority that comes with it, am I right?” 

Anxiously, your eyes catch Jackson lazily hanging over the bar and demanding another drink. If Mr Holland were to know the truth, it would get Jackson in a lot of trouble and the people-pleaser inside you is screaming at you to just deny it all. Your skewed perception of professionalism means skipping over these things, something about snitching just seems so petty and childish, and that’s not the impression you want to give Mr Holland of all people.

Mr Holland’s stern voice brings you back. “You’re not answering to him now, you’re answering to me. Am. I. Right?” 

You gulp. “Yes, sir.” 

“I intend to have a word with Jackson--” 

“Mr Holland, it’s okay, really--” You try to protest but he quickly rests his hand on top of yours, his warmth enveloping it completely, and your mind halts. Your heart flutters the moment his fingers curl just the little bit tighter, a compassion that says more than words could. It’s genuine, caring, but firm in a way that’s supportive, pledging to do right by you. 

“He will apologise to you and let everyone know the truth.” 

“Please, I don’t want to cause a hassle or stir anything in the office, I just want to do well. And what would it change if people knew the truth? It doesn’t bother me that much, honestly. Besides, you know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.” Desperately and without thinking, you twist your hand and your fingers interlock, returning the squeeze with a soft smile. Mr Holland tries his best to return the sentiment but you can tell the whole ordeal still troubles him and sits discontented by your side, a regretful sigh heaving through his lips. Soon, after a silent plea to let it go, he eventually sits level with you with a brighter sparkle to his eyes and instantly, the mood is lifted. You notice how his hand doesn’t leave yours. 

“You at least deserve a drink.” 

“I shouldn’t, I’m closing up tonight and I’m working early tomorrow.” 

He scowls for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, facing issue after issue the more you expose Jackson’s true nature. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, you should be having a day off.” 

“It’s laughable you think I get a day off,” you chuckle. The sad thing is, he thinks you’re joking. Jackson often sends you his overdraft of reports to complete over the weekend and has the cheek to deem you lucky that he gives you so much wisdom and experience. You can’t imagine Mr Holland being aware of this…

“Don’t be silly darling, everyone is entitled to days off. Even Taylor took a day off today for his birthday.” 

Again, your scathing laughter meets his ears and he tilts his head, that skewed eyebrow lifting high into his forehead. “No offence sir, but with his position, he can afford to. I don’t think interns have that same benefit--”

“Of course you do, it’s company policy that everyone is entitled to a day off on their birthday.” Before you get a word in, he’s already pulling out his phone from his suit pocket. “Tell me when your birthday is so I can make sure you get it off, and I know when to get you a birthday present. Taylor too--”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”

“We do it for all our employees, regardless if you’re an intern or not.” His calendar flashes to life before his eyes. “So when is it? June? July?” 

Your mouth suddenly goes dry and it gawps like a fish, not a usual response to such an easy question. Your fingers knead together on your lap as the sadness once again materialises and Mr Holland quickly senses something is amiss.

“It’s…it’s today. My birthday is…was today.” 

Mr Holland’s eyes widen with horror. It’s no less than a minute later that he finally replies. “And Jackson has you working?” 

“Since 7am this morning. I had asked for my birthday off two months ago because I did actually read the company policies, but he said interns can’t request holidays because they’re not permanent. I didn’t think anything of it.” 

“What?! For fuck’s sake…” Mr Holland twists his chair violently, its legs colliding with the table as he tries to face you more directly and leans forward, your knees slotting into the space between his. The wave of his anger has rolled back even higher in its tide and now, unlike before, there’s a vein popping at his temple. “Let me just make this clear, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re telling me that Jackson has knowingly denied you of your birthday holiday entitlement and instead had you plan someone else’s birthday just so that he can take credit for it, make you work through it and clean up after it as well?”

God. In his words it sounds so desperately sad. Up until this point, you were able to distract yourself from getting caught up in the tragedy of it all, but now there’s nothing stopping the gates from opening and wallowing in self-pity. Although your blurring eyes tell of your true emotions, the forced smile on your lips does everything it can to convince both you and Mr Holland that you’re not bothered by it. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Mr Holland’s heart inevitably sinks. In that moment, he thinks of the cruelty behind Jackson ordering you to buy and wrap his present for Taylor when you have none to open. He thinks of you, alone, buying the candles of the birthday cake you wouldn’t be blowing out. He thinks of you, just hours ago as the crowd sings happy birthday to another person, blissfully ignorant of your sorrow. He thinks of the hours you spent working when you should have been with your friends and family. It’s all of the things you truly deserve, but have been robbed from you. 

He reaches once again for your hand, now resting on your lap, and the tips of his fingers graze your thigh. You would be a fool to miss it. “Darling,” he sincerely murmurs, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.” 

The fake smile takes lead and the rebel tear is wiped away. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault--”

“But it’s not okay. You…you didn’t even get to have a drink.” Damnit, your cheeks are wet again. “Did you at least get a break today?” Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO.

In fact, you spend so much time failing to not cry that Mr Holland assumes the worst. He takes in a long, deep breath and lures you into his embrace with a hand creeping up to the back of your head, and the second your forehead hits his shoulder, the dams break.  

“I’m just so tired,” you sniff. 

“You’ve been overworked, darling, that’s why.” His hand passes over your hair, gently cupping the curve of your head as he takes in every hiccup. His breath flows past your ears smoothly, broken up every few seconds with whispers of comfort. You feel horribly embarrassed, crying into the expensive suit of your CEO at the party you organised on your birthday: definitely not the definition of professionalism you are chasing. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” You retreat from his shoulder but the hand cupping the back of your head prevents you from travelling too far and you’re stuck, just inches from Mr Holland’s pitying eyes. He keeps you concealed from the crowd, but it’s not enough to hide from the burning glare of Jackson, his eyes drawing daggers at you from over Mr Holland’s shoulder. He’s somewhat frozen in a stupor, scarily steady for a man who was flailing over the bar minutes ago, but anger is a quick cure for intoxication. 

Mr Holland’s voice sidles quietly into your ear. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Get yourself up to bed, I’ll deal with Jackson.” 

“But--”

“I will not take no for an answer. Now go.” You shiver at the stern tone, appearing only as he turns to lock eyes with Jackson who’s faring a guilty look upon his face. As Mr Holland brings you both to a stand, he gently encourages you towards the golden doors and although you should be indulging in the relief of finally being let off, you can’t pull your focus away from Mr Holland’s cold stare that refuses to stray from Jackson. In the few seconds that it takes to walk from your chair to the doors, a clear, obvious shift in mood transpires, one that is felt by the entire room because now it isn’t just you that notices Mr Holland’s sudden decline in temperament. Evidently, everyone is quick to sense the tension. The crowd’s lively dancing now settles into an awkward shuffle and the singing dulls into hushed whispers because they know to never underestimate the seriousness of Mr Holland’s anger. It’s uncomfortable and intimidating, even more so if you’re the reason for his vexation and if that’s the case, you should be on your knees begging for his forgiveness. It’s the one power Mr Holland holds that Taylor, his business partner, his equal, doesn't possess. This is your first time seeing him exercise this power and it’s incredibly daunting. 

The beat of your heels clicking their way up the staircase is a quick one, not daring to hang around the unease any longer. The fresh smell of washed cotton that greets you in your room winds you down and you don’t spare a second of reflection before you strip yourself of your stiff dress, blister-inducing heels, thick make-up and the heavy stress. You slip right between the sheets, ready to drift asleep. 

The lights are switched off, your eyes are closed and your body properly relaxes. Yet inexplicably you can’t settle into your bed no matter how much you toss and turn. Rationale convinces you that it’s because you’re in a bed different from your own, that the mattress doesn’t have the mould of your body imprinted on it, and although it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, your inner conscience is telling you something else…

Flashes of memories made just half an hour prior spring to the surface and suddenly you’re watching yourself converse with Mr Holland again. But it isn’t exactly how you remember it.

For example, his hand is on your lap, gripping the curve of your thigh with his heat scorching through your skin when you know that, in reality, it was nothing more than a soft sweep. And when you both stood, you know he guided you with a gentlemanly hand, yet your dream sees his hand curving down the slope of your ass and squeezing the flesh. You have to refuse the idea of you shivering with arousal from hearing Mr Holland’s stern growl because truthfully, it was nerves. 

Or…was it both? 

You try to ignore it, but the seed has already been planted. Now all you can visualise is his fleeting touches, his soft voice praising you and calling you darling, the twinkle in his eyes as he sympathised for you, the caress of his hand through your hair as he comforted you, the way he cared for you, and fucking hell, the exhilaration of seeing him protect you so defensively when no one else did. His taut jaw, his clenched fists, his dark eyes, the pulsing vein at his temple, his eminence that commanded the room, the list is endless. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter, succumbing to the pleasure of your own fingers toying with your clit. You don’t quite remember the exact moment your hand slipped beneath your underwear, too caught up in your fantasy of Mr Holland to realise. Regardless, the movie in your mind continues to play out and by now, none of it reflects any real events from tonight - it’s all purely fictional.

His hand slides up between your thighs. He dons a devilish grin because he knows there’s a whole crowd blissfully unaware behind him. An innocent gasp slips from your lips and it lures his eyes to your mouth, panting as he traces the letters of his name over your covered cunt as a sign as to who it belongs to. Overrun with anticipation, you bite your lip, feeling the pad of his finger slip beneath your thong and…

“Oh my god! Shit!” Your body seizes, curling into itself as your fingers dull to a small twitch between your clenched thighs. There’s a blissful moment where you ravish the hot rush of blood pulsing at your pussy, letting it bubble until it slows to a simmer, and only when you come down from your high minutes later do you fully realise what has just happened. Eyes split wide open, you rise from your bed.

You just masturbated fantasising over your CEO. 

What in the hell have you gotten yourself into? 

~~~~

The morning comes surprisingly quickly and the hotel's thin curtains don't fully shield you from the sun's glare. It’s bright, directly in your face and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that it’s spotlighting you because it knows what you did last night. As if you forgot…

The guilt still ruins your conscience and you feel nothing but regret; fantasising and sexualising Mr Holland’s kindness is just the pinnacle of everything you disagree with and it doesn’t exactly define the sort of professionalism you strive for. 

Shaking it off as best you can, you refresh yourself with a shower and a harsh splash of cold water to your face, and by the time you open your laptop it’s 9am. There hasn’t been any emails from Jackson so far which you’re not too sure if you’re shocked by. It’s typical on a Saturday morning for Jackson to send you multiple reports with deliberately vague instructions that you would somehow have to decode and translate for yourself. But regarding last night’s events, perhaps he’s heeded Mr Holland’s words and decided to honour your weekend entitlements. 

The white screen stares back at you, watching you nervously bite your nails as if you’re expecting a red notification to pop up, attached to an email from Jackson with hungover words. A minute or two passes by and alas, nothing. Not a word. In all honesty, you don’t have an issue with it, not at all, but it means that your routine is completely disrupted and you’re struggling to decide what to do with yourself. And without work, you have nothing to distract you from last night’s sin while it plagues your mind. 

A new sweat arises and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and that’s the part you think is the worst. Why did it feel so fucking good?

What brings you out of your self-loathing is three quick, quiet knocks echoing from your door in quick succession. Curious, you open the door and when you see who stands there in all his formal glory, you wish you hadn’t. Your heart immediately jumps to your mouth. 

“Oh, Mr Holland--hi. I wasn’t expecting you…” Your words fade into a soft whisper when your eyes spot a small pink bag, its ribbon handles hooked daintily onto his fingers. Surely that can’t be what you think it is…?

He’s painfully quiet, a small smile painting his lips at what he sees; he’s never seen you dress so casually before and he wants to take a good long look at you, unsure of when he’ll see such a sight again. The weight of his stare burns holes through you, heating you from within.

Not a second later, he holds out the pink bag towards you and you forget to breathe. 

“Happy belated birthday,” he gently voices. Your fingertips graze each other as you take it from him. For such a small, delicate bag, it’s certainly weighty and your stomach drops thinking about how much money he’s stupidly wasted on you…

“Thank you sir, really. You didn’t have to do that.” A nervous chuckle escapes your dry mouth. “How…how did you get this so quickly? It’s barely past 9 in the morning.”

“I have a few contacts who owe me a few favours. And I just felt so guilty about you missing your birthday. Sorry you couldn’t celebrate it like you should’ve.”

 “Like I said, it’s okay--” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly but surely, a taunting smirk begins to form. “Am I going to have to give you the same ‘talking to’ I gave Jackson last night to make you realise that it is definitely not okay?”

Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes. “No, no, of course not. Sorry, I suppose that’s just the people-pleaser in me.” 

Mr Holland stands stoic before you, his head slightly tilted and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are watching you endearingly, drawing you into him, but everything else about him oozes something that makes you want to swallow a little harder. His confidence in himself is mildly intimidating and you wish you could feel the same. Just his being here creates a dizzying effect on you that you just can’t shake. 

“You can think of this as a congratulations of sorts too.” 

You tilt your head. “Congratulations?” 

“Mh-hm,” his eyes flit over your confusion, a devilish, haunting smirk gracing his wet lips. “Congratulations on becoming a permanent member of Taylor and I’s company.” 

Mr Holland admiring you be damned, you find yourself taking a step back in shock. “Are you…are you serious?” 

“Of course I’m serious, do you think I would lie to you?” 

“Not at all, I just, I thought it was going to be Jackson’s decision. I am his intern.” 

You aren’t a fool to miss the way his jaw ticks at the mention of Jackson’s name and all too quickly, a ferocious fire consumes his eyes. A small shiver cuts through your skin. “You don’t work for Jackson anymore because Jackson no longer works for me.” 

“What?!” 

“What did you think when I said I was going to deal with Jackson? That he was going to continue working for me even after finding out he was treating you badly? Or finding out that he orders you to do his work over the weekends? Or even when he blackmails you into doing jobs beyond your remit? How could you possibly think that I would let that sleazy bastard feed off my pay when I know he isn’t capable of the job? You’re far more deserving of the position than he is, far more deserving of the appreciation and beyond capable.”

“Sir, I…I can’t thank you enough. I’m very grateful. I won’t let you down, I promise.” 

“I know you won’t. Although I do sometimes wish you would’ve told me or Taylor about Jackson’s behaviour sooner. I don’t tolerate that kind of exploitation, not even for a second and you shouldn’t have either.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just so caught up in wanting to do well that I would’ve done anything to please the company.”

“Maybe you should stop spending your time trying to please other people, and focus on pleasing yourself.” His face gravitates just a hairsbreadth towards yours and in quieter, darker words, he whispers… “You were certainly capable of pleasing yourself last night.” 

You take a timid step back, mouth agape. You can’t think of anything to say, not when the ringing in your ears starts to resonate louder and louder. Shame swells like a disease and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. You are almost certain you didn’t hear anyone outside your room last night, how could he have possibly known? 

“I…um…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He smoothly leans against the door frame, his wicked grin tells you that he doesn’t believe a word you say. Nevertheless, he explains, not to worsen how mortified he knows you already feel, but to reminisce of the surge of adrenaline and lust that coursed through him last night. 

“I came by late last night to drop off your present. I didn’t think you would still be awake so I planned on leaving it at your door, and just as I bent down to place it there, I heard just the softest of moans—“

“I think you must be mistaken—“ An uneasy chuckle barely covers your tracks, leaving you just as compromised as before. 

“I thought you might’ve been with someone, but I then didn’t hear any other voices, so I assumed you were by yourself.” 

“Sir,” you squeak, intending to finish your sentence but you just don’t have the words nor the confidence to deny him of what he already knows. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable without the faintest idea of how to get yourself out of his commanding presence. 

A million and one emotions rage through you and drown you in a fluster. Your feet shuffle nervously beneath you, slowly inching your way back into your hotel room as you sense yourself losing control over the conversation. With a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, there’s not much else you can do or say to avoid falling victim to both Mr Holland’s taunting and your own taunting; last night’s images playing out before you more vividly now that he resurrects them. 

The subject finally diverges, but it doesn’t mean you're any more comfortable with it. “Do you know you’re the only one that addresses me as ‘sir’?” 

You shake your head, eyes inevitably averted. You didn’t know that, you just thought it was professional. 

“You never corrected me.” 

“I didn’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“I liked hearing it. Just as much as I liked what I heard last night. But I need to know,” he takes a step to cross the threshold of your hotel room. “Was there anything…anyone in particular crossing your mind?” 

“There was…” His jaw ticks furiously and you instantly get the notion that denying him is simply not a choice here. 

“Who?” He demands in that stern voice you’ve heard only once before. 

One word sits on your tongue and you know that as soon as it breaks the silence, the professionalism you worked so hard to build up will crumble before you. But the risk is entirely worth it. 

“You.” 

Mr Holland’s lips part and releases a snicker as if he knew, and the curl of his smirk becomes dangerous. He lets the singular word ring out into the air, and the tension envelopes you both in a suffocating bubble until he finally speaks. “You…what?” 

“You, sir.” 

His chest rumbles with approval and you even feel its vibrations fluttering low in your stomach. Desire consumes you; a desire to know what he’s thinking, to know what he’s planning to do with that compromising information, to figure out whether he’ll respond to it in a way that satiates your more promiscuous desires like the ones that distracted you last night. You would give anything to see what’s going on inside his head. 

Inexplicably, he nods towards your pink bag, easily brushing over your last conversation like it was nothing to him and it completely throws you off. “You should open it.” 

It takes a second to drag your eyes away from him. You actually forgot you’re still holding it in your hands. The tissue paper rustles loudly as you reach in-- “Inside.” Mr Holland urges. With a short nod, you lead the way, allowing him to slowly close the door behind you with a gut-wrenching squeak and a thunderous boom.

The second the door shuts, the air becomes taut, strained and harder to breathe and you dedicate all your efforts into ignoring your last conversation just as easily as he had, but he’s standing right behind you and the warmth of his breath skates past your ear and it’s all you can think about. Even without disclosing what he now knows, the presence of Mr Holland alone would bring about such unnerving effects, so you don’t find yourself at fault for struggling to keep it together. 

From the pink bag you pull out a small white and gold box, wrapped with yet another ribbon. Inside is a silver chain, light and dainty, but the pendant it carries is nothing alike. The reflection of the sun hits the circular-cut diamond, becoming iridescent as it hits your eyes. The stone is slightly on the larger side, bigger than any other necklace you own, but it sits perfectly in the balance of being flashy yet classy. Expensive yet tasteful. It’s a piece that you can’t price and that exact thought scares you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you softly murmur. The chain cascades elegantly across your fingers, almost mesmerising to watch. 

Your eyes catch his movement in the mirror in front of you and steals your attention away from the necklace. He holds out his hand by your side, soft but firm. 

“May I?” You almost flinch as his words hit your ear, the ripple of your shiver continues for long after. As the chain pools in his hand, he is equally gentle, handling it with expertise while he lifts it carefully over head and rests the pendant tenderly in the dip between your clavicles. Its icy cold touch seers your skin, heat radiating with each grazing touch of his fingers as they clasp the chain together behind your neck. Once secure, you admire the way it shines brightly against your skin tone, eyes momentarily lost in your image until you realise that yours are the only pair looking back at you. Mr Holland remains engrossed with the curve of your neck, his proximity close enough to be counting the beats of your pulse as it thumps beneath your skin and for all you know, it’s elevating, thrashing harder and harder while you watch with wide eyes as Mr Holland presses his lips against it. 

The second his lips meet your skin, his hands find your hips, holding you steady to prevent you from buckling. A numbing tingle shoots through your nervous system at the feeling of Mr Holland swiping his tongue across the reddening bruise he’s leaving behind. Every kiss is with purpose, targeting each and every sweet spot as if he had a map to each of their location: the peak of your neck that connects to your jaw, the sensitive spot just millimetres below your ear, the slight curve of your shoulder that sits beneath the chain. He instantly claims you, and you show no sign of resistance when you find yourself voluntarily tilting your neck, begging for more.

You finally meet his eyes in the mirror, realising how cavernous his blown-out pupils are; that if you search too far you’ll become trapped. “This…” he whispers, planting another kiss to your ear, his hands beckoning to the chain, “is the only thing I’ll allow you to wear while I fuck you.” 

A shameless, breathless mewl whines from your throat and a rampage of endorphins consumes you. As the first piece of insight to his mind, you don’t get nearly enough time to let it process in your head before his clawing hands are tugging at the drawstrings of your joggers. 

The small nip to your neck is a wake-up call. This is real and this isn’t a fantasy of yours, only that it will be a recreation of what had you orgasming last night. 

“You know, I can be a people pleaser too.” His hand slips beneath your joggers, but refrains from slipping beneath your underwear. “I can please you in so many ways.” As a testimony to his words, his fingers trace over the silk of your underwear, catching your bud in its travels and a silent gasp bursts from your lips. “But not without earning it. Do as you’re told, and I’ll do exactly that.” 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, words vacant, eyes rolling. 

“Are you listening to me?” The hand on your hip squeezes harshly and you jerk in his arms. You have never agreed to something quicker in your life.

“Yes, sir! Oh—” 

“Good. Then you can start by closing those curtains over there.” 

His hand slips fluidly out of your joggers when you force yourself away from the subtle torment. The light dims a little, however you think it’s more for privacy than for light. When your back turns once again, Mr Holland sits himself on the edge of the bed, legs spread and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Whatever it is about him in that single second triggers something in you; attraction, lust, sex appeal, or all of the above. Whatever it is, it compels you to give yourself in to him.

A messy mixture of want, need and unrelenting desire brings you to your knees before him. His eyes sweep over your face, examining, analysing, translating every desperate twitch. He can even see your lips parting where he spots the remnants of teeth marks from when you had nervously bitten them in hidden moments. Smoothly, the pad of his thumb brushes over your lip, tugging it into a pout because that’s what he wants to see; you, desperate, pouting, begging for him. It soon pops back into place, his hand now curling around your chin and pulling you closer. His own lips are nothing more than a breath away from yours and you think he’s going to finally kiss you, but annoyingly, he only allows you to feel the shape of the words as he whispers them to you. 

“So what is it about me then, hm? What do I do that turns you on?” 

“It’s…it’s stupid.” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let me rephrase.” The grip on your chin tightens and your noses collide. “Tell me what it is about me that turns you on.” 

“Last night at the party, you were the only one that…cared. You made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.” 

“What else?” 

“You stood up to Jackson for me - you just looked so determined like you were unstoppable.” 

He tilts his head in the other direction now, leaning in just as close, your breaths mingling together. You’re so desperate to feel his lips on yours. “And?” 

“When…when you touched my thigh--”

“You were burning.”

“I was nervous--” 

“Because of me.” 

“Of course because of you. I was scared of disappointing you.” 

A small snicker escapes him and leaves behind a wicked smirk. Two hands now firmly cradle your jawline and you think the moment has finally come. Why else would your heart be thumping in your chest? 

“Not possible. I always knew you were a good girl. And I think you like being told that, don’t you? You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it. I saw that coy little look on your face the first time I told you how impressed I was. It was obvious that no one else had praised you like I did - you couldn’t keep yourself together. And I bet if I kept telling you how fucking sweet you are, and how much of an perfect angel I know you are for me, the second I slip my fingers into your tight little pussy, you’d be an absolute mess.” 

Well, he’s not wrong. You’re already soaked. 

“Please, sir,” you whimper. “Please just kiss me.” 

Finally, finally, he pulls you in for a long, languid kiss, his tongue takes lead to taste every part of your bitten lips as they slot perfectly in between his, lingering longer with each time he captures them. The blood rushes so quickly through your veins you think you might implode, overwhelmed by just how good it feels that your hands suddenly grapple onto the cuffs of his shirt. 

A satisfied hum buzzes against your lips, twisting your own into a small grin that unbeknown to you, Mr Holland could actually feel. 

“Let me see you,” he demands, his hands plucking at the hem of your sweatshirt. When you don’t do it right away, a tight grip coils around your neck and stops the gasp leaving your mouth. “Do. As. You’re. Told.” 

You’re baring your all for him (all except a diamond necklace) in a matter of seconds, standing before him as he leisurely leans back against the bed, resting on his elbows. Those predatory eyes roam your body, mapping out the shape and details, and imprinting them to memory. 

“So fucking pretty…” He deliberately watches for your reaction and you crumble under the praise resulting in a mirthful laughter to shake his chest. His arms reach for your waist, luring you in with the tight grab of your hips until his lips sit just below your ribs. The heat from his breath hitting your skin makes you involuntarily wriggle, but he doesn’t allow for any movement from you, not unless he permits it. You feel his lips suddenly, trailing across your ribs and up your chest. “Do you know what good girls like you do for me?”

“What?” You breathlessly murmur.

“They get on their knees,” Mr Holland pauses to let you act on it. Now you’re looking up at him as his knuckle ghosts over your cheeks and he mingles closer. “They look at me right in the eyes and they beg me to give them a taste, to let them suck me off because they’ll do anything for a reward, even if it is just a few words of praise. So let’s hear you, pretty girl. I want to hear you beg me with that sweet, innocent voice of yours.” 

You take a cautious breath. “I want to taste you so badly, sir. Please. Will you let me?” 

“Hmm.” He purses his lips. Shit. It isn’t good enough for him and he spots the panic in your eyes. All of a sudden, you begin pleading in such a desperate, childish tone you didn’t know you were capable of. Even your lip begins pouting as the need to please him becomes so overwhelming that, unexpectedly, your eyes water, like you’re facing life or death. And he is the decider. 

“Wait, wait, no, please, I want to make you feel so good, so, so, so good. I can do it, I promise, and I can be good for you if you let me. Please sir, I really need it. I’ll do anything.” 

Mr Holland smiles and gently kisses you with approval, just the shortest of pecks of reassurance before he leans back and nods towards the zipper of his suit trousers, tented with the erection that’s pleading to be satisfied. You waste no time in unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling free his hard cock that almost dwarfs your hand and you stare at him with such bewilderment, a stare that is returned by a certain smugness, a confidence that has you licking your lips. 

There’s a surge of instinct coursing through you and your brain convinces you that there’s nothing else you should be doing, that your whole purpose at this very moment is to do as you promise; to please him, to make him feel good, so when you hear his moans the second you wrap your lips around him, your heart flutters with fulfilment. It’s a sensation you keep chasing, growing stronger the longer you bob your head up and down his cock, every time his praise seeps from his lips, and you just about lose it when his fingers comb through your hair. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. Not too little, not too much. Consistency is key. 

You’re not sure how much of an idea he has about just how dedicated you are in your mission to prove yourself to him, that you’re desperate to show how capable you are by what you’re willing to do; perhaps a horrible side-effect of having to constantly prove yourself to Jackson with each conversation, but with Mr Holland, there’s an element of belief and confidence: a contradiction between Jackson’s ‘I don’t believe you until you prove it’ versus Mr Holland’s ‘do it because I know you can’. 

Mr Holland’s head falls back, his eyes closed, and falls into an eerie silence. If it wasn’t for his hand still combing through your roots, you would’ve thought he wasn’t satisfied with you. Still, you keep going, running your lips and tongue down his shaft and returning slowly back up again where you get a teaser of the bitter-sweet taste you’re vying for. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re undecided of whether you’re doing so well that he’s speechless, or you’re not doing enough that’s worthy of his praise. It’s hard to tell with his head tilted back, and you begin to lose faith. You’ve become so drawn into his voice and words that you feel lost without them.

‘You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it.’

“Sir,” you meekly voice, leaving a beat to suck on the head of his cock. “Am I making you feel good?” 

The depth of his growl sends a spike of arousal straight to your clit. He spits out his words in a manner that’s uncontrollable. “Fucking incredible.”

His head finally lifts and his eyes pin on you, fully blown and dilated. “Look at you - oh fuck - taking me so well. Knew you’d be a good girl but f-fuck, I don’t know if I can hold it in any longer.” 

You reply with a wanton mewl, your dopey, tear-stained eyes saying the words your mouth can’t. You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto the carpet, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Mr Holland swings forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath. It's slightly tense and panic-inducing but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you have proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Mr Holland pants. His grip loosens around you and your lips release him with a pop. The instant your lips are free, he claims them, humming into them with adoration. “That was…” A soft, tender kiss. “The best goddamn…” Then another. “Blow job I’ve ever had.” He kisses you for a final time with a smile laced through it, and rests his forehead on yours to give himself some time to catch his breath. “So good…” he breathes. “So, so, so good. Sweet angel. My sweet angel.”

There isn’t anything to describe the burst of achievement that swarms your chest when you hear those words and your cheeks inevitably heat under his hands. You’re smiling, obviously smiling and no matter how hard you bite your lips to hide it, the pull is too strong. You make yourself far too goddamn easy to read so when Mr Holland catches a glimpse of your reaction, he smirks, clearly amused, and simultaneously reaches down the length of your body until his hand finds sanctum between your thighs. 

“Hmm, you’re soaked, darling. Don’t you think we should do something about it? After all, you’re earned your reward, and I’m dying for a taste of that messy, little pussy of yours.” 

You release a shaky breath when his fingers start exploring. “Yes, oh god, yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Better. Let’s not make that mistake again.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Now--”  In a vice-like grip, Mr Holland encircles your waist and your body burns against the rough cashmere of his suit. It’s surprisingly stimulating as he casually hauls you off your feet, but you would much rather the heat of his skin. Nevertheless, your back soon meets the soft cotton of your sheets as he lays you to rest on the bed, remaining shadowing above you basking in the sight of your naked, wanting body. The diamond that nestles deep into the base of your throat twinkles obnoxiously in his eyes and he almost grows jealous of the way it hugs your neck. However, it's a jealousy he can overlook as his eyes wander over the peak of your breasts and your glistening cunt, because he knows that they are all for him. 

Mr Holland promptly sinks to his knees, placing his head in between your thighs, his eyes never straying from your cunt. There isn’t a moment of hesitation when he swings his arms to cross over your hips, dragging your legs effortlessly over his shoulders and diving, tongue first, into your cunt. It’s a complete invasion of his touch, his tongue immediately swirling around your clit with a careful, consistent pressure that deep down, you know will end you in minutes. The gasp is telling of your struggle to keep composed, gradually crescendoing into a moan as that amorous tongue descends down your slit, licking you up in long, fat strips. An urge in your hips begs for attention, wanting to raise higher to ease the tension building deep in your stomach, but you're trapped, locked in place with no routes of escape and you have to tell yourself that you just have to tough it out. 

But it’s harder said than done when he begins slotting his tongue into your hole, tasting and caressing every inch of you he’s capable of reaching. Digging deeper and deeper, his mouth consumes the entirety of your cunt, humming into it to push you further over the edge. He knows you’re hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to slow down. And just then, an evil, malicious thought spawns in his mind which he voices immediately. 

“You’re not cumming until I say so. Understood?” 

The feeling of you clenching to stop the impending orgasm has him chuckling. He knew you were close. 

“Such a sweet, little angel. So obedient too, right?” He blows a gentle breeze onto your clit and you simply whimper in response. “Right?”

“Y-yes, sir.” 

Satisfied, Mr Holland has your cunt in his mouth again, salivating over its taste as he suckles on your clit, your folds, your skin, anything to lure out what he knows he’s going to get eventually, but it makes it twice as appetising when he knows your orgasm is only at his command. 

Meanwhile, your heart stammers in your chest with each tug of his lips. Whatever sanity you have left to cling onto, you claw at it with desperate hands, fighting to hold up the wall that blocks the blood rushing to your cunt, holding your breath to stop the bubble from bursting, because fuck, you are ready to snap. You can’t help but notice how he’s taken a page from your book, pleasuring you at a steady consistent pace, not too much but not too little. Unsurprisingly, the result is the same but the conditions are far worse.

“Oh my god, please let me cum, I can’t hold it anymore.” 

His grip only tightens, his tongue moves faster and his mouth gets hotter. 

Your hands, of a mind of their own, decide to condemn your obedience and push at his arms around your hips in an attempt to get away. Despite his obvious strength, you somehow manage to get a microsecond of respite, but his mouth only sucks you back in again, murmuring only one word that runs laps around your head.

“Obedience.” 

“I can’t, sir, please, I can’t h-hold on. Fuck!” 

“Oh dear.” 

“NO! No, no, no, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I can hold on. Just…please go slower.” 

His dark cavernous eyes meet yours from behind his arms, unmoving even as he relishes the taste of your slick, challenging you for only a second before he thankfully listens to your wishes. Weakened, your head flops back onto the bed with a small bounce, eyes drifting shut as the feeling in your stomach calms and a small relief hugs your heart. It’s a small price to pay to lose the feeling of euphoria that was going to course through you…only if Mr Holland had let it or if your people-pleasing traits had failed you, none of which had actually happened. 

The feeling deflates but the pleasure still lingers.

“You taste so delicious, darling. I could eat you all day.” Arousal jumps to your clit like a flash of electricity. “And you’re doing so well for me, how could I ever stop?” This time, it’s his tongue, soft and caressing. “And this pussy; so pretty, so fucking pretty, I could just play with it for days.” His finger begins circling your clit not too long after he spits into it. By now, you realise what he’s doing. He’s feeding into your need for praise that, along with the small touches and sweeping licks, builds you up just as quickly and suddenly as before, and once again you’re struggling to cope. “I know you can be such a good girl for me, I know you can do as I say, and you have no idea how much it turns me on when you do.” 

“Sir…” You warn. He instantly recognises the desperation. 

“I’ve got one last instruction for you, angel.” He sucks on your clit for just a couple of seconds, just to get you closer and closer to falling apart. “Cum for me. Cum in my mouth.” 

“Fuck!” You scream as an endless stream of euphoria consumes you, hitting you in a sudden white wash of heat that riddles your entire body top to toe. You can feel your cunt clenching erratically, between homing an orgasm and suffering under Mr Holland's continuous lashings, it can't, not for one second, rest until either relent. You feel your own slick, hot and bothered, trickling down your ass but before it gets the chance to meet with the white sheets beneath you, Mr Holland sweeps it up expertly with his tongue, partnered with a primal growl of pleasure.

By the time Mr Holland has finished cleaning up every inch of your cunt and ass with his tongue, he proceeds to kiss his way gently up your body, not forgetting to leave your tits untouched and pinches your buds between his lips. You have just enough energy to cradle his head, allowing yourself the pleasure to run your fingers through his hair, moving with him while he leaves sharp kisses to your chest, your collar bone, your neck, ear and jaw, until once again, those hungry lips claim yours.

Still somewhat recovering, you purr quietly, content with the overall sense of pleasure, both of your sexual and people-pleasing needs.

Your lips slowly part. The kiss ceases but your noses brush off one another gently, still basking in the blissful, intimate aftermath of what's just happened. Your CEO above you remains, hovering over you with admiration in his eyes, running over your features as if it is the first time he's seeing them, adoring them all over again.

There's two words sitting on the tip of his tongue, hidden behind a smirk because he knows what he'll see when he speaks them.

"You're beautiful."

Of course, his prediction comes true. Your cheeks redden, your eyes roll away and your teeth sink into your swollen lips, muttering incoherently about it not being true but thanks him incessantly, but Mr Holland is too caught up in your coy modesty to rebuttal. It's just like the first time he complimented you, and he realises then and there that he's addicted to being the person that makes you shy, blushed, diffident.

Being a CEO, he does indeed posses significant power in the palm of his hand, obtained by hard work, dedication, commitment and sacrifice, but for him, there isn't a power stronger than the one he has over you and all it takes is a few, simple, praising words.

"We still have another three hours until check out."

Your eyes and ears perk up. "Sir?"

Cautiously, he shuffles above you, innocent until you feel his cock sliding into you and he relishes the catch in the back of your throat at the sudden pressure forcing its way fluidly into you. You're simply speechless, questioning if it'll ever end as he pushes every inch of him inside you, breaching and stretching the boundaries of your walls. Mr Holland snags your bottom lip between his teeth, harshly biting as a relief for the tight grip that surrounds his cock.

When your ass eventually meet his hips, you both release a groan in unison, breaths mixing and mingling until Mr Holland breaks the silence.

"You're gonna look even more beautiful when you're all fucked out and dumb for my cock, all with a diamond wrapped round your neck."

His hips snap back at a frighteningly fast pace and thrusts in even more aggressively. The pain is immeasurably exhilarating. Your thighs squeeze his waist, mouth agape without a single breath escaping.

"Think of this as a second birthday gift." Like before, he draws back and slams into you without mercy. "Do as you're told and you'll get your third on Monday in my office."

Somehow, your gut tells you that you won't have a problem with that. Not at all.

[userholland]

happy hollandays 2022 ༄ ݃ *

rated: (some) mature 18+ [minors dni!]

pairings: tom holland, college!peter parker, nathan drake (?)

summary: various cute & fluffy scenarios for the most wonderful time of the year.

word count: tba.

a/n: so because i havent been writing much but i figured that a few prompts for christmas / new years time would be a little fun. i didnt get to do kinktober so i think of this as making up for that. hope y'all enjoy :D

december 9 ✧ you're in love (tom holland x fem!reader + friends to lovers / wedding date)

december 15 ✧ baby's first christmas (dad!tom x mom!reader)

december 24 ✧ snowed in hell (ceo!tom x assistant!reader + smut / enemies to lovers)

[shawnxstyles]

okay. i have so many fics that i’ve started, but can’t finish. i’m struggling to finish them because i don’t know which one is more wanted.

[hrtbreakanniversary]

fine line | tom holland [ceo!au]

Summary: heavily influenced by the movie "the proposal"

Faced with deportation to his native United Kingdom, the playboy CEO of Holland's Tech Point located in the Big Apple, Tom Holland, tells the world that he's engaged to marry Y/N Y/L/N, his hapless assistant. Y//N reluctantly agrees but has a few propositions of her own, including flying across the country for him to meet her eccentric family.

With a immigration agent hot on their trials and watching their every move, Tom and Y/N must stick to their plan despite numerous bumps in the road.

pairing: ceo!tom holland x secretary!reader

warnings: will be posted with each chapter, almost like a crack fic, tom is a bit of an asshole sometimes, SMUT, steamy, super sweet

I. lights up

II. treat people with kindness

III. canyon moon

IV. she

V. watermelon sugar (m)

VI. cherry (m)

VII. adore you

VIII. sunflower vol 6 (m)

IX. falling

X. to be so lonely

XI. fine line (m)

XII. golden

[thee-kurojo]

To all Tom Holland fan fic writers who make the reader’s appearance exclusively for white girls:

FUCK YOU

It will not hurt you to leave out the fact the reader has red cheeks or pink lips or pink nipples yada yada. It’s so fucking annoying finding a good fic and then having it completely ruined bc it was most definitely not made for me.

And if any of you assholes say “well look for black writers or POC writers” please shut the fuck up and bite me. I shouldn’t have to change my searching or whatever the fuck to find a fic that includes Black or POC readers. I’m so tired of this.