#Tom Hardy Imagine

[4ever-feral]

I FEAR IM HAVING DIRTY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS MAN AGAIN 😏😏

[ijustwanttobegolden]

Hunger for love... and ex boyfriends.

In which venom eats your ex boyfriend and takes you to a rave. (Headcanons) (Warning: suggestive sexual themes)

🖤 You were the cute, sexy hot girl next door.

🖤 (quoted by venom) but Eddie definitely agreed.

🖤 your apartment from across the hall got boring and lonely from time to time and so you had no choice but to investigate the strange shenanigans that sounded from Eddies apartment during the late nights.

🖤 eventually you uncovered the truth. That eddie didn't live alone and to your surprise not just your average roommate.

🖤 you were in awe instantly from the moment you saw venom. Eddie never felt so relieved.

🖤 From that point onwards they became your bestest friends.

🖤 You became their angel.

🖤 always protecting you, always keeping you company, keeping you happy and keeping you safe.

🖤 all the while you supported them, gave them the love and support and nurture they both needed.

🖤 then they saw you in a different light.

🖤 it wasn't friendship they wanted now but love, all of it.

🖤 But the chances of that faded to nill when your douchebag boyfriend came along.

🖤 God knows where you found him, they thought. The trash maybe? Since the man boy himself was absolute trash. He was filth and infact treated you like it.

🖤 The rough nights of arguing, him going out and leaving you alone. All the times you cried or threw something in anger.

🖤 those nights were the hardest for Eddie and venom to control themselves. So many times they had to fight the urge to go over to your apartment and rip the guys head off.

🖤 Eddie was definitely the strongest out of them both. Trying to tame venom had him a sweaty mess, fighting all around the apartment.

🖤 "Eddie!" *Crash* "listening to them! She needs us!"

🖤 they hadn't heard from you for a whole week after that but that didn't stop them from keeping tabs on you.

🖤 they stalked your routine. 7am you would leave for work and by 7pm you were back home, dressed in something comfy and already heading down the street to get your daily dose of wine and chocolate from the 7:11.

🖤 they couldn't help but stalk. They missed you and they wanted to make sure you were okay and as much as it killed them, they knew it was best to give you space.

🖤 "how is she doing?" Eddie sighs as he looks up at Ms Chen with tired sad eyes. He was careful not to get caught by you as you left the store.

🖤 "a bit better today, she said she's in need of a good night out but her friends are out of town"

🖤 "Eddie!"

🖤 "No."

🖤 venom was not impressed. Surely Eddie would do anything at this point to cheer you up, even if it meant going out partying.

🖤 "i'm planning to bring her some flowers tomorrow, chill alright?"

🖤 okay so the flowers didn't work. You were absolutely heartbroken.

🖤 As much as it was for the best, no breakup is ever easy and flowers from a friend across the hall was not going to make things better right now. You were S A D.

🖤 You were moping about your apartment on your favourite night of the year. Halloween night.

🖤 No friends. No dressing up and no going out. Awful.

🖤 you wanted the heartbreak to stop. You wanted to be happy. You wanted Eddie and Venom. You felt like you had pushed them away.

🖤 until...

🖤 A knock at the door. And it was venom.

🖤 You look down the hall confused and then you realized. Halloween night. Venom would be disguised.

🖤 "No Eddie?"

🖤 "just us baby, we are going to a rave!"

🖤 Your heart jolted while excitement flushed through your veins. Partying with Venom was something you never thought you needed until now.

🖤 You chose the sexiest, revengeful dress.

🖤 A tight black latex dress that paired well with Venoms shiny form.

🖤 Venoms white, sharp smile was practically drooling. His white eyes gleaming at the sight of you.

🖤 you looked insane.

🖤 both matching, you strutted to the club like you owned the town.

🖤 the majority of the way venom carried you, throwing you around because he knew how much you liked the thrill.

🖤 feeling you squirm and hearing you giggle gave him a rush of joy, happy to have his angel back.

🖤 your smile faded when you came to a sudden halt, normally this meant Venom could sense something bad.

🖤 and it was.

🖤 in fact it was badder then bad.

🖤 it was your ex boyfriend.

🖤 Venoms veins and tentacles pulsed with anger when he witnessed him. Sneaking around in a nearby alley with a girl.

🖤 bad timing for the ex, let's just say.

🖤 There was no trying to calm Venom, beg or distract him from what you knew he was going to do.

🖤 might as well just enjoy it.

🖤 As if venom could read you for a moment he held back as you strutted towards your traitor of an ex.

🖤 As you got closer you came to recognize he was with the girl he denied cheating on you with.

🖤 venom sensed this and he was raging.

🖤 all the more satisfying.

🖤 your ex couldn't believe what he was seeing. You, out of nowhere, strutting over in stiletto heels and the sexiest outfit. The Douche bag was already regretting his choices.

🖤 "wow, um.."

🖤 He was nervous. So he should be.

🖤 of course you gave a little speech of hatred all the while expressing how much he broke you.

🖤 This was only fueling the fire for Venom. Nobody hurts him and Eddie's girl and gets away with it.

🖤 You never thought it would make you feel better seeing Venom eat your ex but it did.

🖤 Best alien ever.

🖤 He licked the blood from your cheek that splattered onto your face in the process.

🖤 In a way that was also his kiss to you. A kiss to make it all better and that you were safe and with him now.

🖤 Okay so the rave afterwards. INSANE.

🖤 like the best night ever.

🖤 Everyone looked amazing in their costumes but it was you and Venom who stood out the most.

🖤 The lights reflected off the black shininess of you both.

🖤 You both glistened and moved together like silk as you swayed and grinded together.

🖤 you don't believe me when I say everyone was OBSESSED.

🖤 the sexiest couple.

🖤 it got hot at the rave. The heat was rising.

🖤 There was so much tension.

🖤 venom was completely moulded to you

🖤 his mind racing with the wildest, nastiest thoughts of you.

🖤 Eddie was really missing out.

🖤 Eventually you got tired.

🖤 Both craving chocolate and the warmth and comfort of Eddie.

🖤 Venom effortless races home with you, tentacles wrapped around you tightly and protectively.

🖤 your heart races. It always does when being carried away by Venom.

🖤 Eddie did manage to get a glimpse of you in that sexy black latex dress.

🖤 WOW. No words. Only stutters.

🖤 and if you weren't fresh from a heartbreak he would of taken you right there and then.

🖤 Venom licks his lips at the racing thoughts he could read of Eddies.

🖤 You decided you wanted to stay over for the night.

🖤 Though Eddie and Venom didn''t give you much of a choice.

🖤 Before you knew it you were already draped in one of eddies comfy oversized vacation T-shirts.

🖤 and cuddled up on the sofa in Eddie's warm strong and reassuring arms.

🖤 you snuggled into his chest, breathing in his sent. Home.

🖤 Eddie plants a sweet lingering kiss to your head, Happy to finally have you in his arms. Where you belong.

🖤 venom was now at bay inside of Eddie, resting from the eventful night of eating ex boyfriends and partying.

🖤 but that didn't stop him from slithering out some tentacles from eddies rib cage to wrap tightly around you also.

🖤 you might be their angel but they were also yours.

🖤 Eventually you staying over become a regular thing.

🖤 And the next time you wore something sexy Eddie and Venom wasted no time in devouring you.

🖤 eventually they had your love. All of it.

🖤 and you did theirs.

🖤 real love.

🖤 man you were all hungry! 🤍

[xmariakx]

dating Tom 🤍🎀

[imaginesmai]

Alfie Solomons - Night adventures

I've been sick for week now with the worst stomach bug ever, and this has been on my mind for a few days! Welcome back Alfie to my blog!

Plot: Alfie doesn't come home from work and you worry something has happened, so you decided to go to the bakery.

Warning: Alfie's vocabulary is just saying fuck, really.

The streets were empty, too late for the common citizens and too early for the unfortunate first-shift workers. You had only found a beggar sleeping in a pile of boxes and two men trying to get home stumbling through the pavement. The silence, the darkness, would have been a good reason to turn back and worry about him under the covers, warm and safe. When a cat jumped from a window and landed on a car, you actually took a few steps back.

But Cyril stared at the menace until the animal hissed its way back to wherever it belonged.

Swallowed in one of Alfie’s long coats, with his hat covering your face, you finished the thirty minutes’ walk to the bakery. A faint light was coming from the top floor, and anyone would have thought bakers were starting their day early.

You knew it was your husband, Alfie, who hadn’t finished his yet. There was a man posted on the back entrance, the one you always used when you came to see him unexpected. It was closer to his office, it was more discreet, and besides, you knew Ollie. He would be one less problem for you that night.

When the boy saw you approach him, his whole back tensed. His hand made it to the holster on his hip before he recognized Cyril and your soft smile, once you were close enough. The soft street light let you see his panicked stare.

“What – Y/N, what the fuck are you doin’ here?” he quickly grabbed you by your arm and, checking both sides, pushed you inside the bakery. “It’s fuckin’ two in the mornin’!”

“I am aware of that, Ollie, since I also own a watch” you told him, taking down your hat.

“How did you get – does he know you’re here?” Ollie, who had been almost asleep leaning against the door, was now growing agitated. “You didn’ brin’ a car. You walked?”

“Me and Cyril, yeah”

The familiar warmth of the bakery felt good against your sore muscles. Not only you had half-jogged half-ran for thirty minutes, but the tension of the night and the worries for him had made the cold weather of November seep into your bones. You weren’t about to let Ollie notice how glad you were to be finally somewhere safe, because that would only prove a point you were trying to avoid.

“Y/N, it’s the middle of the night”

“So it is for my husband, who was supposed to be home with me. But that big head must have forgotten his own watch at home, given he’s still here”

“He’s not alone. Someone came to see him, and the meetin’… yeah, it was longer than wha’ he thought”

“Oi, wha’ that noise ‘bout, yeah?” a booming voice came from the floor above you, the door of his office banging open. “Didn’ I ask for silence?”

Alfie, in all his grumpy and broody glory, leaned against the railing and saw both of you. You weren’t surprised to see he was still wearing his working clothes, a small, stained pinny wrapped around his waist. His hair was sticking in different directions from being tugged at, and his face complemented his mood when he locked eyes with you.

Of course, Cyril tried to reach him and let his presence be known with loud barks. You passed his leash to Ollie and made your way up to your husband’s office. The metal stairs echoed under your shoes, and even if you kept your eyes on them, you felt his on you every second.

Far from being intimidated or angry, you felt your worries melting away. He usually came home before the sun set – had picked that tradition years ago once you were officially married and hadn’t missed a day. But it had been a rough week for the both of you, and when he hadn’t shown up, you had feared the worst. Patiently, you had waited and called his office. After not receiving an answer and not hearing the door, you had decided to check for yourself.

You weren’t naïve enough to go alone, but since there wasn’t anyone around to accompany you, Cyril had been your bodyguard for the night. Many things could have happened. Some of them you could imagine, some remember from past experiences because of his enemies’ retaliations. All of them were present in Alfie’s eyes as you reached the top of the stairs and met him face to face.

“Hello”

His nostrils flared and he pressed his lips in a tight line, but behind all of that there was just fear. You waited until he looked at every part of your body, from your soft smile to the hem of your skirt. One of your hands took his fist and didn’t let go until he held it. Alfie didn’t let his frown go as he raised it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“Aren’ your suppos’ to be in bed” he growled against your hand.

“With you, but you didn’t come and I was worried” you explained, moving a step closer to him. “Called and no one answered. I didn’t know if… so I came to check. Brought Cyril with me”

“Stupid dog knows you ain’t suppos’ to leave” Alfie looked down at Cyril, and his eyes softened. “You alrigh’, yeah? Nothin’ happen?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. And worried about you”

“Come ‘ere”

You fell into his arms and the remains of worry and tension left your body. He smelt like rum, bread and sweat, like home. You closed your eyes when his hand found the back of your head and pressed it against his shoulder. Later, you would probably have a long conversation about what you had done. Not only it had been reckless, but if you had been right, there wasn’t much you could have done.

His life came with highs and downs, and you had been there enough to know them. That doesn’t meant you had grown used to the feeling of not knowing if he was fine or not, if he was alive. When you hugged him closer, your arms around his middle, you let him know that you were glad.

Someone opened the door and you saw Tommy Shelby walking out of Alfie’s office. You didn’t like that man, neither did he like you, but you both respected each other enough. Eventually, their relationship would go south, either because of his or Alfie’s biggest interest; and you just hoped it wouldn’t go too south.

Alfie noticed his stare and turned around. Instinctively, you were covered by his huge back, not seeing anything but the sweaty locks at the back of his neck.

“I believe we were in the middle of something”

“And I believe it’s time for my husband to come home” you said from behind Alfie, trying to move around. Effectively, Alfie moved with you.

“Your’ gonna ‘ave to excuse my wife, mate. She’s right, ain’t she” Alfie said. He gripped your hand again and made you stay in place.

When it came to you and the business, Alfie Solomons had always had it clear. You had walked into his life and turned everything around, and if needed to, he would leave it all behind if you asked to. You always came first, no matter what. He could come home late, share his matters with you and attend to political galas by your side, but if you asked something, he could not say no.

So he stared down at Tommy, who had been arguing for the past six hours. He had just showed up when he was about to close the bakery, and the bouquet of flowers he had bought you was now sad and forgotten in the storage room.

“Alfie” Tommy warned him. “We need to close the deal. I’m not about to risk half my percentage if you aren’t willing to take the risk”

“The only risk I’m takin’ tonig’ is this lovely lady back ‘ome”

“You don’t get to kick me out! I am –“

Before Tommy could grow any more aggressive, he had Alfie’s gun pressed tightly against his chin. The baker was a few inches shorter than him, but somehow, he stared down at Tommy, daring him to keep talking. The Shelby brother looked at you with your arms crossed, biting back his next words.

“Listen, now, cause I believe, this¸ right, this is my fuckin’ bakery. My fuckin’ rum. Money. Business. And that’s my fuckin’ wife your’ lookin’ at, so unless you wan’ to go ‘ome wit’ one less eye, Shelby, stop fuckin’ lookin’ at ‘er”

“Get your fucking hands – “

“Shut the fuck up! You, barkin’ orders, at me?! In my fuckin’ work?!” Alfie screamed into his face, making Tommy take a few steps back. When the man once more met your eyes with the same, disgusted face, Alfie struck him with the gun. “Are you fuckin’ deaf?! Don’ look at her or I’ll rip your eyes out with my nails!”

Cyril barked as if he supported his owner’s words. You looked down and noticed Ollie was no longer alone. There were three other men, that had appeared out of thin air, at the bottom of the stairs. All of them looked ready to climb it in less than a second.

Not too far away, Tommy’s men would be close. It wouldn’t be the first time Alfie got into trouble because of you, or the last. His protectiveness was founded, but sometimes he went a little overboard. Tommy had looked at you many times before, and had been threatened each time he had done it.

Some part of you wondered if he was a sucker for Alfie’s threats or was really looking for them to become true.

Before your night could escalate into bigger events, you moved behind Alfie and wrapped your hands around his raised arm. You had gone to the bakery to find out if Alfie was there, to retrieve him from his pile of work and hopefully catch a few hours of sleep by his side. After a long day of own work, you were tired and in need of some peace.

“Let’s just go home”

Under your touch, Alfie relaxed and dropped the gun. He kept his eyes locked on Tommy and the man was smart enough to clean the blood of his lip and turn back. You guessed his men should be on the main entrance, and you were really thankful you had chosen the back one.

You watched him disappear. Watched, in silence, as the group of men that had surrounded you went back to their corners where you couldn’t see them. Alfie didn’t bother retrieving anything from his office, just closed the door and let you lead the way down the stairs.

Once you were down, he nodded to Ollie and the boy disappeared, carrying Cyril with him.

“That was dangerous, pet” he said, his voice soft. There was a rough, scared edge you had grown to notice through the years. “You, yeah, you can’t jus’ come ‘ere. You need to tell me”

“I know, Alf. But I did call. And you always answer. I knew you had a meeting and since you didn’t come home, I didn’t know what to think” you told him, not giving him. “What if it was the other way? What if I didn’t come home one night? Wouldn’t you come looking for me too?”

“I’d burn down fuckin’ Camden, luv, you know tha’”

“Then you can’t get angry at me, not at this. I was careful, nothing happened”

It hadn’t happened, but it could. Not only Alfie’s enemies. Night in Camden Town held more dangers than mobsters or gangs, ones that didn’t know who you were married to and weren’t afraid of your husband. It was irresponsible, dangerous, and you knew better.

It wasn’t the time, though, and Alfie knew it.

“Alrigh’, pet, alrigh’. Jus’ try not to send me to an early gave, yeah?”

“You won’t get rid of me even in a grave, Alfie Solomons”

His laugh echoed in the empty bakery. Alfie wrapped his coat closer to your body, not saying anything about your choices of clothes, and put his hat back into your head. Always the gentleman he opened the door for you and dragged you closer to his side.

You didn’t take the path you had walked, but the opposite way. Ollie’s car was waiting for you at the other end of the street, Cyril probably a looming threat in the backseat ready to tackle Alfie as soon as he opened the door. Finally in peace, you wrapped your arm around his middle and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you” you whispered, looking up at him.

“Yeah, luv you too, don’ I”

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated!

[tiredoffeelinglost-writes-shit]

Fire in My Blood

Bane x Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Word count: 4908

Warnings: 18+, Non-con drug use, fuck or die (sort of), slight dub-con (but not really), unprotected sex, mainly PWP, unbeta'd

A/N: my first time writing smut so be gentle

You woke up in bed, slow and groggy. The pain in your head was rolling through you in waves and you thanked your drunk self for at least closing the curtains so there wasn’t too-bright sunlight burning through your eyelids. Idly, you hoped that whatever you couldn’t remember doing last night was worth a hangover this size. You shifted to cradle your head in your hands but your hands didn’t move. Panic washed over you, sudden and icy. Your hands were trapped above your head. 

Forcing the panic aside, you tried to take in your surroundings. You didn’t want to open your eyes yet, in case you were being watched, so you listened hard for something, anything, to tell you where you were. 

No footsteps, no shuffling, no breathing outside your own. Aside from our hands, you were lying comfortably on what you assumed was a bed, complete with a pillow under your head and a blanket that smelled freshly laundered. The room felt bigger than your bedroom and you could hear a kind of white noise outside the walls, getting louder and softer in intervals like–

Waves. Water. 

You must be near the docks. Probably one of the abandoned warehouses frequented by one of Gotham’s handful of criminal enterprises. 

Speaking of criminals, you thanked your lucky stars for the recent training in analyzing and understanding your environment from the man that still sent chills down the spine of most Gothamites. 

You didn’t understand how you had caught Bane’s attention but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed it. It took some time between your underground meetings and the handful of times he visited your apartment through the fire escape but you had molded a sort of companionship. He was gentler with you when you weren’t training. The glimpses you got of Bane the Man and not just Bane the Weapon had inklings of longing for something more worming their way into your heart but you squashed them to the best of your ability. You knew who Bane was and knew he could never see you as something more than what you had. 

Taking a steadying breath, you slowly opened your eyes. Only a sliver of the room was visible through your eyelashes at first but you didn’t see anyone else around. You blinked your eyes open and looked toward your hands.

Plastic zip ties held you to the metal headboard, biting into your wrists. You flexed lightly, testing their strength, when a door to your left opened and a man in a long white lab coat walked in.

Jonathan Crane was an objectively handsome man. The whole evil mad scientist thing left a lot to be desired although, knowing him, he probably had a drug for that too. His attention was on a clipboard he was carrying. Talking to himself in soft murmurs, he strode confidently over toward your bed. 

“Ah look who’s awake!” He finally looked up at you and smiled, full and genuine. “Perfect timing.” His gaze raked over you, cool and calculating, and it made your skin crawl, suddenly aware that you were dressed in only your bra and panties from the night before. The thought of Crane undressing you while you were unconscious had bile rising in your throat. 

“What am I doing here?” you fought to keep your voice steady. 

“I needed a guinea pig for something I’ve been working on lately. I was out looking for suitable candidates last night and saw you out with your friends.”

Something must have shown on your face because Crane waved his hand dismissively. “They aren’t here. They had too much alcohol in their systems and it would’ve taken too long for it to metabolize. I couldn’t risk that altering my results.”

Now your blackout made more sense. You had been out with a small group of friends at a bar just celebrating the end of the work week. Things had gotten a little fuzzy but you just assumed it was due to one too many margaritas. Crane must have slipped something into your drink.

Anger flooded you. “You kidnapped me to use me as a test subject?”

“You shouldn’t sound so ungrateful! You’re helping the cutting edge of science! Of understanding the human brain!” He sounded so earnest as if he truly believed in his work without a care in the world that he kidnapped you for it. 

The panic you had been fighting down, hit you like a train. You were trapped on a bed with a madman who had plans for you and no one knew where the hell you were. You wondered how long it would be until anyone found your body. You had to get out. 

“I needed you to be awake before I started the test, though,” he explained. “It will be much easier to judge how quickly the effects start if you're conscious.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a syringe and vial. The pale purple, syrupy liquid in the vial seemed to swirl as Crane pulled it into the syringe, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

With the dose measured out, he turned back to you. You shifted as far away as your binds would allow, inadvertently pressing yourself further into the mattress.

“You’re a smart man,” you tried to reason with him, “You know who I spend my time with.” 

Explicitly connecting yourself to Bane wasn’t something you wanted to do - whatever you two had felt tenuous at best - but desperate times call for desperate measures. No one would be dumb enough to touch someone with any direct connection to the man, right?

“Oh, yes, I know,” Crane’s smile was predatory, “and I’m counting on him coming to save his little pet.”

His palm pressed the side of your face into the pillow, keeping your neck extended even as you thrashed against the bed. The needle pierced the tender skin and Crane’s eyes glittered in the dim light as he released the drug into you. 

“You crazy bastard!” Your wrists were bleeding freely now, slow trickles running down your forearms and dripping onto the sheets as you continued to try and pull yourself free.

Whatever he gave you didn’t hit all at once. It started in your chest, warm and slow, and radiated outward, but warm grew into too hot all too quickly, curled around your lungs and ribs, and squeezed. Your breath stuttered on the next exhale. Part of you expected to see smoke trailing out between your lips. Liquid fire pooled low in your stomach and you were suddenly, painfully, aroused.

“What the fuck?”

Your heart pounded in your ears, overpowering Crane’s monologuing no matter how hard you tried to concentrate on it. Fire raced in your veins and you pulled against your restraints, sparks licking your wrists. 

Through the haze in your brain you could barely make out Crane talking about Lust and Fever and Sex and Orgasm and Death. Even firing on all cylinders, you didn’t know if you could find a good combination of those words. 

Something in the distance caught his attention and he grinned like a shark, all predator and sharp teeth. Crane knew what it meant too. 

“He’s gonna tear you apart,” you hissed. 

“Oh, on the contrary,” he spoke slowly and looked in your eyes, making sure you understood every word, a condescending lilt in his tone, “I think he’ll send me a thank you gift after this.”

He left with a chuckle that sent a chill down your spine even with the growing furnace inside you. 

With Crane out of sight, you squirmed to try and break the zip ties again but the new sensations had you gasping. Your wrists didn’t hurt so much anymore and what little pain made it through to your awareness landed just on the side of pleasurable.  The blanket underneath you rubbed against you everywhere, everywhere, and your cheeks flamed when you noticed the wetness in your panties. You tried to force yourself to lay still - to stop and think about your next move - but your hips rolled anyway, searching for friction you wouldn’t find. 

You squeezed your thighs together, chasing the orgasm you could feel rushing at you just beyond your reach. The coil snapped and it flowed through you like cool water down your parched throat. It broke the haze just briefly. You gasped a breath like coming up out of water.

If it was possible for you to blush further, you would’ve when you opened your eyes and were met with Bane’s. How much had he seen? 

The man stood over you, stoic as ever, and gave nothing away. He watched you silently, taking in everything.

“This is not one of his usual toxins.” He finally spoke. It wasn't a question but you shook your head anyway. 

“He said it was something he had been working on.” You swallowed hard, fighting a shiver. "He didn't start really talking until he had already drugged me and I couldn’t focus. Something about fever and sex and death but..." you trailed off, nervous and unwilling to really finish that sentence. Shaking your head was a mistake you learned as nausea hit you. “Needed a test subject.”

Bane nodded slowly, hard eyes glinting off the light as he looked around the room. “There’s a camera,” he mused. “He’s watching.”

“Sick fuck,” you seethed. 

Bane huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. You startled both of you by moaning lowly. His touch was like a soothing balm and lit match against your nerves at the same time. 

His eyes were on your face but his fingers didn’t move.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry- I don’t know-,” you stuttered. “Can’t think- Too fucking hot.” You clenched your teeth, cutting off the half-formed thoughts you couldn’t stop.

Calloused fingers brushed across your forehead and you bit back a whimper. 

“You have a fever.”

You nodded, eyes shut tight. There was a heavy pause.

“You are…aroused.”

You turned your face away from him but nodded again, shame rocketing through you. Tears fell against your will.

“Please just get me out of here,” you whispered.

The zip ties snapped easily under his hands and you had to clamp down on your mind straying to thoughts of feeling those rough fingers on your skin again. Your core throbbed at the mental image alone. You couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together, breath hitching. Vaguely, you realized you were gasping out a string of apologies when Bane shushed you, just a hiss leaking out of his mask.

“You are not in control of your body. Do what you must.” The words came out stiff, barely contained anger tingeing them but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you.

Dark eyes met yours as you searched his face, needing to see if he was serious. His sincerity was open and unwavering. The weight of his hand settled on your stomach, the warmth of his palm bleeding into the coil inside you and snapping it just as soundly as the zip ties. 

Your eyes rolled back and you groaned as that cooling wave shook through you, quieter this time. 

“It will be easier if I carry you out but it may be…uncomfortable for you.”

“Do what you must,” you parroted his words with a weak smile, hoping for levity.

A silent nod was the only reply and he was wrapping you up in the blanket you had been laying on. The texture was scratchy and it insulated the heat of your skin but you bit your tongue. Strong arms lifted you effortlessly. You buried your face in the blanket and settled against his chest as he moved. 

It was a position you had found yourself in before. You had a habit of falling asleep in places you shouldn’t and he often carried you to a place that wouldn’t have your back or neck screaming at you when you woke up. On one particular occasion, you had fallen asleep slumped over on the couch in your apartment and floated to awareness being lifted and carried to your bedroom. You felt like a child again, protected and cared for. Your nose pressed into his jaw, just under the line of his mask. He had laid you gently on your bed, still unmade from the morning, and brought the duvet up to your chin. You had tried to fight your way to full consciousness.

“Stay,” you breathed, afraid he wouldn’t hear. Afraid that he would hear and leave anyway. After a beat, the other side of your bed dipped with his weight, half laying, half sitting up against the pillows. You had rolled into him, soaking up his warmth. Later, you would  blame pressing your face into his chest on the fact that you had still been on the wrong side of consciousness.

His hand tentatively rested on your shoulder as if he didn’t know what to do with it. You let out a light hum, hoping to reassure him. A smile almost slid over your lips when his palm slid down along your spine to settle at the center of your back. 

Just before you slipped back into sleep, you swore you felt him press his mask against the crown of your head. 

“Little one,” Bane’s voice brought you out of the fog in your brain, “Are you with me?” 

You blinked your eyes open and lifted your head from the blanket cocoon. 

“Always,” you replied. You became mildly aware that you were in your apartment but you didn’t remember how you got there. How long had you been lost in your head?

“My men are taking care of Crane,” he said. You both knew what he meant but the fewer specifics you knew, the better. “Barsad will make sure that nothing from the camera he had in that room will be seen by anyone.” His grip on you tightened. “He will never touch you again.”

He deposited you on your bed and was standing over you once again. He didn't show any outward emotion. You didn't know what to say or how. 

"I'm sorry." You said anyway. It came out small and weak. Hell, you weren't even sure what you were sorry for. Getting kidnapped? Not being able to get out of the situation yourself? 

Your head was too full of feelings you didn't understand. You couldn't think straight. You had never been more aware of your own body before. The lingering feeling of Bane’s arms around you, the godawful blanket. You swore you could feel your blood flowing in your veins. 

Light fingertips ghosted across your forehead, pressing lightly on the creases between your eyebrows, and your eyelids fluttered closed. You bit your lip. 

"Does it hurt when I do this?" He moved his hand from your forehead to your wrist. His thumb rubbing just under the wound that the zip tie left. 

You shook your head, not trusting your ability to make any noise that wasn't wholly embarrassing. 

"I need to hear you say it." 

You swallowed hard. "No, it doesn't hurt. It’s like my body can't decide if it feels amazing or like I'm holding it next to an open flame." You rushed out. 

“What do you need?” he asked after a heavy pause.

A simple question that had your head spinning. Rapid fire flashes of his large frame over you, under you, those rough hands all over you, inside you. You bit down on a moan, nearly biting through your lip.

“Just talk to me. Please.” It came out shaky and too vulnerable. 

His brows furrowed. “That will not help with the effects of the toxin.”

Resolutely keeping your lips shut tight, another tear escaped down your cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. 

“I cannot just sit by and do nothing when you’re suffering.”

You shook your head, the action making your head swim. “I can’t ask that of you. I won’t.”

His hand settled on your stomach. The pressure sent waves through you. The fire in your core roaring anew.

“You don’t have to ask. You just have to let me.”

Your glassy, tired eyes met his dark, earnest ones as you searched for something, anything, that would give you reason to say no. You weighed the option of just letting the toxin do what it would instead of ruining what you and he had. 

But you couldn’t deny that you wanted what he was offering.

“Okay.” You nodded lightly. 

You hissed as he shifted the blanket off of you. It felt like sandpaper against your highly sensitive skin. His gaze flicked up to you but kept on his mission, lightly tracing his fingers up your thighs. It might've tickled a little if you had a better handle on your nerves. 

There was only a slight pause in his movements before he was bending down to pull his boots off and then joining you on the bed, kneeling in front of you. His eyes searched your face as he spread your thighs, placing one of your legs on either side of his hips. You fought down every bit of embarrassment you could feel burning red on your cheeks and looked away.

“No,” he spoke softly but clearly. A calloused finger under your chin turned you back to meet his gaze. “Don’t look away, little one. You need to stay present and tell me if I do anything to hurt you or if you need me to stop. I want to help, not cause more harm. Understand?”

Only after you gave a small nod did he release your chin and return his hands to your inner thighs, higher than before. His thumbs rubbing small circles mere inches from where you needed him.

His eyes caught on the damp patch darkening the fabric of your panties. He made a single slow pass over your center with his thumb. You bit down on the inside of your cheek and let out a rough exhale, your fists curling into the sheets.

“Try to relax,” he rumbled, gaze flicking up to your face and back down. “I understand this must be unpleasant for you but fighting the toxin will prolong the effects and may make it worse.”

A whine escaped your clenched teeth as you forced your muscles to relax. His thumb began slow, even circles over your clit, like a reward. Pleasure rose quickly now that you had stopped pushing it down. 

 “Nothing said or done here will leave this room,” he assured you. “You are safe to do what you need to get through this.” He hooked a finger around damp fabric and pulled your panties to the side. The first brush of a callused fingertip sent a jolt up your spine. “Tell me that you understand.”

Your hips rocked minutely, chasing his touch. “I understand.” 

“Good girl.”

His finger slid inside you in one push and your walls tightened around him, sending you over the edge again. You couldn't be embarrassed about the noise you made even if you tried.

The toxin’s haze faded marginally again. In all honesty, you had hoped that an orgasm brought on by someone else would have been all it would take but, of course, Crane’s concoctions are never that simple.

As many times as you indulged fantasies of Bane in your bed, though you would never admit it aloud, you didn't want it to happen like this. Not when it was only like an obligation for him. 

The finger steadily pumping inside you became two and the stretch brought you out of your thoughts with a whine. 

Bane slowed but didn’t stop. “Does it hurt?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just a lot,” you reassured him, moaning around the last word when picked up his pace again. “It’s like I’m feeling everything double or triple.”

“It’s good then?” 

He curled his fingers slightly, searching. 

“So good.” You choked on a gasp when he found the spot inside you that made your toes curl. Those rough fingertips massaged tight circles around it while his thumb copied the movement around your clit. 

Moans flowed from your lips unhindered. One of your hands reached down to clutch at his wrist while the other tightened in the sheets. 

You could feel the crest coming but it was just out of reach. Your head thrashed on the pillow, grinding your teeth. 

"Fuck, I can't. It's not-" you stopped with a whine, tears gathering in your eyes. Your hips rolled of their own accord in search of friction.

“It’s not enough,” he finished for you. 

"Crane told me that you'd send him a thank you gift for this." You blurted out. "Like this was something you wanted."

He froze. 

“He’s wrong, right? Of course he is,” you rambled, squeezing your eyes shut tight. “You don’t want this. Why the hell would you? I’m just me. An annoyance even on a good day, a hindrance on any other. I’m not-” 

Pressing his hand over your lips, he stopped your rambling. 

"Not like this." It was quiet but you heard it, you knew you did. Your gaze met his again and you just stared at him for a heartbeat then two, willing yourself to take a chance. Telling yourself it would be worth it. 

Fuck it. If it goes wrong, you can just blame it on the toxin.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling yourself further toward him. Your heat pressed against the obvious tent in the front of his pants. His hand fell from your lips as you dragged yourself up to him, close enough to share breath.

“Please.” You ran your nose along his cheek and quickly unhooked your bra. His eyes flicked down briefly once the lace was removed and laying on the floor.

“Little one,” he murmured.

"You're the only person I would trust with this." You pressed a firm kiss to the front of his mask.

A harsh breath hissed out from behind the grate. He took only a brief pause to gather himself before moving off the bed stripping quickly. Your eyes raked over every inch of newly exposed skin. Lightly tanned, criss-crossed with scars, and stretched over his wide frame and well-built muscles. You’d seen him shirtless before under much different circumstances and it was a sight you had guiltily used on nights when you were alone and you knew this was something that you would add to your shameful late night fantasies until the day you died. 

His cock slapped against his stomach as his pants hit the floor. The sight alone had a whimper crawling up your throat. He was thick, flushed red and leaking, and you couldn’t tell if the need to feel him inside you was more the toxin or your own. 

Your breath caught when his fingertips curled into the top hem of your panties. His gaze held yours until the lace joined his pants on the floor and he returned to his spot between your thighs.

He wrapped a hand around himself, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Are you with me?” His eyes searched yours.

“Always,” you breathed. 

He filled you slowly, measured, careful, and watching your face the entire time. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you and he was acutely aware of the size difference between the two of you. His fingers flexed against your thighs, keeping you still in his grasp. 

Even with the toxin’s effects on you, the stretch of Bane filling you had a twinge of discomfort filtering through the pleasure otherwise washing over you. 

He finally bottomed out and you let out a low groan. You couldn’t decide where to keep your hands and they flitted from his shoulders to the bedsheets to his forearms to his abs, anything you could touch. Maybe if you found something to hold on to, you could keep yourself from floating away. 

Bane grunted as you clenched around him and minutely ground his hips into you. 

“Shit, move please,” your fingers dug into his forearms. 

You expected him to be rough and fast. Simply chasing release with his mission as a sole focus. But this was something else entirely. He was still focused but his mission was you, not just getting off. He was curled over you, forehead pressed into your shoulder, caging you in with his forearms and rolling his hips into you. It felt amazing.

But it wasn’t enough. You could tell he was holding back, even if it was for your sake, and, if this was the only time you got to experience Bane like this, you wanted all of him.

“Bane, baby, please.” You gripped the back of his neck and pulled his face up from its hiding place. Flicking your eyes up to meet his wild ones, you planted a firm kiss onto his mask, running the tip of your tongue along the grate. “I’m not gonna break.” You dug your heels into his ass, urging him on. His eyes darkened at your words, pupils already blown wide. His hips snapped forward with a grunt, forcing a gasp from between your lips. He levered up on his knees, towering over you, as he pulled out almost entirely and wrapped your hips in a bruising grip. 

A growl slid out from behind his mask as he looked down at you.

“Fuck yes,” you moaned out. Your eyes rolled back when he filled you again, impossibly deeper than before. 

Long gone was the caring pace he had set before. Every one of your favorite fantasies of rough sex with Bane couldn’t compare to the real thing. Part of you was already excited to see the vibrant bruises you’d find on your hips later. 

Bane’s angle was perfect, the head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot with devastating precision. 

“Oh fuck, right there, please.” Your fingers curled around his wrists and your back arched up off the bed. 

You bit your lip hard to try and stop the string of embarrassing whines escaping with every powerful thrust. 

“No,” something akin to a snarl clawed out of Bane’s throat.

He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you fast with one hand. He ran the thumb of his other over your bottom lip, spit-slicked and bitten red, and pulled it from between your teeth. 

“I want to hear every single noise of pleasure you make,” he growled. 

You caught his thumb between your teeth and curled your tongue around it. His fiery gaze dropped to your lips as you sucked, drawing the calloused pad deeper into your mouth.

“I’ve heard those pretty sounds fall out of your lips countless times, I’ve heard you call my name at night, don’t you dare hide them from me now.”

He hooked his thumb behind your teeth and pulled down. A hard snap of his hips forced a loud cry from between your lips. 

“Good girl.” He chuckled darkly.

He released your jaw and trailed his hand down your neck. His fingers found your nipple, spit-slick thumb circling the bud before pinching it between rough fingers. You squirmed beneath him as he twisted and pulled, the bite of pain only serving to amplify the pleasure coursing in your blood. He showed the same treatment to your other nipple and you fought weakly against the hold he had on your wrists. 

“Please, fuck, please,” you moaned. At this point, you didn’t even know what you were begging for. Your head was fuzzy with the tightening of the coil in your stomach. Each drag of his cock inside you, each grind against your clit, feeling wholly and solely overwhelmed by the man above you, nothing else existed outside this moment. 

“Let go, little one,” he purred. He reached down and rubbed tight circles over your clit. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

You screamed his name as the knot in your core snapped hard and your vision went white. Bane snarled and buried himself to the hilt finding his own release as you lost yourself in the waves of your orgasm crashing one after another. 

Floating back to yourself, you felt a firm body under your cheek and tentative fingertips tracing along your back. 

The toxin had burned itself out, no longer smoldering in your core. Now, you were afraid. Was all that just because of the toxin? Had Bane just reacted to you? Of course, he had offered but what if none of it really meant anything to him? Hell, it probably didn’t. Just a means to an end.

You didn’t realize you had started shivering until Bane moved you to lay over him and wrapped his arms and the duvet around you. 

You slid your hands under his shoulders and pressed your face into his neck. 

“Are you with me?” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady.

A beat of silence and his arms tightened around you. 

“Always.”

The talk that both of you knew needed to happen, could wait just a little while longer. For now, you were content to stay in the moment. You placed a slow line of kisses down his neck and pressed your nose into the juncture of his shoulder instead. 

“Sleep now, little one,” he rumbled beneath you. 

Just before unconsciousness took you, you felt him press his mask into the crown of your head. 

[charliehoennam]

sweet stranger pt. 2

Summary: the war veteran Alfie falls in love with a stranger in hopes of returning to his old self

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, reader is a sex worker, mentions of past relationships.

SHARING IS CARING, REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT.

part one

With each passing day, you wake up earlier than usual and lay in bed staring at your ceiling thinking about him.

It seems like he’s everywhere you go, even in the most unlikely places. A voice similar to his, a passerby with his same cologne, a hatted board figure in the crowd of the busy streets of the city.

Haunted by his spirit, the face of every client you amuse fuses into his. You close your eyes to pretend like you’re with him again, trying to ignore that the voices and touches are different like you’re stuck in a secret teenage fantasy. You’ve even taken a liking to rum simply because the scent of it reminds you of him.

Your head bobbles from side to side as the car drives over the cobblestones while you watch the people outside going about their day.

Smiling to yourself, you watch the younger ones laughing and fearlessly enjoying themselves while some others are most likely returning home to turn in for the evening.

Unlike you, who is on her way to work.

At least, that’s what you try to remind yourself that this is. Even though you’re on your way to see your favorite client, you’re reminded of what it felt like to be young and carelessly in love.

James stops the car in front of The Brown’s hotel and climbs out of the Roll-Royce to hold your hand as you climb off yourself. You thank him and adjust your hat before walking into the hotel.

Everything is as the first time you met Alfie. The same hotel, the same room. And you don’t mind it at all. The man has good taste.

You look forward to these encounters with him because he always treats you like a gentleman treats a woman. Like you’re more than just a warm body and a pretty face to be paraded around. Like you’re actually human and he genuinely cares about you.

“ ‘ello, love,” he grins. “You look splendid” he kisses your cheek as you walk inside.

“Thank you, Alf. You look handsome as always.”

Just like the other encounters, he takes your coat and hat and sets them on the rack by the door.

He’s much more at ease now in comparison to the first night. And much more passionate too. Sure, you’ve taught him a couple lessons on how to pleasure a woman here and there, but he’s more comfortable now with himself and the matter despite his ailments.

“Got a nice glass of wine waiting for you, love. Go on, have a seat” he nods at the chairs placed in front of the fireplace.

“Thank you, Alfie. You spoil me too much.”

You take a seat in the soft large armchair as he kneels in front of you, gently taking your ankle in hand to lift your foot onto his bended knee.

“How was your day, love?” he asks unclasping your shoe.

“Got up to much?” You smile and nod at him, going on about your day. You try to omit the complaints about it to spare your client of the off-putting stress, but he catches onto you.

“Be honest, love. I can tell you’ve ‘ad a long one ey? Tell me all about it. I wanna ‘ear it all.”

It’s hard not to feel like he’s more than a friend. You have to keep reminding yourself that he’s a client, only a client and nothing more.

Opening up about the troubles of your day and the pricks you dealt with throughout it, he laughs listening to you as he lifts your other foot up to remove your other shoe and gives your foot a gentle squeeze.

“Want me to give those blokes a right talkin’ to, yeah? Set ‘em right for talking to ya that way?”

“Would you really?” you smile down at him.

“ ‘Course I would, love. You’re my girl. Won’t let no one mistreat ya” he smirks standing back up with the help of your chair before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“That’s sweet of you, Alf. But I don’t want you getting into trouble over me.” “Darling, I’d raise hell for ya, love."

Part of you would like to believe he really would and indulge in the idea you could be loved like the young lovers you saw on the drive over. The other part of you has been there before, falling so stupidly in love that you would risk everything you have even though it's not much.

Regardless if he meant his words or not, they seem to melt away to the back of your mind with his touches and kisses that follow.

His bearded kisses pepper your chest as you ride him, letting him stare up at your breasts as they hang and bounce just inches away from his face.

One of his hands sits on your ass, squeezing the flesh to the intensity of the pleasure you fill him with. The other hand kneads at your hip, guiding it up and down his cock. His beard burns as it scratches against your skin, his warm mouth and flicking tongue enveloping your nipples. He could feast on them for days if you let him.

You moan reveling in the thickness of his cock, grinding your clit against the soft hairs of his public area as you hold your weight up on the headboard making the wood thump repeatedly against the wall.

The phone in the hotel's front desk must be ringing nonstop with complaints from the people staying in the room, but Alfie's reputation has the entire staff too scared to ring his room and tell him to quiet down.

From the other room, repeated thumps bang against the wall in protest of your obnoxiously loud love-making. Alfie laughs enjoying the fact that people can hear you and he's not bothered by it at all.

"Let's give 'em something to shout about ey, love?" he laughs stilling your hips for a moment. You giggle at the excitement of what Alfie has in store.

Holding the small of your back, he flips you onto your back to hover himself over your frame as he places himself between your legs.

"Hold your legs back for me, sweetheart."

Placing his hands on the headboard was strategic, but also convenient for the position and favored his physical limitation. Despite the limp he was quite known to have occasionally, it was doing nothing to stop him in bed.

Having spent so many a night with you has allowed him to study different positions and learn more about his body so as to make sex more comfortable and more than satisfying.

The messy hair and boyish grin he flashes at you as he slides his wet dick back into your cunt makes you forget this is just another business meeting. The mere fact that you’ve allowed him – and only him – to fuck you without protection speaks volumes.

Your hands wrap the backs of your thighs, holding your legs back to let him split you with his girthy member.

"Brace yourself, love" he smirks. His hips begin snapping against yours, filling the room with the ungodly music of his balls slapping against your ass. The rhythm he sets has the headboard banging even louder and steadier than before. The wetness pooling around his cock adds to the music.

Every inch of him hits every delicious spot within you and has your eyes rolling to the back of your head with this new position.

Although the pleasure is so intense on his raw cock, Alfie tries his best to keep his eyes open to watch the bounce of your tits, your swollen pussy swallowing him whole, the dazed look of your siren eyes as they meet his begging him for more.

"Fucking 'ell, love" he pants through his unyielding pace.

Praises that spill from your pouty lips finally send him over the edge. He pulls himself out and rubs his tip up and down against your clit to avoid releasing inside you.

He hates that it's one of the rules, but even now, he's thoughtful enough to keep that in mind. If things were different and he was yours, he'd be spilling into you every night.

To help him cum, you lower your hand down to sink his length deeper, sandwiching his dick between your soaking cunt and hand. You watch as his body tenses at the feeling of fucking your palm and cunt and he finally cums, covering your mound and abdomen in white ropes of his homage up.

Lost in the post-sex haze, he can't even think as he tries to catch his breath. All he can focus on is how pretty you look covered in his seed and fucked out of your sane mind. So, he acts and leaves you both stunned.

His head lowers and he kisses your lips tenderly. It dawns on him that this is the one sexual act you've never done and yet, somehow, the most intimate. He withdraws from the kiss, but doesn't pull away entirely; just enough to analyze your reaction.

No client has ever kissed you before. You would never let them because a kiss could blur the line between work and romance. But you can't explain what makes you kiss him again.

It melts you both from within as you give into the feelings that have been churning and yearning for each other for months now.

He pulls away from the passionate kiss, interrupted by the neighboring guest banging on the wall again and shares another laugh with you.

You smile happily as Alfie's arms give out. His weight is heavy but welcomed into your arms as he lays down on top of you.

"Think we're driving him mad?" You smirk.

"I think we might be, yeah" he chuckles. "Let's take a bath and give him a break." You smile and nod agreeing.

As he gets up and walks to the bathroom to take a towel and clean you up, you lay on the bed thinking about the kiss. About how his plush lips felt against yours. The smell of earthy oil he uses on his beard.

As Alfie turns the faucet to moisten the towel for you, he wonders if he made a mistake.

He comes back to clean you up with gentle swipes while the tub fills with water and bubbles.

You're sat on opposite ends, facing each other the porcelain bath, exchanging pleasantries and foot rubs.

"You know, I've been meaning to talk bout something with ya, love..." he starts.

You frown as your hands slowly still, wrapped around his foot and question if he’s not satisfied with you or if you did something to upset him. You pray it's not about the kiss.

“No, love!” he chuckles shaking his head as he sits up and leans forward, withdrawing his foot from your hands and replaces it with his hands.

“It’s quite the opposite, really. ‘ve come to really appreciate these moments with you.”

Your heart races as you wait for his words, studying his face as he keeps his gaze away from you.

“Thing is, right, and I might be a fool for this. And it’s a completely fucking shot in the dark, innit. Feel silly saying this out loud, but it’s been in my head, yeah? These get-togethers we’ve been ‘aving. And I’ve come to realize that I enjoy them too much to let them end…”

You gaze at him hopelessly and ask what he means with such a confession.

“I know what I am. I know what you are, love” his voice lowers with severity as his brows drop and furrow at his own thoughts. “I’m saying… maybe, if you agree to it, you don’t have to go on with this area of expertise. I could buy you out.”

The thought of having a Prince Charming to come and rescue you from the life fills you with hope, but happy endings only happen in fairy tales.

The reason you got into this life in the first place was because you trusted your ex. When you met him in your hometown, he was a knight in shining armor who whisked you away to London. You hoped for paradise and yet, all you found was hell.

Alfie is not to blame for his mistakes, and neither are you. But you don't want to fall into your old ways of believing love cures all. Only you know how helpless and alone you felt until you finally found the courage to leave him and make a living for yourself.

You want to take the leap and dive into what could be with Alfie and, at the same time, you've heard this story before from other poor boys who claimed they were falling in love with you.

Seems easy, doesn’t it? You could have him all to yourself. All it takes is a leap of faith into his words, but the jump never looks so easy when you’re up high on the ledge fearing the strength of a slightly stronger gust of wind.

"It'll pass" you told them.

But Alfie is nothing like those boys. He's a man, there's no denying that. A protector, a provider, but also a criminal, a gangster. What life would you have with him?

Another matter that separates him from the rest is the small fact that you've also been having feelings for him.

"Alfie, that is very sweet of you to suggest..." You start.

"But?" He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes as if he already knows what you're about to say.

"But I've been through this before. I don't want to be dependent on someone again like I have been in the past. What would I do for work?"

"You could work with me. I'm in need of an assistant."

"I've never even typed a letter before, Alfie. What good would I be?"

"I could teach you."

"I think you should hire someone more qualified for the position, Alf."

He nods letting his head hang taking the reference to the assistant position as an answer to his proposal.

"It's alright, love. I understand."

Although you can tell he wants to convince you, he doesn’t push on the matter.

Alfie may be a criminal, but he will always be a gentleman to you. You’re a woman in a special place in his heart. The last thing he ever wants to be is the cause of your discomfort.

He can’t deny it doesn’t shatter his hopes. He manages to painfully swallow the shards down and accepts your decision…for the night, that is. Romance novels never really piqued his interest, but he’s a lover deep inside and is set on fighting for you because the only nights he’s able to sleep – and sleep well enough to wake up refreshed and reborn in the morning – is when he sleeps with you.

The subject doesn't come back up for the rest of the night. You go on about it as if it was never even mentioned.

Both of you decide to leave the matter at rest for now and not bring it up at all after that talk in the tub.

The weekends are always the busiest. Which is why you're getting ready to escort one of the wealthiest clients to an opera.

As usual, you meet James as he waits beside the Rolls-Royce parked just outside. He helps you climb inside before getting in as well to drive.

You notice the path he makes leads away from the opera house instead of towards it. You frown and lower the partition.

"James, I thought I was going to the opera?"

"Change of plans, Miss. Mr. Abernathy's cancelled."

"But he always requests for my companionship and mine alone."

"Aye, miss. But someone else's requested you tonight. Someone with more money. And I hear Mr. Abernathy's fallen ill, he says. Ill with two black eyes," he chuckles. "I think he's gone and gotten himself into trouble."

You nod, but find the story a bit hard to believe.

You watch the streets as you make the familiar way to the Brown's Hotel.

James informs you the room number to request for at the front desk as he helps you out of the car. Walking to the familiar room, you feel a chill crawl up your spine.

Something tells you the trouble Mr. Abernathy's gotten himself into was to sway him into cancelling his appointment with you.

The door opens and the familiar bearded face smiles widely at you as Alfie greets you.

"Ello, love."

[justrainandcoffee]

“Good Morning” (Tom Hardy x fem!oc)

Part 1 of the series: “Only for tonight”

Summary: It's 2012 when Hannah received a call from an important executive to work with them. She's a great musician only until that moment she didn't have the chance to really show her natural talent. The BBC offered her the opportunity to finally do it and at the same time the opportunity to meet him. || Three years later, everything is very different. Two different realities linked by the same phrase: “good morning.”

Warnings: None. Although there's some angst towards the end. || This is pure fiction. All names are made up except his. Even in future chapters all filmography named here was invented. || The story is divided in past (2012) and present (2015)

Words: 2.7 k. || Remember that English isn't my first language. Please, consider leave a comment or reblog considering this is the first time i post this and still don't know what I'm doing 👉👈🥺.

Three years ago.

Hannah Murphy was born in London a morning in middle of May. His father was architect, her mother owner of a several beauty centres and her eldest brother was a neurosurgeon now working in Boston, United States.

Big things were expected from Hannah. Maybe being a doctor like Eric, her brother, or having a PhD in Economics like one if her cousins because first and foremost, the Murphys were successful people. Her grandfather, Mr. Andrew Murphy, was the one who designed the building for one of the most important corporations that existed nowadays in England. So, considering that everyone had their eyes on her, even as kid. But Hannah W. Murphy wasn't born with numbers and theories in her veins, she was born with music.

"You're wasting your life," her mother said when she was 10 and her father accepted to take her to a conservatory of music to learn to play piano. "Look at Eric, he's reading books that are for advanced students! And you're nothing compared to him, Hannah. Music! What kind of shit is that?"

But Hannah knew, even when she was 10, that music it was going to be her life. And she was right.

"Your daughter has a gift," one of her teachers said not longer after she started to study there.

But Greta Murphy, her mother, insisted on study something that could give her a name in the future and her brother thought the same as her. The only one who supported her was her father, Andrew Murphy jr, who was also the only one who went to her first solo in a theatre when she was 15.

Hannah was 16 when one of her plays, composed by herself, was part of a local play. Small, but it gave her some money and the hopes that her dreams could be possible.

Yet, when she finishes school, to stop hearing her mother for once, she decided to study engineering.  During those years, she didn't stop writing music but she just kept it to herself.

At the age of 23, she finished her career and threw the diploma in front of her Great. Hannah never worked as engineer.

Teaching kids and offering her music to different people who was interested in her talent, she was able to earn enough money to rent her own apartment and lm have her the freedom she was craving for.

Seven years later Hannah Murphy, 30 years old, was about to face the biggest change of her whole life.

She was walking Solomon, her black staffy and the most brainless dog in the whole world, when her phone on her pocket started to vibrate. It was an unknown number but she answered anyway.

"Hannah speaking."

"Ms. Murphy?" A female voice on the other side of the line made her stop walking.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, Miss Murphy I'm calling you in name of Mr. Henry Atwood, he wants to have an appointment with you, miss Murphy."

The first Henry Atwood that crossed her mind was the director and executive producer the BBC had and the brain of one of her favourite tv shows the last years. But the idea of someone calling her and saying that  that Henry Atwood wanted to see her was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Who's Henry Atwood? and how did you get my number?"

"Mr. Atwood, the tv producer," by her voice tone, Hannah believed that the girl considered her stupid. "I'm his secretary and I got your number because he asked for it to one of the directors you worked with."

"Scott?"

"Mr. Scott, yes"

If it wasn't because she was in middle of a park, Hannah could've screamed.

Travis Scott was a director working on a play and he asked her to help his team with the music. Finally after several failed meetings she ended up working alone and the final result in Travis's words was "the best fucking thing he ever heard."

That was four months ago but she didn't know that he knew Atwood and even less than he was going to receive a call from him. Or his secretary to be more specific.

"Ms. Murphy?"

"I'm sorry I'm trying to understand what's happening… I- the answer is yes! If he wants, yes of course I can. I just need to know when."

"Great. I'll make an appointment, then."

.

Two days later a very nervous Hannah was waiting for Atwood in the waiting room. It was perfectly tidy, with magazines on the glass table, some flyers prompting the movies and TV shows to come and some from previous months. The tiles shone reflecting the lamps on the ceiling.

Hannah felt stupidly nervous. Most people there arranged things thanks to secretaries or managers but she didn't have any of those. She had a dog without brain cells and she was sure Solomon didn't know how to talk. Although she did know that the staffy was the best to calm her and right now she needed his comfort.

Hannah would remember that day for the rest of her life. It was 20th of June, 11:30 am and it was a  guy talking about the European football league on the radio sounding in the background when he saw him for the first time. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans. He'd have been any other man but he wasn't.

"Good morning," Tom said to her who was sitting in the chair next to the office's door, so still that she wasn't sure that was even blinking.

"Good morning," she managed to say.

Don't be awkward.

Tom smiled before walking towards the elevator "call me, okay?" he said to the other man.

"I will."

Both him and Hannah look at Tom go. "Quite a character," he said. "You are Hannah, right? I'm Henry Atwood."

Hannah was still seeing the corridor where he disappeared from their sight and Atwood couldn't help but chuckle.

"Tom Hardy," she said "It was him?"

"Yeah, it was him. We hired him for future our project. And I have an offer for you, too, But please first, come in."

Hannah called Betty, her best friend, as soon as she left the building like if everything was a dream. All was so surreal that she needed something to drink and to eat to process what just happened. Both women went to a pub, ordered beer and fish and chips.

"The main theme?" Betty asked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh, my god! Your mother is going to freak out and probably pass out. Imagine her telling her friends about this."

"She's going to say that the BBC isn't Hollywood and no one outside England is going to see it. And probably she's going to say that the music is horrible."

"She doesn't know a shit about music."

"But she does know how to destroy people. Believe me, I know."

"Then fuck her. Don't tell her a word, better that way."

"I won't."

"But you already signed the papers?"

"No. I mean I said yes, but I need to make it official. I'm going to read it tonight and then sign them. Fuck me, I can't believe it."

Betty smiled at her Hannah couldn't help but imitate her. That was a good day.

Good morning.

Hannah was very tempted to say to her about her seeing Tom inside the building, but suddenly she felt really silly.  What she was going to say? Do you know I saw Tom Hardy today and he said good morning to me? Besides, it was something so random and something that Hannah believed that wasn't going to happen again that she felt unnecessary to say it.

Next week, Hannah returned to the BBC building with the papers signed and her hopes higher than ever before. Hannah was happy and it was good. Not long ago she ended a relationship that left her with debts, without her motorbike but with Solomon. The only good thing the bastard did was abandoning the dog in her house. Solomon was just an eight-month puppy, playful and sweet, but according to his ex, he was just a waste of money. As if he himself wasn't a waste of money and oxygen.

So these unexpected good news was exactly what she needed. And her first salary was more than welcome.

"There's a meeting this Friday. The whole team," Henry Atwood said. "Including you."

"Including me? But I have nothing to do with the cast."

"That's the point. It's not just the cast. There are always new ideas to add or to erase from the plot, suggestions, new plans. Etc… maybe you can create something even more great if you know what it's this about. Can you come?"

"Yes, I'm free, so… yes!"

"Good then!" Henry offered her a big smile and his hand to shake it "Welcome aboard, Hannah."

Hannah preferred to be one of the firsts to arrive there instead of being there late. It was her first meeting and officially it was also her first day at work. It'd be considered rude to be there late. Not to mention that the idea of people looking at her was something she wasn't used to. Not without her piano as shell, at least.

The meeting office was big and chairs and tables were in a circle so everyone could look at the rest.

Hannah couldn't help but felt nervous. The idea of working for them suddenly hit her in her face with fury.  On her first day at work, she had to leave the office and find an empty place to calm herself. She felt sick and she was hyperventilating. Her mother's voice in her head didn't help at all "You're going to fail, because you're a failure."

"Look at your brother, head of the surgeon committee of Boston."

"Your music is quite mediocre."

"Shut up! Shut up!" she said to herself resting her forehead on the cold window that was in that corridor. The last thing she needed that special day was her mother and her awful vibes with her. "Please, go away."

Hannah closed her eyes and tried to think about good things. Her dog, her best friend, her piano… she imagined herself sitting in front of it and tried to breathe normally again.

"Are you okay?" A male voice brought her again to reality.

Hannah gasped and back off surprised by the unexpected company.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry," he said.

It took Hannah few seconds to recognise that Tom was in front of her, but when she did it, she rushed to reply. "Yes, yes. I- uhm, I was nervous and I felt anxious. I needed to clean my mind. It happens, from time to time."

"Are you sure?"

Hannah nodded as Tom walked to the water dispenser and offered seconds later a glass of water.

"Thanks," she said smiling briefly.

People tend to see celebrities as deities, not humans. Because of course they're people but also, they're beyond of what could be considered approachable. Not everyone could be near one. And suddenly Hannah was few inches away from a famous actor that seemed to be concerned about her. Like, indeed, any good person in the world could be worried about another. Famous or not.

"I started today," Hannah said "I think my brain felt I couldn't do it."

"It's normal, a new job make everyone feel nervous. You'll be fine. You'll see. What's your name?"

"Hannah Murphy."

"The composer," Tom said. His voice denoted surprised and he smiled at her "Henry talked a lot about you. You're a little celebrity here."

"Oh, please, no! I'm just- I'm not. I Just play the piano."

"It seems to me that more than that. Were you in the meeting?"

"I tried to be there before feeling sick."

"Come on, Hannah. They'll love you, don't worry about it."

Tom smiled at her again and something in his reassuring made her feel better. Together they entered in the meeting room.

___

Now. Three years later.

The apartment was still dark, the windows were closed despite the morning was a reality. She could hear the cars, people… even birds. Everything was the proof that outside those walls nothing changed.

Hannah didn't sleep in the whole night in that bed  that now semeed to be awfully big for her. The empty spot.

She didn't want to cry again, but new tears appeared in her eyes.

Where was her morning kiss on her shoulder? The beard tickling her skin? The "let's stay five more minutes"? His morning coffee, too strong for her taste, but whose smell was synonymous with the beginning of a new day?

It's not like Hannah didn't break up with another person before… but never before everything hurt that way.

Tap tap tap.

Solomon was wagging his tail against the wooden floor because he saw her moving in bed. Against all odds, she smiled briefly. She pat the mattress and the dog didn't waste time to jump and snuggle with her in a single motion. His big head was now on her chest and she caressed it with her hand.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

The animal looked at her. He didn't know anything about broken hearts, empty beds and tears. But he could feel her sadness. He'd wait for his breakfast until she felt better. Solomon settled closer to her.

It was 10am when she finally decided to go out of bed. The sun was shining, the city was indeed awake long time ago. Looking through the window she'd say that everything was the same. Only it wasn't.

Her phone was full of messages from her family and friends. Especially Betty. But Hananh didn't have the energy to deal with them, especially not her mother that for sure was ready to say that she was nothing but a disgrace, not even smart enough to keep a relationship with the best man she ever found. And for the first time in her life, Hannah hated the feeling that her mother was right.

She sat on her couch with a cappuccino mug in her hands and some toasts on a plate. On a chair on the opposite side of the living room still was one of his T-shirts, one that she stole from his wardrobe and ended its days as her pyjamas. She didn't use it for a while and she didn't want to touch it now, afraid that it'd smell like him.

The memories of the previous night overwhelmed her. It was her fault, she knew. For being too weak. Her mother was right, she wasn't like the rest of them, never was.

The sound of a new message caught her attention. She didn't need to see who it was. That was his ringtone, she personalized it long time ago.

Hannah took her phone and read the message.

[Can we talk? Ily]

Hannah pictured Tom in his house with his own dog next to him. His phone next to his nose because probably his glasses were somewhere where he couldn't find them.

She ruined it.

She received a new message from him.

[Pooh, let's talk]

Hannah broke into new tears when she read her nickname. No one before him ever called her Pooh. And everything started the moment he knew her second name was Winifred. Winnie. Hannah hated the name and she always used just the W, as reference for it. But with Tom, Hannah learnt to love her second name, even before dating. Or maybe it was because it was him.

Hannah called Tom.

He answered before the second ring, for a moment no one talked until he did "Good morning, Pooh."

[followsfrankiep]

A little (fluffy) Christmas gift for ya'll ❤️

Home Alone

It is the morning of the twenty third of December. It is most likely that everyone is with their families or partnes by now. Sadly, it was not the same case with me. The bed felt emptier than usual, a constant reminder that Tom was away filming again. There was nothing new about the famous Tom Hardy being trapped in the film set since he's a prized actor after all. It's almost a month since he left to go to the US and our only mode of communication was through the phone. I sighed, stretching out before reluctantly getting up. I was not looking forward for the upcoming holidays knowing that I will be home alone.

Today was going to be another long day without him.

I made my way to the kitchen, the silence of the apartment almost deafening. Only food can help with my mood. I decided to make a hearty breakfast—pancakes, eggs, and bacon. As I whisked the batter, my mind wandered to Tom. We had been secretly dating for three years now, and his hectic schedule often kept us apart. We thought living together would help our relationship considering his busy schedule. However, it just made me miss him even more since his absence is even more evident now that we are living under the same roof.

The aroma of breakfast filled the air, but it did little to lift my spirits.

After breakfast, I changed into my workout clothes and headed to the living room. I set up my yoga mat and started my routine, hoping the exercise would help clear my mind. Each stretch and pose felt like a small victory, a way to keep myself grounded amidst the chaos of missing him.

Once I finished my workout, I showered and got ready to head to the grocery store. Christmas was just around the corner, and I wanted to prepare a special dinner, hoping against hope that Tom might make it back in time. The store was bustling with holiday shoppers, and I carefully selected ingredients for our favorite dishes. As I picked up a bottle of cranberry juice instead of wine, having wine is not the same anymore this christmas.

Back home, I put away the groceries and settled on the couch with a blanket. I turned on Netflix, trying to distract myself with a movie. But my thoughts kept drifting back to Tom. We usually video-called at night, and I found myself eagerly waiting for his call. The tiny box wrapped in festive paper sat on the dining table, a gift I had been saving for him. I glanced at it often, hoping I could give it to him in person.

As the evening approached, my phone buzzed. It was Tom. I quickly answered, my heart racing.

"Hey, love," he said, his voice warm but tired. I could see him laying down at his hotel room with the lights dimmed as well. "How was your day?"

"Hey, Tom," I replied, trying to sound cheerful. "It was okay. Just the usual—workout, groceries, Netflix..." I sighed, holding back my tears. I got too emotional just by seeing him. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, darling" he said, his eyes softening. He knew I was looking forward to spending this Christmas together and how upset I was when I first knew about his unavailability. "I'm so sorry I can't be there. We're rushing to finish these scenes, and I don't know if I'll make it back in time for Christmas."

"I understand," I said and bit my lower lip, though my heart ached. "I just wish we could spend it together."

"Me too," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I promise I'll make it up to you. You know I hate being away, especially now."

We talked for a while longer, sharing our days and comforting each other. As we said our goodbyes, I looked at the tiny box again, my fingers tracing the edges. I hoped with all my heart that Tom would be home soon, so I could give him his gift and we could celebrate together.

The night grew darker, and I curled up on the couch, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, he would walk through the door and make this Christmas unforgettable.

---

I still remember the day we met. It was at a charity event three years ago. I was there with a friend, feeling a bit out of place among the celebrities and high-profile guests. Tom was one of the speakers, and his passion for the cause was evident. After his speech, I found myself at the refreshment table, nervously fiddling with my drink.

"Hey there," a deep voice said, startling me. I turned to see Tom Hardy himself standing next to me, a friendly smile on his face.

"Hi," I managed to reply, my heart pounding. I mean, who wouldn't be nervous? It's Tom Hardy!

We struck up a conversation, and to my surprise, we hit it off immediately. He was down-to-earth and genuinely interested in what I had to say. By the end of the night, he had asked for my number, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Our first date was magical. Tom suggested a cozy little Italian restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. I arrived a bit early, my heart pounding with anticipation. The restaurant was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. I chose a table near the back, hoping for some privacy. As I waited, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. I thought he wouldn't arrive so I started taking a bite from the bread.

I heard a deep chuckle nearby. When I looked up, Tom is standing infront of me with a cheeky smile plastered on his face, looking effortlessly handsome in a casual shirt and jeans. He flashed that charming smile that made my heart skip a beat. As he approached, I stood up, and he greeted me with a warm hug.

He brushed some of the bread crumbs off my lips as I blushed out of embarassment. Tom Hardy just saw me devouring the complimentary bread. What a way to start a date.

"Take it easy on the bread there." He teased.

"Shut up." I playfully rolled my eyes, earning another chuckle from him.

"Hey, you look amazing," he said, his eyes twinkling. He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ears.

"Thanks, you too," I replied, feeling a bit shy.

We sat down, and the conversation flowed easily. Tom was incredibly down-to-earth, and we talked about everything from our favorite movies to our childhood memories. He shared stories from his filming experiences, and I found myself laughing and feeling more at ease with each passing minute.

The food was delicious, and we savored every bite while continuing our conversation. At one point, Tom reached across the table and took my hand, his touch sending a warm shiver down my spine.

"I'm really glad we met," he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine. "There's something special about you."

I blushed, feeling a rush of emotions. "I'm glad we met too, Tom. This feels...right."

After dinner, we decided to take a walk. The night was cool and crisp, and we strolled through a nearby park, the city lights twinkling in the distance. We talked about our hopes and dreams, and I felt a deep connection forming between us.

As we reached a quiet spot by a small pond, Tom stopped and turned to face me. "I know this might sound crazy, but I feel like I've known you forever," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I feel the same way," I admitted, my heart swelling with emotion.

He leaned in, and our lips met in a gentle, tender kiss. It was a moment of pure magic, and I knew then that this was the beginning of something truly special.

From that night on, our bond only grew stronger. Despite the challenges of keeping our relationship a secret and the distance that often separated us, we found solace in each other. And now, as I waited for his call, I held onto the memories of that first date. I miss him even more.

-

The day before Christmas, I woke up with a heavy heart. I sent Tom a message, pouring out my feelings. I told him how much I wished he could be here with me, but I understood his obligations and wished him well. I stared at my phone, hoping for a reply, but none came. I sighed, trying to push away the disappointment.

Determined to make the best of the day, I threw myself into preparing our Christmas dinner. I started with the deviled eggs, carefully mixing the yolks with mustard and mayonnaise, then sprinkling them with paprika. Next, I moved on to the prime rib, seasoning it with a blend of herbs and spices before placing it in the oven. The rosemary roasted potatoes were next, their fragrant aroma filling the kitchen as they baked. I tossed together a fresh garden salad, the vibrant colors a small comfort amidst my loneliness. Finally, I prepared the English trifle, layering sponge cake, custard, fruit, and whipped cream with meticulous care.

As I worked, my mind kept drifting back to Tom. I glanced at the bottle of wine I had saved for us, my heart sinking. With a sigh, I placed it back on the shelf. It seemed pointless to open it when Tom wouldn't be here.

I tried to distract myself by watching his series, "Taboo." Seeing him on screen, so intense and captivating, made me miss him even more. I curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, and let the episodes play. Each scene reminded me of how much I loved him and how much I wished he could be here.

The hours passed slowly, and the apartment felt emptier with each passing minute. Going back and forth from the kitchen and the living room while checking my phone, hoping for a message, a call, anything. But there was nothing. I knew he was busy, but it didn't make the silence any easier to bear.

As the evening drew closer, I finished setting the table, lighting candles and arranging the dishes. The tiny box with his Christmas gift sat in the center, a symbol of my hope that he might still make it. I sat down, staring at the flickering candlelight, and whispered a silent wish that Tom would walk through the door and make this Christmas unforgettable.

It was almost midnight, and the smell of the prime rib was too enticing to resist any longer. I decided to eat the dinner I had prepared the whole day, even if it meant doing so alone. I served myself two huge slices of the succulent meat, along with a little bit of everything else. It made my heart so happy to see it perfectly cooked. I am so hungry. I feel like I could eat for two. Instead of the wine, I poured myself a glass of cranberry juice.

I settled in front of the TV, still watching "Taboo," and began devouring my meal. The flavors were incredible, and I couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. I was in my sweatpants and hoodie, my hair tied up in a messy bun, completely at ease. For a moment, I allowed myself to enjoy the food and the comfort of our cozy apartment.

As I took another bite of the prime rib, savoring its tenderness, I felt a sense of happiness. It wasn't the Christmas Eve I had hoped for, but at least I had made a delicious meal. I was so engrossed in my food and the show that I almost didn't hear the doorbell ring.

Startled, I paused, my fork halfway to my mouth. Who could it be at this hour? My heart raced as I got up and walked to the door, wiping my hands on my hoodie. I peeked through the peephole, and my breath caught in my throat.

There, standing on the other side, was Tom. His eyes were tired but filled with warmth, and he held a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. I quickly unlocked the door and flung it open, my emotions overwhelming me.

"Tom!" I exclaimed, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Hey, love," he said softly, stepping inside and wrapping me in a tight hug. "I couldn't stay away. I had to be here with you."

I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace. "I missed you so much," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. His scent was so intoxicating.

"I missed you too," he replied, pulling back slightly to look at me. "I'm sorry I didn't reply to your message. I wanted to surprise you."

I smiled through my tears, feeling a rush of happiness. It did not matter anymore. I am just happy he's here now. "It doesn't matter. This is the best Christmas gift I could have asked for." We made our way inside, he plopped his things down and inhaled the smell of the freshly cooked food.

He glanced at the table, seeing the half-eaten meal. "I was just about to say "let's eat" but it looks like you started without me," he teased, his eyes twinkling.

I laughed, wiping my tears away. "I couldn't resist. The prime rib was calling my name."

Tom's gaze softened as he looked at me. "You've got a little something right here," he said, pointing to his own lips.

I blushed, realizing I had some gravy on my lips. Before I could wipe it away, Tom leaned in and kissed me, his lips warm and gentle. "Mmm, delicious," he murmured against my lips, making me giggle.

"You're such a tease," I said, playfully swatting his arm.

"Only for you," he replied with a wink. "Now, let's finish this meal together."

We sat down, and I served him a plate. As we ate, we talked and laughed, the apartment filled with the warmth of our reunion. Tom noticed the TV and grinned. "Watching 'Taboo,' huh? Missing me that much?" he teased, pinching my cheek.

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Maybe a little. It's not the same without you here."

Tom gave me a warm smile, leaned in and kissed my cheek. "Well, I'm here now. Let's enjoy this meal together."

We continued eating, sharing cute banter and stealing kisses between bites. "This prime rib is amazing," Tom said, his eyes lighting up. "You really outdid yourself."

"Thanks," I replied, feeling a warm glow of pride. "I'm glad you like it."

As the clock struck midnight, we put our plates aside and shared a sweet kiss. "Merry Christmas, love," Tom whispered, his arms wrapped around me.

"Merry Christmas, Tom," I replied, my heart full.

Tom glanced at the wine on the shelf and raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you open the wine? I know you love it."

I shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish. "I didn't think it was worth opening without you here."

He smiled, grabbing the bottle and bringing it to the table. "Well, let's open it now and celebrate properly."

As he poured the wine, he noticed the small gift box on the table. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up and bringing it over to me.

"It's your Christmas gift," I said, smiling. "I was hoping to give it to you at dinner."

Tom's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he sat back down beside me. "Well, let's see what it is," he said, handing it to me.

I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Open it," I said softly.

He carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a positive pregnancy test and a small ultrasound picture of a tiny bean. Tom's eyes widened in shock, and then he jumped up, his face lighting up with pure joy.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice trembling. "We're having a baby?"

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. "Yes, Tom. I'm twelve weeks pregnant."

Tom let out a whoop of joy, lifting me off the ground and spinning me around. "We're having a baby!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with happiness. He set me down gently and immediately knelt, kissing my stomach tenderly. "Hello, little one," he said softly, his voice filled with love. "I am your dad. I can't wait to meet you."

I laughed through my tears, overwhelmed by his reaction. "I love you so much," I whispered, my heart bursting with emotion.

"I love you too," he replied, standing up and kissing me deeply. "This is the best Christmas gift ever."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning me with a newfound understanding. "So that's why you were so hungry for the prime rib," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "And why you didn't drink the wine, and why you're in your comfy clothes."

I nodded, smiling. "I wanted to be comfortable for the baby."

Tom's eyes softened even more, if that was possible. "You're going to be the best mum," he said, kissing my forehead. "And I'm going to be the best dad."

We spent the rest of the night together, enjoying the meal and each other's company. Tom couldn't stop talking to my stomach, making me laugh with his excitement. "You're going to have the best parents, little one," he said, his voice filled with joy.

As we sat back down to eat, Tom noticed the ultrasound picture again. "I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head in wonder. "We're really having a baby."

"Yes, we are," I said, smiling. "And I couldn't be happier."

After we finished eating, Tom pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me and my baby bump. "I'm not leaving your side tonight," he whispered, his voice filled with love and determination. "I want to be here with you and our baby."

We cuddled on the couch, his hand gently resting on my stomach. "I can't wait to meet you, little one," he murmured, kissing my belly softly. "And I can't wait to spend every moment with you both."

It was a Christmas Eve I would never forget, filled with love, laughter, and the promise of a beautiful future together. Tom held me close, and I knew for the next Christmas, I would not be alone.

[mlmxreader]

Natural Habitat | Eddie Brock x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hey, I wanted to know if you could write “What did you do? You never bring me breakfast in bed” with eddie brock x male reader ❞

: ̗̀➛ Eddie's acting suspicious, and you're not quite sure how to manage it when all you want to do is stay in bed.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ help Mohsen's family rebuild

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You stretched lazily, awoken by the sound of eggs smashing against the floor and hushed bickering in the kitchen; Eddie and Venom making breakfast, the usual routine. Venom insisted that he knew how to cook, Eddie insisted quite the opposite. You just wished you could have a lie-in for once.

You did think about getting up and telling them both to quit it and let you make breakfast, but you were so tired; days of overtime and constantly sorting things out at home, you just wanted to slip off and sleep for a few years. So you decided it against it, rolling onto your side and pulling the blankets up around your mouth; you snuggled into them, closing your eyes and doing your best to ignore the constant. Loud. Bickering.

At least they tried to keep themselves quiet, hushed voices slowly becoming raised the more they were in the kitchen, and you guessed that the effort was worth something. But it was still keeping you awake, as much as you despised the thought of being so.

Would it be such a fucking crime to just have five extra minutes of peace and quiet?

Then again, it wasn't their faults; Eddie and Venom did love you, you knew that, and they knew that you had been run down and exhausted the past few days. You did appreciate the fact that they at least tried to keep things down and at least did make an actual effort to not wake you.

Then again, it also wasn't either of their faults that they were two halves of a whole idiot, either.

The thought made you laugh a little as you pulled your knees up, trying to snuggle in as much as you could until you were - inevitably - ripped and torn by your blaring, annoying, disruptive alarm.

You stretched as you yawned, eyes watering and bones protesting when you moved; you just wanted to go back to sleep, you really did. Of course it would have been nice to have spent the day cuddled between Eddie and Venom, a thick gooey sling behind you where they were linked, but you doubted that that would have been possible, especially with Eddie's new job.

He had articles due, and he had meetings to attend to.

It wasn't like he could give that up just for a few extra hours in bed with his boyfriend, was it?

No, of course not. The notion was stupid, disastrously so.

Music turned on, which was a reasonably terrible thing, as they only ever did such a thing when they were well aware that they might wake you up with their bickering; you grumbled, shaking your head as you swallowed thickly and fought the urge to get up and go see what they were doing.

No, you were adamant that you wouldn't go and look. You needed your rest, and they were probably just up to their usual antics, you didn't need to go and get yourself worked up about it.

But then the music stopped, and everything fell silent for a moment; you allowed yourself to breathe for a moment, thankful that you were allowed to rest again.

But then you heard Eddie's footsteps, and every nerve approached the edge; he was heading towards the bedroom, and when you heard him gently push open the door, you assumed the worst. He was burning the flat down with his and Venom's little disaster in the kitchen.

Gently, he placed something on the bedside table, and shook you; you turned to look at him, eyeing him suspiciously as he grabbed the tray and grinned at you.

"What in the world?"

Eddie shrugged, placing the tray on your lap and moving to get into the bed beside you; you kept looking at him with great suspicion before finally turning your gaze to the plate.

Veggie bacon, beans, toast, and an egg.

Something was wrong.

"What did you do? You never bring me breakfast in bed," you glared at him with concern. "You didn't cause another fire, did you?"

"No!" Eddie yelped, shaking his head. "We didn't do anything!"

None of it was burnt.

"Are you sure?"

"We promise!" He all but howled, putting his hand to his chest. "We just thought maybe you'd appreciate it after how hard you've been working."

You could tell he was telling the truth, so you sighed as you smiled and nodded. "Thank you... really... did the kitchen survive?"

Eddie nodded as he kissed your temple. "There might be a stain on the side by the toaster, but that's all, I swear! We managed!"

You wanted to laugh, really, and he could tell from the way you looked away that you were trying to hide it; he nudged you gently, grinning from ear to ear.

"Eddie..."

"You worked so hard lately," he started, "me and V, we... we wanted to treat you a little bit - y'know, show the future Mister Brock what he's in for."

You rolled your eyes fondly at that, wondering where the fuck you were meant to begin with the plate. "What I'm in for? Really?"

"Yeah," he eagerly nodded. "You know, we've not asked you officially yet, but... it's on the table, right?"

"It is," you agreed with a soft hum. "If the kitchen has actually survived and isn't an absolute pig sty."

He laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck; now wasn't the time to admit that they had stained the saucepan, broken a cup, and had gone through eight different eggs trying to cook them properly. That could all wait, the kitchen did survive. Mostly.

"It isn't," he promised quietly. "And even if it was, you don't need to worry. Today, me and V are gonna spoil you and you can stay in bed all day."

That worried you. They couldn't be trusted, as much as you loved them both, a domestic setting wasn't exactly their natural habitat.

"Alright," you relented with a soft laugh, daring to kiss him sweetly. "Fine."

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Hi! Hope you're doing well! If requests are still open, could I request a reader pairing for Alfie Solomons please?

A basic outline idea is that reader and Alfie meet at different moments in their lives, just crossing paths (they even meet during the war) but it's always as passing ships. They don't entirely come together until they both end up in Camden, some time after the war and it just seems as if the universe was finally ready to have them come into contact with the other. And when they do, it's like they've lived a thousand lifetimes with the other already. My apologies if none of this makes sense 😅. Basically, Alfie and reader have almost meetings, they run in similar situations throughout their lives but have never come close enough to actually come into contact with the other properly. Even during the war, it would be passing glances but time would seem to stand still, and both would feel as if they'd missed something important but could never place what it was. Then a fateful day they finally properly meet/see eachother.

Thank you and no pressure!

- 🥀

Destiny - Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2792

Warnings: mention of war injuries (minor injuries)

Summary: the request

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, whenever I see your 🥀, it really does make me smile. I really hope I did your request justice because it sounded so fucking cute! 💚

On a rare sunny day in the heart of London, a golden warmth bathed the city, casting an unfamiliar but welcome glow over its bustling streets. Seizing the opportunity to revel in this unusual weather, Y/n found themselves at a pub with their family. The pub exuded a comforting charm, its walls steeped in the echoes of shared laughter and the clinking of glasses. The ambience mingled with the gentle hum of animated conversations, creating a backdrop for the familial celebration.

Around a rustic wooden table, Y/n's family gathered, their smiles illuminated by the soft sunlight streaming through the pub's windows. The clatter of cutlery and the rich aroma of hearty pub fare filled the air as they shared stories, laughter, and the joyous spirit of the day. 

As the calm atmosphere of the pub was momentarily disrupted by the boisterous entrance of a group of men, their laughter echoing through the space, an undeniable ripple of disturbance coursed through the patrons. The men, seemingly impervious to the annoance they stirred, found their way to a booth in the back, claiming it with an air of careless possession. The ambient noise level rose, but the pub's occupants, though mildly irked, continued with their conversations and revelry, determined not to let the intrusion dampen the celebratory mood.

Y/n's gaze was strangely drawn to the rowdy group, and in particular, to one man who stood out amidst the chaos. It wasn't until he glanced up that Y/n found themselves ensnared in a trance. His eyes, pools of indescribable beauty, held a captivating allure that defied explanation. The man felt oddly familiar, but Y/n knew they had never met before. The connection was visceral, mutual even, as if the currents of destiny had momentarily aligned. The pub's commotion faded into the background, and in that suspended moment, neither Y/n nor the mysterious man seemed willing to break the enchantment. 

Y/n's immersion in the captivating gaze was abruptly interrupted by a gentle nudge from their mother, a subtle reminder that life outside the spellbinding moment carried on. Reluctantly tearing their eyes away, Y/n found the mysterious man looking elsewhere as well, as if the enchantment had been momentarily broken. The air between them hung with a charged tension, the unspoken connection lingering even as they both redirected their attention to the surroundings.

Throughout the night, stolen glances and shared glimmers of curiosity went back and forth. Y/n couldn't resist stealing moments to look in the man's direction, finding him reciprocating the silent exchange. The pub buzzed with life around them, yet in their mutual acknowledgment, a subtle understanding seemed to blossom. Each stolen glance held the promise of a conversation left unspoken, a connection suspended in the uncharted territory of the unsaid.

Despite the magnetic pull drawing them together, neither Y/n nor the mysterious man took the initiative to bridge the gap that separated them physically. The unspoken language of glances painted an intricate picture of shared curiosity and intrigue, leaving the possibility of interaction hanging in the air like an unresolved chord, waiting for the right moment to resonate. 

Leaving the pub with the echoes of laughter and clinking glasses behind them, Y/n couldn't resist stealing one last glance back at the mysterious man. To their surprise, his eyes were fixed on Y/n, an unmistakable connection sparking once again. It felt as if the moment hung in suspended animation, teetering on the brink of something unspoken. The man, seemingly on the verge of standing, was sidetracked by a friend handing him a drink. The mutual yearning lingered in the air, leaving both parties with a sense of unfulfilled potential. As Y/n and their family ventured into the London night, the unexplored possibilities of that chance encounter reverberated, a silent promise awaiting the right chapter to unfold in the tapestry of their lives.

-

Prior to the outbreak of the war, Y/n was acquainted with the sight of blood and the severity of injuries, yet nothing could prepare them for the overwhelming influx that ensued. As the conflict raged on, hospital ships became both a haven and a battlefield, with wounded soldiers arriving in escalating numbers each day. Y/n, undeterred by the relentless tide, navigated the crowded rooms with unwavering determination.

Their days were a blur of urgent activity, swiftly moving from one patient to the next, frantically gathering the necessary equipment to staunch the wounds and offer solace to the men in their care. The wartime hospital became both a crucible of suffering and a testament to Y/n's unyielding commitment to alleviating the agony of those who had sacrificed so much on the front lines.

In the midst of the chaotic triage, Y/n found themself attending to an unconscious soldier, their hands swift and sure as they worked to staunch an open wound on his thigh. Amidst the urgency, another nurse hurried over, seeking an assessment of the wounded man's condition. "How is he looking?" the nurse inquired anxiously.

"Fine, who's asking?" Y/n responded, their focus unwavering as they continued to tend to the injured soldier's wounds.

"A captain," the nurse replied, her voice betraying a sense of urgency and concern. "He's asking as a friend. He's sitting over there, a minor gunshot wound," she added, gesturing towards a nearby bed.

Y/n's gaze followed the nurse's gesture, landing on a man with a captain's insignia, his stomach wrapped in the telltale bandages that marked the aftermath of battle. The captain's steely stare met Y/n's, and an unspoken connection seemed to crackle between them. Neither could look away, caught in a momentary trance that transcended the cacophony of the hospital around them. The gravity of war and the shared intensity of their gaze created a bond that lingered, casting an unexpected spell amidst the relentless turmoil of the medical bay.

The captivating intensity of the captain's gaze held Y/n in a trance, an allure that seemed to echo with familiarity, as if the threads of destiny were weaving them together. Y/n hesitated to tear their eyes away, drawn into the magnetic pull. With an almost reluctant detachment, Y/n finally shifted their attention back to the unconscious soldier, continuing to wrap up his wounded leg. Tending to the injured man served as a grounding force, a brief respite from the magnetic connection with the captain.

"You can tell the man he's fine," Y/n spoke to the nurse, their voice carrying a subtle hint of distraction. "Only a small wound, passed out from shock more than anything."

The nurse nodded in acknowledgment and retraced her steps towards the captain. Y/n observed from the periphery as the nurse relayed the reassuring news, yet the captain's gaze remained unwaveringly fixed on them. It was as if an invisible force bound them together, an unspoken understanding that transcended the chaos of war and the confines of their roles in the medical bay. 

-

It had been a year since the war ended, and Y/n found themselves settling into a life that bore the marks of both resilience and recovery. The echoes of the battlefield had gradually faded, replaced by a newfound sense of normalcy. Y/n's days were no longer punctuated by the urgent chaos of wartime nursing; instead, they had transitioned into a semblance of tranquility.

Life, now, seemed to unfold in a gentle rhythm, allowing space for personal growth and the pursuit of newfound joys. The city around them had also transformed, shedding the somber shadows of war for the vibrant hues of a world that was rebuilding. Yet, even in this period of respite, a subtle restlessness lingered in Y/n's heart, as if an unspoken chapter awaited them, destined to be written.

Settling into Camden town after the war, Y/n discovered that the post-war reality was a maze of both opportunities and challenges. The once-booming demand for military nurses had dwindled, leaving Y/n in the throes of a job market that offered little solace. The skills acquired on the battlefield, while invaluable in the context of wartime, now seemed displaced in a society that was seeking a different kind of healing.

Today, Y/n was trying their chances at a secretary job their cousin had told them about. Y/n knew the work was dodgy, but didn’t have many options at this point. Y/n knew little about the job they were potentially applying for but was more than willing to try anything.

Walking into what they believed to be a bakery, Y/n was taken aback by the unexpected scent of alcohol that permeated the air. Led through the establishment by their cousin James, they were stopped outside what seemed to be an office by a tall, slender man. James, with an air of familiarity, introduced Y/n to the man.

"Hello, Ollie. This is my cousin, and they're interested in applying as a secretary," James stated, prompting Ollie to cast a discerning glance at Y/n.

"Previous jobs?" Ollie asked.

"I served as a nurse in the war, but I'm quite good in typing and desperately need a job," Y/n replied, their eagerness to transition evident.

Ollie paused, looking them up and down for a moment before nodding thoughtfully and gesturing for them to step forward. The office door swung open, revealing another man inside.

"Someone's just come in for the secretary job, Alfie," Ollie informed the man at the desk, introducing Y/n.

The man, Alfie, looked up from the files in front of him, his gaze meeting Y/n's. And like that, the world stopped. This time, they knew they’ve met before, or at least seen one another. It was a gaze neither could forget. Alfie stood from his seat immediately, not believing what he was seeing. It had to be destiny. God had truly blessed them. 

"Fuck off, Ollie," Alfie dismissed his employee, his attention undiverted from Y/n, who stood in the doorway.

Ollie, sensing an unexpected tension in the air, made a swift exit, leaving Y/n alone with Alfie. The atmosphere in the room crackled with unspoken energy, and Alfie's gaze held a familiarity that defied the boundaries of a typical job interview.

In that moment, Y/n struggled to understand the depth of their connection. It felt as though they had known Alfie longer than the years they had lived. It was a sensation that transcended mere memories; it was an inexplicable understanding that time had woven their stories together in a tapestry that stretched across lifetimes. The air in the room seemed to hold the echoes of their shared history, and the serendipity of their reunion resonated with a familiarity that defied logic.

As Y/n looked at Alfie, it became clear that their paths had been intricately entwined long before they found themselves in the present moment. The laughter, the glances, the missed opportunities—all of it seemed like chapters in a story that had been unfolding over the course of lifetimes, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal itself. The ordinary office, with its scent of alcohol and the weight of job interviews, now felt like a stage where the drama of their shared history was about to unfold in unexpected and extraordinary ways.

"You... I know you," Alfie finally spoke, his voice carrying a mixture of recognition and intrigue.

"You were a captain in the war," Y/n acknowledged, the shared history connecting them now laid bare.

"And you were a nurse.." Alfie completed the sentence, the weight of the past settling in the room like a silent revelation. 

The air hung heavy with the unspoken, as if the universe had conspired once again to bring them together, this time not as passing ships but as two souls navigating the currents of post-war Camden.

"Fuck me," Alfie laughed, the realization dawning on him. "You were the one at the pub too."

"Excuse me?" Y/n questioned, a mix of confusion and surprise crossing their face.

"It was about... fuck, bit over 10 years ago, I can't fucking remember. But I ain't never forgot that face," Alfie admitted, the years falling away as the memory resurfaced.

The air in the room seemed to hold its breath, charged with the revelation that their paths had crossed long before this unexpected reunion. The threads of fate, intricately woven through time and chance, now bound them together once more. The shared moment at the pub, the stolen glances, and the unspoken connection had left an indelible mark, waiting for the chapters of their lives to unfold and intertwine in ways they could have never anticipated. In the midst of the mundane—amidst job interviews and bakery offices—the echoes of the past whispered their shared history, breathing life into a story that had taken years to unfold.

"Well, it's nice to finally fucking meet you," Alfie exclaimed, the laughter still lingering in his eyes.

"You too," Y/n replied, a genuine smile breaking across their face. The room, once filled with the tension of the unexpected reunion, now seemed to exhale, as if the universe itself was acknowledging the significance of this meeting.

The weight of years and unspoken moments hung in the air, creating a bridge between two souls who had circled each other in the dance of fate. It was more than a job interview; it was a cosmic rendezvous, a meeting that had been written in the stars long before they found themselves in this office. 

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Alfie blurted out, the words slipping from his lips before he could censor them. 

Y/n, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, felt a warm blush creeping up their cheeks.

"Uh... sorry 'bout that," Alfie mumbled, his gaze shifting downward in embarrassment. 

"Well... why don't we introduce ourselves properly then," Y/n suggested, a warm smile playing on their lips as they approached Alfie's desk.

As Y/n extended their hand, Alfie mirrored the gesture, their hands meeting in a handshake that felt like a connection stretching across time. In that simple touch, a cascade of images flooded their minds—snapshots of shared moments, fleeting glances, and a history that seemed to have unfolded in a different lifetime.

"I... I don't know how to explain this," Y/n confessed, their eyes searching Alfie's for understanding. "But I feel as if I've known you forever."

"Fuck, you felt that too?" Alfie responded, his eyebrows lifting in a mixture of surprise and recognition. 

As the pieces of their intertwined past began to fall into place, Y/n and Alfie found themselves standing at the nexus of something extraordinary, a connection that defied the boundaries of time and space.

"I suppose this is fate or something," Y/n mused, their eyes reflecting the wonder of a cosmic connection.

"Whatever it is, I'm fucking grateful for it," Alfie laughed, the sincerity in his words resonating with the inexplicable bond they shared.

Y/n returned his smile, a mixture of gratitude and anticipation playing on their lips.

"So... about that job?" Y/n asked, shifting the conversation back to the immediate present.

"Nah, you don't need no fucking job. You're with me now, yeah? I'll keep you living well," Alfie declared, his tone carrying a sense of unwavering determination.

"Oh, I can't let you do that for me," Y/n responded, a flicker of hesitation in their voice.

Alfie waved his hands dismissively. "Don't want to hear it," he said with a grin, cutting off any protest before it could fully form. 

"At least let me help you around here," Y/n suggested, not wanting to feel completely useless.

"Fine, how about you make us a nice cup of tea and tell me about yourself, hmm?" Alfie proposed, a playful glint in his eye.

Y/n's smile widened. "Of course."

As Y/n set about preparing the tea, Alfie leaned against a nearby surface, watching with a mixture of amusement and admiration. As the aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the room, Y/n joined Alfie with two steaming cups in hand. The exchange of glances between them held a silent promise of shared stories. 

In that office in Camden, the two souls realigned, as if destiny had guided them to this pivotal intersection. The gentle clinking of teacups became a melody marking the beginning of an unwritten chapter. As Y/n and Alfie exchanged sips of warmth and told tales from their past, an unspoken understanding settled between them, an unbreakable bond forged in the shared moments of laughter and revelation. In the quiet rhythm of their conversation, an implicit promise took root. Nothing could ever sever the ties that had come to bind them together. - A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this one because it just loved writing it. These babes are desperate for one another and they don't even know why, they are so cute! It's a bit shorter than I hoped for but family got me caught up and all sorts of shit, so finding the time wasn't the easiest but I'm glad I wrote it because it was truly fun for me. Thank you for reading and I look forward to more requests :) 💚

[jakegyllenbaalz]

tom hardy as charles bronson (bronson, 2008)

[smuttyfantasyrecs]

Tom Hardy

🦋 anal 🦋 degrading 🦋 meeting the parents 🦋 praise 🦋 tattoo 🦋 virgin 🦋 personal assistant 🦋 ass man 🦋 calming 🦋 motorcycles 🦋 use me 🦋 I can't wait for you to break 🦋 friends to lovers 🦋 shy 🦋 bratty 🦋 innocence 🦋 pregnant 🦋 I want you 🦋 innocence 🦋 party girl 🦋 breeding 🦋 mirror 🦋 innocent 🦋 early riser 🦋 naughty girl 🦋 24/7 🦋 nipple piercings 🦋 miles and miles 🦋 jealousy 🦋 bath 🦋 i'm gonna take care of you 🦋 boob guy 🦋 bath time 🦋

@buckyownsmylife

🦋 undress me 🦋

@simplystevies

[hoteldreamss]

Eddie Brock || imagine

Метки: момент 18+ с участием Венома, но не излишне порнографично.

Слов: 1 357

Эдди не хотел вмешивать Венома в ваши отношения. Может он сделает это позже, когда вы с ним станете ещё ближе и стеснение друг перед другом окончательно пройдёт.

Веном стал уже не просто паразитом в Эдди, а чем-то вторым, чем-то что дополняло его и без этой твари внутри, Брок уже не мог существовать.

Поэтому Симбиот понимал, что может манипулировать человеком, что стал частью его.

Веном не умолкал в голове Эдди, когда ты была рядом.

— Эдди?! — окрикиваешь мужчину, когда понимаешь, что он не слышал тебя последние пару минут.

— Извини, — виновато произносит Брок, опустив взгляд на свою бутылку пива.

— Я предложила погулять завтра, — говоришь ты. — По центру, зайдём куда-нибудь, поужинаем потом. Ты за?

— Если она опять потащит нас в китайскую забегаловку, я съем её на десерт, — говорит Веном, вспомнив, что в прошлый раз, когда вы так зашли в какое-то незнакомое место, то там не подавали ничего сладкого и симбиот был недоволен.

— Перестань, — произносит Эдди, в пол голоса, пока ты слишком увлечена готовкой, чтобы услышать его.

— Или перейду к ней. Она наверняка умрёт от страха, когда услышит меня в своей голове.

— Боже, — Эдди потирает лицо, надеясь снять усталость и раздражение таким способом.

— Ты хорошо себя чувствуешь? — Твои аппетитные бёдра привлекали внимание Брока, пока ты готовила находясь к нему спиной.

Он не удивлён, что Симбиот хочет съесть тебя. В конце концов, Эдди хочет того же, но в другом ключе, естественно.

— Да, конечно? — в его голосе слышится вопрос, и это напрягает тебя.

Ты поворачиваешься к нему, надеясь заметить признаки лжи на его лице. Но он выглядит так будто не врёт, и его взгляд опускается на твою грудь, до которой он уже давно не дотрагивался, и скучал по этим ощущениям. Как его слегка мозолистые, суховатые пальцы скользили по твоей бархатной, мягкой и упругой коже.

Эдди уставал на работе, а Веном выматывал его эмоционально, когда говорил не затыкаясь или предлагал съесть какого-нибудь мудака.

И Брок был уверен, что ты скучаешь по нему, потому чт�� ваше общение стало намного реже и вы с трудом могли найти время друг для друга.

— Уверен? У тебя не болит голова? Или может ещё что-нибудь? Выглядишь неважно, — произносишь ты. Твоя ладонь накрывает его лоб и ты чувствуешь сильный жар.

— Ты горишь! — произносишь ты, озадаченно смотря на Эдди.

— Я немного хочу спать, но всё не так плохо. Просто нужно выспаться, — говорит он.

— Если бы мы съели того ублюдка в метро, сейчас бы ты был бодрячком, — произносит Веном в голове Брока и он думает о том, что нужно перестать смотреть "крутые боевики". Симбиот нахватался от туда странных фразочка и это хоть и было забавно, всё ещё оставалось странным.

— Можем не ужинать, ляжем спать и всё, — предлагаешь ты, смотря с сочувствием на Эдди.

— Она определённо рассчитывала на соитие, а не на угрюмого, усталого неудачника, — произносит Веном.

Ты с ожиданием смотришь на Брока, которые чувствует ненависть к себе за то, что опять получил девушку, которую недостоин. Боже, ты была лучше всех и даже Веном это понимал.

И Эдди не знал, что ему сделать, чтобы не чувствовать себя жалким неудачником.

— Нет, нет, мы поужинаем. Ты готовила, я ждал, потом посмотрим фильм, и займёмся страстным сексом. — Губы мужчины искажаются в довольной улыбке, он и впрямь всего этого хотел, но сил буквально не было.

— Я бы мог помочь тебе в удовлетворении твоей человеческой самки, — выдаёт Веном, чем моментально вызывает у Эдди злость и страх.

— Ладно, но если ты устал, — ты разворачиваешься к шкафчикам с посудой. — Я не против ужина и просто сна.

— Даже не смей, — шипит Эдди, надеясь, что Симбиот внутри него просто шутит, чтобы напугать Брока.

— Дать ещё пива? — спрашиваешь у Эдди, когда ставишь тарелки с едой на стол и видишь уже пустую бутылку.

— Нет, эм, нет, спасибо, сладкая, — говорит Эдди, натянув вымученную улыбку.

Ты пытаешься разговорить Брока, но тот отвечает односложными предложениями и не даёт повода тебе затеять беседу.

В итоге он засыпает на диване, когда вы смотрите фильм. Ты укрываешь его пледом и идёшь в вашу спальню.

Ты и впрямь скучала по Эдди. Вы уже две недели не уделяли должного внимания друг другу. Тебе приходилось самой себя развлекать, но этого было мало и недостаточно. Ты уже чувствовала себя извращённой больной шлюхой, когда ладони Эдди были на твоей талии при объятиях, ты была готова наброситься на него.

Каждый ваш поцелуй ощущался тобой намного чувствительнее, чем раньше, как и каждое его прикосновение. И сейчас ты даже не будешь скрывать, что была возбуждена слишком сильно, чтобы лёжа на кровати своего парня, не раздвинуть немного ноги, согнув их в колени и не проскользнуть пальцами к своей чуть ли не пульсирующей сердцевине.

— Чёрт, — срывается с твоих губ, когда ты чувствуешь пальцами слишком много влаги.

Спальня была погружена в темноту и ты слышала, как по телевизору тихо идёт фильм, который включился следующим. Эдди точно бы проснулся, если бы услышала, что телевизор выключен. Поэтому ты оставила его работать, и накрыв Брока пледом, ушла спать в спальню.

С улице доносились ночные звуки большого города, периодически быстро проезжающих машин, голоса шумных и пьяных компаний. Ты не хотела, чтобы тебе застукал Эдди и было бы логичнее пойти в ванную, но его постель пахнет им. И ты вдыхаешь его запах, как можно глубже, прикрывая глаза и представляла его пальцы в себе.

Лаская свой клитор, ты переходишь на быстрые движения, трахая саму себя пальцами. Твоя вторая ладонь скользит к твоей груди, ты забираешься под футболку, легко находишь вздымающуюся грудь и набухшие соски, один из которых обхватываешь пальцами.

Ты не сразу замечаешь, как что-то мокрое, прохладное и липкое скользнуло по твоей ноге. Но когда ты чувствуешь что-то постороннее на внутренней стороне своей ноги, чуть выше колена, то вскрикиваешь и поддаёшься назад, усевшись на кровать так, что опираешься на её спинку.

— Твою мать! — произносишь ты, видя на одеяле какую-то чёрную жижу, и тянешься к светильнику на тумбочке. Как только загорается свет, эта хрень буквально стекает с кровати, и скрывается за дверью в гостиную.

Эдди хватает пары минут, чтобы понять, что его разбудил твой крик.

— Т/И?! — Брок появляется в дверном проёме, смотря на тебя с тревогой.

Твой напуганный взгляд и то, как ты была прижата к спинке кровати, говорят о том, что что-то явно было не так.

Футболка, что на тебе была, раньше принадлежала Эдди, но теперь ты спала в ней, когда ночевала у него. Она приподнялась, оголяя твои бёдра и ткань нижнего белья.

— Что произошло? — спрашивает он.

— Не знаю, — произносишь ты, переведя взгляд с кровати на Эдди и обратно. — Я... — Ты хмуришься, понятия не имеешь, как объяснить ему.

Веном моментально даёт объяснения Броку, в виде картинки и воспоминаний, и это заставляет Эдди испытывать смешанные чувства. Естественно он зол на Венома, напугавшего тебя, но остальное... Он даже не думал, что ты сделаешь что-то подобное у него в квартире, пока сам он в гостиной спит на диване. И тебя удивляет реакция мужчины. Он делает шаги к тебе, пока ты смотришь на него с ожиданием и замешательством.

— Т/И, послушай, — начинает Эдди, не совсем зная, как ему продолжать.

Что он скажет, что эта чёрная слизь его Симбиот? И оно живое.

Веном хотел, чтобы Эдди рассказал о нём. Ты всё ещё нравилась ему больше, чем Энн. Однако Брок старался уберечь тебя от информации об Веноме и боялась, что ты не воспримешь это нормально.

— Я... Мне нужно в туалет, — произносишь ты, даже не понимая, что сейчас произошло.

Эдди только хочет остановить тебя. Но вместо него это делает Веном. Он отстраняется от Эдди, и возрастает перед тобой. Мешает пройти к ванной, загораживая собой вход. Чёрная слизь приняла форму почти человека, только лицо с зубами, жутким языком и глазами. Ты вскрикиваешь, отходя назад и натыкаясь на Эдди. Он обнимает тебя, смотря на Венома с осуждением и гневом.

— Прекрати сейчас же, — произносит Брок.

Симбиот исчезает. Пока ты застывавшая, не можешь даже понять, что только что произошло.

— Прости. Он в последнее время самовольничает.

Твои глаза влажные, страх заставляет тебя плакать. Пока ты бледная и дрожащая, разворачиваешься к Броку.

— Что это?

— Это Веном. Он мой Симбиот. Мы... не можем избавиться друг от друга, приходиться уживаться... он не тронет тебя, обещаю. Он бы не посмел, — произносит Брок, касаясь твоих плеч.

Ты всё ещё шокированная и не способная осознать, что произошло. Тебе хочется верить, что это всё сон и не больше, но очевидно, что это не так.

— Я уезжаю домой.

Брок удивлён твоим заявлением. Но ты уже срываешься с места, стараясь побыстрее одеться, и уйти.

— Что?

— Я хочу домой, Эдди!

[brainrotgarbage]

it was just so freaking comfortable. yours wasn't so bad, but once he let you over to rehearse lines and you took a seat on the mattress... you were gone.

no, literally.

he stepped out to take a phone call at some point and by the time he came back inside you were knocked out. he didn't dare wake you up. you practically worked the same schedule- he knew how tired you were.

and ever since then. if he was working when you weren't he could expect you to be taking a cat nap in his trailer. he didn't mind. obviously. and you knew he didn't mind, thank god.

in fact, he minded so little, he didn't offer buying you one for your trailer because then you'd stop going over to his.

today was no different- probably. you usually texted him letting him know you'd be crashing. recently you've waited for him to arrive from set before leaving. which was funny to him. you'd just go in take a nap and leave and if it weren't for your message he wouldn't be none the wiser. is what you think. he could smell your shampoo in his pillow at the end of the night, the scent lulling him to sleep every night. another reason he wouldn't dare buy you a mattress of your own.

there was no text from you today. maybe you had a longer day with the costume designer than scheduled. he frowned, slightly disappointed. he'd already ordered some food to be delivered, if you were late it would get cold and he knew you weren't too keen on reheated pizza. he'll just have to order more later then.

the minute he stepped inside his trailer whatever disappointment that had settled in his chest disappeared in an instant.

there you were. slumped. mouth slightly open, limbs tangled in the blanket you brought once and left here. he knows you did it on purpose. it was your way of marking your territory. again, he didn't mind. not at all.

he let you sleep until the food arrived and he had the plates and drinks set up on the table. god. he was so whipped.

he woke you up by stroking your hair gently, and it didn't take much since the smell of the food weaned you off of your sleep.

"Hi, i got us food," he said, almost a whisper.

you gave him a sleepy smile, and in that moment he knew he'd burn all your mattresses to the ground.

[reiwanwan]

A warm place for goodbyes

Summary: Hazel Shelby thought she had left chaos behind when she moved to London, but an unexpected connection with Alfie Solomons challenges everything she thought she wanted.

a/n: this chapter took longer than I had anticipated, but it’s finally here, and there’s a lot a lot of references from the show itself

Part 4

content warning: none

1923

Walking through the bustling streets of London, I clutched the crumpled piece of paper with Alfie’s scribbled address. I finally had the time to visit his workplace. The thought of him running a bakery seemed almost laughable. I pictured him in a flour-dusted apron, kneading dough with those rough hands of his, cursing up a storm when the frosting didn’t behave. It was such a ridiculous image that I almost didn’t notice the building looming ahead of me.

As I got closer I saw multiple people — men, coming in and out of what looked like a factory. The scent of freshly baked bread was nowhere to be found. Instead, the air was heavy with the acrid tang of machinery and smoke. The men had soot and grime on their faces, hoisting barrels on their shoulders. I squinted my eyes at the address written on a small piece of paper with Alfie’s scribbled handwriting, “this should be the place…” I thought to myself.

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Hazel?” A man with curly black hair says to me from the entrance. “Oh y-yes that is me…I’m here to meet Alfie?” startled that he knew my name. He nods and extends his hands to help me up the steps, “Alfie is just inside, I’ll take you there alright?, oh and I’m Ollie by the way, forgive me for not introducing myself earlier”. Workers passed us, some lifting barrels, others smoking in corners. “Some bakery” I muttered under my breath.

And after a long minute of walking down the hall, I finally saw what I came here for— Alfie. I watched as he ordered men back and forth, and oh did he look absolutely charming when doing so, despite his not-so beautiful language of course. He strides up to me with wide open arms, “Ahh there you are, Hazelnut!”. I couldn’t help but snort at the nickname as I reached over to him and was met with a big bear hug. My face got squished against his chest as he tightens his big arms around my body. When he pulled away, he lifts my chin up and places a chaste kiss to my lips, his beard tickling my chin. “You like my bakery? taken a look around?” he asks. I straighten my clothes and raised my brows, “well…it’s certainly a very different looking bakery I must say, a very big one at that” I added. “Yes…it is big, and I’m very proud of it” he exclaims.

Alfie then leads over to a small table with his hand at the small of my back. “You want to try some of my bread? which one did you want eh, white or brown bread?” he asked curiously. I shifted my gaze over to the “bread” in front of me and smirked and shook my head at him. “I think I’ll try the white bread”, Alfie nods his head in approval. “We’ll see that’s how I know you’ve got standards love, and taste, because the white stuff is amazing, the brown stuff…it’s fuckin awful that stuff” he claims as he pours for me a cup. I raise my cup up to him. I took a sip, surprised by the smoothness of the rum. “It’s good”, he takes the cup away from my hands and walks me over elsewhere, “yeah…that’s good…that’s good, Ollie, go back in there and tell the lads to move those boxes will you? thanks ever so much”.

He walks me into his office and plops himself down on his chair. “You can sit down as well…over there”, he points to the chair across of him. “Or you could always sit here on my lap if you’d like” he says, patting his lap. I rolled my eyes, “Tempting”. He chuckles lowly, “Ah, don’t be daft cmere” he chuckles as he pulls my arm and places me on his lap before I could protest, I could feel my cheeks burning up a bright shade of red. I sat down awkwardly and stiff, my throat beginning to get dry. His hands palm my back, “loosen up a bit I won’t bite ya, it’s comfy innit?” he teases.

It was beginning to become comfortable as I settled on his lap much more, resting my head on his chest as he twirls a strand of my brown hair in his fingers.

“So this is what you meant by a bakery huh?” I asked. “Yeah, it’s quite the bakery isn’t it? bake all sorts of bread, make about 10,000 loaves a week…amazing innit?”.

“Sure is…” I played along.

I looked around at his office, it was not much but seemed enough. The desk was covered with papers scattered all over, books, pens, you name it. A bit much like Alfie if I dare say.

After a moment of silence I decided to speak up, “so…you made me come all the way over here to your ‘bakery’, to serve me white rum is that it?”. And right after I asked that question Alfie grabs a hold of my cheeks, squishing it together gently but hard enough to mush my lips together. “Now listen here treacle” he says in a soft but serious tone, “Here…in this lovely bakery yeah…the distinction between bread and rum…shall not be discussed, got it?” he asks, waiting for my response. I figured it already— the bakery was just a ruse for a distillery which I assume is also ran illegally, was quite obvious as well. I looked up at him with big blue doe eyes, eye lash batting at him innocently, and nodded my head compliantly.

“Say it love” he instructs, his fingers squishing my cheeks tighter.

“Yesh Alfie…” I managed to respond, despite my voice being slightly muffled.

He hums satisfactorily and lets go. I palm my cheeks that were left stinging a bit from the pressure of his fingers. “Aw I’m sorry about that Hazelnut” he coos as he reaches over to my cheeks again and pressed his lips to it, holding and delaying the release. I turn my head away and feigned a pout. Alfie looks at me, unfazed, as if he knows me too well. “Now Hazel, that won’t work on me, those fake sad eyes…you’re not foolin me treacle, I know when you’re really mad, your eyebrows will really show it and those wrinkles on your forehead too”. I try to suppress my smile and giggles, but to no avail. He immediately takes this as a sign to go for the offence and attack me with soft kisses on all over my face and neck, trapping me in between his large arms.

For the first time in my life, I genuinely felt so happy with a man. I never want for this moment to end. If only it could be like this forever. Me and Alfie, just the two of us. No Tommy, no having to hide about selling rum, no more of any of this. But who was I kidding? I answered my own question. Deep down, I already knew that Alfie wouldn’t let go of this life just because I want him to.

Sure, he loves me, but does he love me that much?.

I could only hope so.

Hope, the only thing i’ve been doing ever since I felt Alfie make my heart skip a beat.

I held on to him, hugging him as tight as I can just to savour the moment before I would have to return back home to an older sister who will most definitely interrogate me about my day.

“What’s wrong Hazel?” he asks.

“Nothing, Alfie…just wanted to hug you cuz you’re so cuddly…like a teddy bear” I teased, masking my worries.

“Alright then, well you should probably get home now, it’s getting dark…you came here alone?”. I nodded, “yeah I did, why?”. He holds my hand and walks out with me back to the entrance calling out to Ollie. “Well then at least let Ollie walk you down to the street yeah? s’not safe for you to walk alone at this time”

I would’ve tried to convince him that I would be okay on my own, but this was Alfie Solomons we’re talking about, so for his sanity, I agreed and didn’t bother to argue further.

Ollie led me away down the street as the bakery fade into the distance. “Here we are Mrs. Hazel, stay safe and take care”. “Thank you very much Ollie”. I continued making my way back home, luckily it wasn’t that far from where Ollie had dropped me off.

My doubts and worry from before start replay in my mind as I walked sullenly back home, that same heavy feeling I felt in my chest tightening again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much I wished for a different life, this was the one Alfie had chosen.

And yet, as I walked home, I clung to the only thing I could.

Hope.

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Taglist: @vivianleighwishesshewasme @weepingdreammarvel @kittenlover882

[tomhardystories]

Part 8

Tom stared at his phone for a moment longer than necessary, as if staring at it would somehow prevent Leo DiCaprio from calling Jules. He knew, deep down, that he had absolutely no right to interfere in her life like this, but the mere thought of Leo, with his sultry smile and infamous charm, getting anywhere near Jules made his stomach churn. Maybe it was just the coffee he’d had - who even knew at this point?

He sighed deeply (a dramatic sigh, like a man who's contemplating the meaning of life or his next career move), and finally dialed Jules. The phone rang twice before she picked up, and Tom immediately felt like he was walking into some kind of trap.

"Heeeeeey” he said, trying to sound calm, cool, and collected (but failing miserably). “How’s it going? You know... chill?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old" Jules replied, sounding half-amused and half-bored, like she'd just been through a week-long movie marathon of The Bachelor. "I’m working. Trying to survive.”

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, uh... I wanted to give you a little... warning. It’s probably nothing, but... Leo might, you know, reach out to you."

There was a pause. A very long pause. One that seemed to stretch out for decades.

“Jack Dawson?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

He needed a moment to understand the joke. “Yeah, that one” Tom said, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just giving you a heads-up. If he calls or texts or shows up at your door with a puppy in hand or whatever, just, uh, you know, be careful. He’s kind of a flirt.”

Jules snorted loudly, and Tom felt his heart rate increase in a weird mix of dread and annoyance. “Seriously? Is that why you’re calling? To warn me about Leo DiCaprio? He’s not the first guy who’s ever flirted with me, you know.”

“Well... he might be the most dangerous” Tom added with a deep sigh. “Like, world-class level flirtation. Like... one smile and you might just accidentally end up on a yacht in the Caribbean or something. And who needs that, right? You’re a busy woman.”

Jules let out a laugh that made Tom feel a little less ridiculous, but not much. “Thanks for the heads-up, Tom. But I think I can handle it. I’m not some naive damsel waiting for Leo DiCaprio to come sweep me off my feet, okay? I’ve got standards.”

“Oh, I know” Tom said quickly, trying to backpedal. “I mean, you have way better taste than that, obviously. I’m just saying, he’s not the ‘settle down and get a dog’ type. You know?”

Jules paused, then said, “Not exactly looking for that kind of relationship at the moment, Tom, but... thanks for the unsolicited warning. I’m fine. Really.”

“Right. Right. Of course, you are” Tom said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Anything else, or do you need to text me a list of other Hollywood men I should avoid?”

He was about to say something when suddenly he heard the sound of someone entering Jules' office. The soft click of the door opening was followed by a hushed voice speaking to her.

"Hold on a second, Tom" Jules said quickly, her tone shifting to professional mode. "I’ll be with you in a minute."

Tom listened as Jules spoke, her voice crisp and controlled.

"Whoever did this needs to fix it, and I’ll be there to watch over it. Tell them I’ll attend the next meeting and we’ll go through everything, line by line. I don’t tolerate mistakes like this. They’ll learn the hard way if they think I won’t notice."

Tom raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but be impressed. There was no hesitation in her voice, no second-guessing, just pure authority. It was clear she wasn’t the kind of boss anyone would want to cross. He found himself both a little awed and, if he was honest, more than a little intimidated.

She came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Where were we? Ah, yes. I have to wrap this up now, Tom. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, and I need to get a few things in order before I go.”

Tom could hear the efficient way she handled things. “Of course” he replied, his voice a little quieter now, still processing the tone of authority he’d just heard. “I’ll let you go. Catch you later.”

Jules sighed lightly, but there was something almost affectionate in her tone. "Talk soon, Tom."

When Tom hung up, he was almost certain that Jules had already completely forgotten what they’d been talking about.

For the next few nights, Tom couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with a series of increasingly ridiculous and gut-wrenching nightmares about Jules and Leo. What had started as a mild annoyance had now spiraled into a full-blown psychological siege.

First nightmare began in the most disarming way, as dreams often do. He found himself sitting at a candlelit table at some impossibly chic restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wore tuxedos and the menus didn’t have prices. Across from him sat Jules, laughing at something, her smile lighting up the room. It was nice. Comforting. Until Tom realized that she wasn’t laughing at him.

No, sitting beside her, looking infuriatingly dashing in a perfectly tailored suit, was Leo. Tom watched helplessly as Leo leaned in, brushing a strand of Jules’ hair from her face with that infuriating movie-star charm. Jules looked up at him with that sparkle in her eyes and giggled. Jules. Giggled.

Tom opened his mouth to interrupt, to say… something, but no words came out. Instead, the restaurant morphed around them, the soft clink of glasses and murmured conversations dissolving into the sound of cobblestones underfoot.

Now they were walking hand-in-hand down a sun-drenched Parisian street. Paris. Of course. Jules was wearing some effortlessly chic outfit Tom had never seen her wear, and Leo had his arm slung around her shoulders like he owned the place. Tom trailed a few steps behind, inexplicably barefoot, and holding… a baguette? He tried to catch up, but every time he moved closer, they seemed to glide further away, laughing like he wasn’t even there.

And then, things took a sharp turn into the absurd.

They were at one of Leo’s infamous Hollywood parties now, all shimmering lights and clinking champagne glasses. Jules, now wearing a gown that could pay off Tom’s mortgage, was surrounded by impossibly glamorous people. She was laughing at something Leo said, her head thrown back like he was suddenly the funniest man alive. Tom, stuck on the outskirts of the group, awkwardly held a plate of snacks that kept replenishing itself no matter how many crab cakes he tried to eat.

He cleared his throat, trying to join the conversation, but Jules turned to him, her eyes twinkling with something that looked like pity. “Not now, Tom” she said lightly, before turning back to Leo, who draped an arm over her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then came the final, gut-wrenching blow.

Leo leaned down, kissed Jules, and she kissed him back. But it wasn’t just a kiss - it was the kind of kiss that made rom-com audiences swoon, with orchestral music swelling in the background. Tom stood frozen, the plate of crab cakes slipping from his hands.

Then, as if this nightmare couldn’t get any worse, Jules broke the kiss to look straight at him. “Tom” she said sweetly, her voice echoing in that bizarre, distorted way dreams sometimes have. “Don’t look so shocked.”

Leo smirked, raising his champagne flute in a mock toast. “Don’t worry, man. There’s someone out there for you too.”

The crowd around them erupted into laughter - deep, mocking laughter that grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else. Tom tried to shout, to defend himself, but the sound wouldn’t come.

He woke up with a start, his heart pounding, drenched in sweat.

The room was dark and silent, save for the muffled hum of the city outside his window. For a moment, Tom just sat there, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm his racing thoughts.

The second night of Tom’s nightmares started at a red-carpet event, the kind where everyone looked airbrushed in real life. Jules was there, wearing a gown so stunning it seemed to have been spun from the stars. Tom’s brain immediately short-circuited, but the feeling only worsened when he noticed Leo standing beside her, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh.

A camera flash went off, capturing the perfect moment: Jules, grinning like she’d just been named the new face of luxury toothpaste, and Leo, looking every inch the smug movie star, as though he’d simultaneously won an Oscar, saved a panda, and discovered the cure for world hunger.

Tom, who had been standing somewhere in the background like an underdressed extra, felt a hand on his shoulder. A reporter turned to him, looking vaguely annoyed. “Hey, buddy, could you step aside? You’re blocking the shot.”

The scene morphed without warning, plunging Tom into a sun-dappled garden brunch. Naturally, Jules and Leo were at the center of it, sitting at a rustic table that looked like it had been ripped straight out of an influencer’s Instagram feed.

Jules, now in oversized sunglasses and a breezy linen dress, was laughing at something Leo had said. Leo, with all the swagger of a man who had personally pressed the orange juice they were drinking, poured her a mimosa.

Jules sighed dramatically after a sip. “God, Leo, you’ve ruined regular orange juice for me. It tastes like sadness now.”

“Right?” Leo leaned in closer, as if they were the only two people in the world. “Once you go fresh-squeezed, there’s no going back.”

Tom found himself seated awkwardly at the far end of the table, inexplicably holding a plate of scrambled eggs. He tried to cut in. “So, Jules, remember when we found that diner with pancakes the size of....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules interrupted, not even glancing his way. “Leo and I are gluten-free now. You should try it. It’s life-changing.”

Leo nodded sympathetically, giving Tom the kind of pitying look that only Leo DiCaprio in a nightmare could pull off. “Yeah, man. It might help with the… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward Tom’s midsection.

Tom looked down and, to his horror, saw that in this dream, he was wearing a shirt at least two sizes too small.

The scene dissolved again. Jules and Leo were hosting their dinner party, in their Malibu beach house, which Leo had apparently purchased for them because of course he had.

Jules, seated at the head of the table like the queen of Malibu, was effortlessly charming a group of impossibly attractive people. The breeze wafted through the open windows, candles flickered dramatically, and everyone laughed at exactly the right moments, as if choreographed by a Hollywood director.

Tom, stuck at the far end of the table next to “Guy #4” from The Avengers, tried to contribute. “So, Jules, remember when you accidentally spilled an entire coffee on my....”

“Oh, Tom” Jules said, waving him off with an indulgent laugh. “Nobody’s interested.”

The table erupted into laughter, except for Tom, who stared at his plate like it had personally insulted him.

Leo leaned back in his chair, raising his glass. “To Jules” he said, his smile gleaming. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone cheered, while Tom sank lower and lower in his chair, feeling like a punchline to a joke he didn’t understand.

He jolted awake in his bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. It was 2:19 a.m. He stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding. This was the second night in a row of this madness.

The third night brought with it the most absurd and soul-crushing nightmare yet. It began with Jules and Leo on a yacht. The kind of vessel that made you question whether its owner was a billionaire, a Bond villain, or some unholy combination of both.

Jules was draped in a flowing white sundress, the fabric fluttering in the breeze like it had its own wind machine. Perched on her head was a massive straw hat, the brim so wide it could’ve doubled as a sunshade for the entire deck. She reclined on a deck chair, holding a cocktail that sparkled in a way cocktails had no business sparkling, probably because it was infused with crushed diamonds or some equally ridiculous ingredient.

Leo stood beside her, shirtless, because of course he was, handing her the drink with that casual movie-star charm. “Anything for my muse” he said, flashing his million-dollar smile.

Jules took the glass with an effortless laugh that somehow echoed across the open sea. “Tom who?” she said when one of the impeccably dressed crew members asked about her former friends. “Oh, you mean my old life? I don’t do ‘old life’ anymore. It’s all champagne and sunsets now.”

Cut to Tom, miles away, struggling to paddle a sad little kayak that looked like it had been borrowed from a children’s summer camp. He wore a life vest that seemed too tight, a bucket hat that was too big, and a look of desperation. “Jules!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Jules! It’s me!”

Jules didn’t even flinch, as if his voice was nothing more than the ocean breeze. Meanwhile, Tom’s kayak seemed to have a mind of its own, veering wildly off course no matter how hard he paddled.

And then, the kicker: a massive sea lion surfaced beside him. It stared at him with an unnervingly judgmental expression, let out a bark that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and promptly rammed the kayak with its blubbery body.

Tom toppled into the water with a strangled yelp, surfacing just in time to see Jules clink glasses with Leo as the yacht sailed off into the horizon. The sun set dramatically behind them, casting them in a golden glow as if nature itself was rooting for their happiness.

As Tom splashed helplessly in the waves, the sea lion circled him like it was considering whether to nudge him toward shore or let him figure it out himself.

Tom woke up in a cold sweat. He groaned, pressing a pillow over his face. “This has to stop” he muttered. 

By the fourth night, he was actively avoiding sleep, afraid of what fresh humiliation his subconscious might conjure up. He’d started drinking more coffee than usual, pacing around his apartment at all hours, and muttering to himself.

“This is insane” he said, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “They’re not even dating. You’re making this up.”

But the thought of losing her, of her forgetting about him, of becoming just another story she told at parties with Leo - was unbearable. He didn’t even care if she dated Leo or anyone else (okay, he did care, but he wasn’t ready to admit that). What he cared about was the idea that their bond, their easy friendship, could disappear just like that.

By the time the fifth night rolled around, Tom had reached his breaking point. He had another nightmare, this one involving Jules, Leo, and a tropical island where Tom had been relegated to the role of their personal butler - but instead of waking up in a cold sweat like before, he shot upright in bed and said out loud:

“That’s it. I’m losing my mind.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer. At 3:17 a.m., Tom, teetering on the edge of panic, grabbed his phone and dialed Jules’s number. The phone rang once, twice, three times. No answer. His heart sank. But then....

“Hello?”

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin. Jules sounded groggy, as if he’d dragged her out of the deepest corners of dreamland. Her voice was soft and concerned, not annoyed, and somehow that made him feel both infinitely better and profoundly worse. He hadn’t even thought of an excuse for calling.

“Jules” Tom began, his voice cracking slightly in a way that only made him cringe harder. “Hey, it’s me. Tom.”

“I know it’s you.”

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” He winced. Of course, you woke her, genius.

There was a pause. Tom’s mind raced, bracing for her to sound cold or irritated, like in his recurring nightmare - or worse, like she did when she was talking to her assistant. Instead, she let out a sleepy chuckle.

“What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

Tom hesitated, scrambling for a safe response. “I couldn’t sleep. Just… had a weird dream.”

Jules yawned audibly. “Was I in it?”

Tom laughed despite himself. “Yeah, you were there.”

“Oh no.” Her voice brightened slightly, amused. “Was it one of those dreams where I’m a serial killer? Because, for the record, I’d make a terrible criminal. Too chatty. I’d spill everything during the monologue.”

Tom chuckled, the tightness in his chest easing a little. “No, not quite that dramatic.”

“Damn. Missed opportunity. So, what’s up?”

He hesitated again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How could he explain without sounding like a complete lunatic? He couldn’t exactly say, I called because I’m terrified you’re going to run off with Leonardo DiCaprio and leave me to live my days as a rejected kayaker?

“I don’t know, Jules” he finally admitted, “but it felt real, and… I just needed to hear you still… you know, like me. As a friend, I mean. Still friends, right?”

There was a pause long enough for Tom to feel like the dumbest person alive. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she processed his bizarre, unnecessary late-night confession.

“Of course, you dork” she said, her voice light with affection, punctuated by another yawn.

Tom exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right. Right” he murmured, feeling both embarrassed and relieved. “I just… uh, needed to hear that. And, Jules?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you’ll never move to Malibu?” he blurted suddenly. “Or, like, go live in some tropical place, and I never see you again?”

Jules laughed - a genuine, sleepy laugh that made him grin despite himself. “Why would I move to Malibu?”

“That’s what people do” he argued. “One day you’re just doing laundry and buying groceries, and the next thing you know, you’re on a yacht with some really talented Hollywood actor.”

“With you?”

“What?”

“You’re the first person I think of when I hear ‘really talented Hollywood actor’ at three in the morning.”

“Oh…” For a moment, he forgot that he was an actor. “No, I wasn’t talking about me. Just, you know, in general. Never mind. Just… no Malibu, okay?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jules, sounding both amused and exasperated, said firmly, “Tom, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I once dated someone who thought spaghetti grew on trees.”

Tom let out a startled laugh. “I’m serious, Jules.”

“So am I” she replied. “Look, you’re stuck with me. Even if you send me one more playlist titled Melancholy Rain on a Tuesday Afternoon.”

Tom smiled, warmth spreading through his chest as the knot of anxiety loosened. “Hey, those are curated playlists.”

“Sure they are” she teased. Her tone softened. “I can’t even begin to explain how ridiculous you sound right now. But here’s the thing, Tom: I’m definitely not moving to Malibu. So chill.”

“Because if you did, I’d probably just move into your closet and live there until you remembered me.”

“I’ll ask you one last time: are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I am. But at least I’m not calling you in the middle of the night every week to ask if we’re still friends” he said, then quickly added, “Not that I plan to do that. This is a one-time thing.”

“Oh, I know. I’m going to remember this forever” Jules replied, her voice playful now. She chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m cute?” he repeated, his chest swelling with a mix of disbelief and pride. “You said cute? Not ‘acceptable’ or ‘fine,’ but actually cute?”

Jules laughed again. “Oh, absolutely. Don’t get used to it, though. It’s three in the morning, and I’m half asleep. Tomorrow, I might start calling you ‘average.’ Now, go to bed. No more bad dreams, kid. And don’t call me at three a.m. unless it’s an emergency or you’ve accidentally set yourself on fire.”

Tom chuckled. “Got it. Goodnight, Jules.”

“Night.”

He stared at his phone for a moment after she hung up, feeling like he’d just made the most ridiculous call of his life. But at least he had one thing to hold onto: she still liked him.