#Tom Hardy Imagine

[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! 🤍

[ughdontbeboring]

pull up

Harry da Souza x woc Reader

(can be enjoyed by anyone)

You pull up and that shouldn’t be a surprising how that affects Harry.

tags/warnings: smut, a bit of a daddy kink I mean come on look at him, reader is late 20s/early 30s and Harry is however old he’s supposed to be 🤷‍♀️

sidenote: as a WoC reader is always written with that in mind. Though no description or complexion in this fic just a relation to another character.

this isn’t the original fic I had planned but a little idea I wanted to test the waters with Harry as I’m still working on the other I already mentioned.

No description of ethnicity but reader when I write is always written with myself in mind. It’s soooo self indulgent.

if you like it, love it, fuck with it leave some love. I DO NOT give permission for my shit to be used anywhere by anyone.

Minors DNI

You continue your stealth mission of making a quick pasta alla vodka as your post sex meal while you waited for the inevitable knock at the door of the two story penthouse. You had received the call only moments ago about her unexpected -though you should have expected it- arrival and request to come up from the doorman. 

A soft replied “of course” and you knew she’d be making her way up determinedly. Her steps quick and sure of herself not too different from your own. You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself about his taste in women even if it wasn’t the same.

You move the pot to another burner to let the sauced noodles cool a bit. As heavenly as it smelled you didn’t want to risk burning your mouth and being out of commission. You move to grab your favorite plate as the knock at the front door finally sounds through the first level of the living space.

Setting the plate down you head to the door a little hastily hoping it wasn’t heard through out the penthouse. Your bare manicured feet come to a stop as you open the door slowly and pose a bit. The dramatics absolutely necessary in this moment. 

You watch her eyes travel up your body and then widened in surprise as she finally takes your face in. 

“When the fuck did you get here?” She asks in complete shock but relief. 

“Last night technically this morning” you smile cheekily at her as you move aside allowing her in as she moves forward. You can see her brain working trying to figure out how she missed this.

“But-“

“I know” you say locking the door and following her into the kitchen.

“I should have fucking known” Zosia scoffs to herself. 

“What does that mean exactly?” You ask laughing a little as you grab two take away containers. 

“He would never turn his phone off and now it makes sense why it’s off and he’s not somewhere dead” she sighs almost annoyed but relieved. (Zosia and anyone who knew anything about you being with Harry knew when Harry starts being late it was because you were in town. Never MIA though this was new and Zosia was curious how the gangster would handle going missing involuntarily with news Tommy is missing)

“Zo!” You scold her. That was something you never wanted to think about. 

“Sorry but you know the Harrigan’s think he got nicked or worse. He’s never not available when they call….and only slightly busy when your..here but never just not available” her statement as reminder of the unbearable burden and dangers his job carries. 

You roll your eyes and flick your new nails dismissively in the air but Zo doesn’t take it personally she knows it’s not towards her. 

“God forbid he’s not ready to jump when they demand” you mumble as you fill the two small containers with food and pop the forks on top. 

“It seems too quiet, is he even here?” She asked ignoring your comment about their employers while looking towards the stairway. 

“Yes and he’s sleep so they’ll have to wai-“

“Gotta wake em’” she cuts you off gently but swiftly. 

“He’s sleep Zo, poor thing needs his sleep after what I put on him-“

“Ugh gosh can you not? He’s my fucking boss” she says eyeing you with her face turned up Ike she just tasted something sour. You just shrug as you lean against the counter facing her and the front entry way, your back to the staircase. 

“And if I refuse?” You question. She just stared at you like you both know that’s not an option not now and not with his line of work.

“You gotta wake em” she repeats. “He’s already going to be pissed you turned his phone off. You wanna make it worse?” 

“Oh I can handle him” you smirk at her watching her roll her eyes. 

“So-“

“Is that right love?” You hear mumbled softly beside you as you feel the brush of his nose, plush lips along your neck and his solid body press into your backside. From the smell and feel of him you could already tell he was freshly showered and dressed. How you missed him doing all that you have no clue. Maybe you were too freshly fucked senseless to notice while you thought you were cooking quietly. 

You gasp more from the feel of him than being scared as you shoot Zo a glare for apparently not warning you of the bear lurking up behind you. 

“Ok yea I’ll wait outside the door” she huffs as she turns toward the main entryway with her food. Harry moves in front of you, the mountain of a man blocking your view of almost anything else as he eyes you knowingly. You’ve been caught. You wouldn’t be able to plead your case that his phone simply died. 

“Oh! Brunch tomorrow and it’s on your tab for not telling your sister you are in town!” She yells as she descends down the entryway. You intentionally didn’t tell her your beautiful sister how had a different mother- hence you being American and her being British by nationality- because you wanted to surprise her but you did want just a day or two to have to yourself with Harry. He was a hard man to keep pinned down for longer than a moment. 

You roll your eyes as your hands find themselves laid on Harry’s board chest. 

“Yea ok. The usual spot!” You yell back as your eyes don’t leave his. 

He’s eyeing you with amusement and a hint of anger. You know he is pissed about you turning his phone off last night well basically early this morning but how else were you supposed to ganrentee yourself a grade a fucking session if you knew without a doubt his phone would ring he would have to run off? Not tonight baby you thought smugly to yourself while shutting it off. 

You landed around 2:30am and found yourself in Harry’s bed by 4am after he scolded you for not calling him to pick you up and how it was too dangerous to be riding around London so early and alone. Though you both knew you could handle yourself. The scolding didn’t last long before you were bent over the counter, cute panties and comfy lounge pants for traveling around your ankles, his face buried in your cunt. 

And just the same like the scolding you knew would come from turning his phone off wouldn’t last either. Harry was never really able to get mad at you. Frustrated yes annoyed even yes but mad never. That put you in a very rare group of people. 

Sometimes people who knew tried to use that to their advantage too. 

“You’ve been naughty since your pretty ass landed love, yea” he tisk above you. His serious blue eyes pinning you to your spot in front of the counter. You feel the beginning of butterflies in your stomach. 

“I-“ 

“Nah don’t and to ear’ it babe” he cuts you off. His voice is stern but there’s no real anger. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

You pout as you look up at him. Then your hand is rubbing at him, feeling the thickness and length of him even while he’s soft before he can catch on. You feel his whole body stiffen at your unexpected touch. 

“Just wanted some time with you daddy” you mumble as you lean toward your soft lips kissing and nipping at his neck and up his chin.

He groans from deep in his chest as his buff solid body suddenly pushes you into the counter. The force causes the wind to knock from your lungs a bit. 

“Fucking hell” he grits as your pelvis ruts into him. You grip the counter while pushing on your tippy toes to try to get the friction lower and where you need it most as you feel your thighs start to slick. 

His large hand suddenly gripping your face, lips puckering slightly causes your rutting to falter as your eyes shoot open and land on his. 

“So you spoiled think you can just do what you want?” He questions as his hand grips you a bit tighter. 

“I-“ your words get caught in your throat when you feel his thick fingers brush over your lips and  you get lost in the feeling of the thick calloused

digits parting them to circle around your clit. 

“No panties love? Just walking around in my silk pj shirt with this tight little pussy out? What if it wasn’t Zo who came by? Hm? You’d like those men see what’s mine? See this wet pussy that belongs to me?” He asks the demand in his voice clear as he somehow expects an answer from you as he’s fingers work you good and fast. His voice getting huskier by the moment has he enjoys the feel of your wet pussy dripping down his hand so quickly. 

“Fuck” you manage to moan out weakly as you try to shake your head no, not really even sure what men he’s talking about because your brain isn’t functioning enough, just enough to answer him. 

You feel your body jerk as your orgasm builds quickly. You’re lost count since you arrived but this one feels different. Maybe because it’s rushed, maybe because you know he’s annoyed with you but also amused a bit at your bratty attempt to keep him to yourself or maybe it’s because you know someones waiting for him. Not just your sister outside his door but the oh so important Harrigan’s waiting for him to come save them, fix whatever problem they seem to find themselves in.

But he’s here making them wait a bit longer while he’s wrecking your cunt with his long thick fingers. 

The thought of it all is too much. The feel of him too much as you push your face slightly to the side so he can suck on your neck. 

You feel it closing in on you and you body starts to lock. His hand gripping your face tightly. His soft full lips sucking your neck. His fingers working you over fast and hard. He has no care to take this slow or let you savior it. Harry just wants you to cum before he leaves for God knows how long and you need to be quick about it. 

“You better fucking cum like a good fucking girl right now or I’ll walk out and leave you here crying on the floor waiting til I get back” he threatens in your ear before nipping it and pulling back to watch you. 

You loose it. Crying out you let the sensation wash over you as you twitch and your hips buck on his hand. The familiar feeling of your orgasm washing over you as the tears sip for your eyes at the overwhelming climax in the middle of his kitchen.

He watches you with a look you can’t quite describe or maybe you’re not ready too as you shake with the after shocks between his strong body and the counter while your slick drips down your thigh and his hand. 

He doesn’t pull away fully yet as you watch him bring his hand to his mouth. You hear the wet pop as he pulls his two fingers from his mouth. Wet but clean of your essence.

His mouth is on your without missing a beat and he kisses you passionately and it’s so sloppy as he licks onto your mouth letting you taste yourself and his minty mouth wash. 

You moan as he grinds into you, the familiar feeling of his hard cock sends your mind spinning. Your hand reach for his belt while you stand there dazed but his free hand stops you and you grown in protest.

“No. I gotta go babe” he says before pecking your lips that are still slightly puckered from his hold. 

You stomp your foot childishly.

“No. No” Harry says firmly. “I’ve had enough of that for the day love. Thought you were a good girl fo’ me?”

You want to be but it’s just not fair how little time you get with him.

“Fine. When will you be back?” you ask as you run your finger tips over this salt and pepper stubble, one hand slipping down his neck to play with the gold chain around his neck. You feel his body shutter under your gent touch. 

“Not certain but I’ll call ya yea?” He responds pecking your lips again and watching you nod before slowly back up and grabbing his food before he disappears down the main entryway behind Zo. 

You sigh as you send your sister a text. 

You: Make sure he eats

she responds moments later as you ascend the staircase with your favorite plate full of pasta deciding to unpack while you eat. 

Zo: I thought thats what you were for? 

You: 🙄

You: shut up, don’t make me come down and tag along as his to go meal when he gets hungry 

Zo:…

Zo: pasta it is sis 

You chuckle as you make it to the master bedroom. Maybe after you unpack you’ll finally get some sleep, quick nap since is was only 3:45pm and then meet some of your London friends for dinner later since you weren’t sure how long you man or you sis would be. You had to make your week worth it before reluctantly flying back home to the states. 

[pennyold]

caught | e.b

summary: your boyfriend's father has created a dirty girl, you. He did it to satisfy his pleasure, ordering you to follow his desires, doing whatever he wants and wherever he wants. But things are getting tough, your boyfriend almost caught you being a slut with his father. He took you as his personal toy, and now you can no longer escape from him.

warnings: manipulation, vulgar language, p n v, older!eddie, cursing, fingering, spitting on the mouth, nipple play, and infidelity (reader is cheating)

w.c: 1,735

a/n: alr, it's long, but maybe I would make this a series, so let me know if you like it! This is inspired by the novel "Birthday Girl" by Penelope Douglas, one of my favorite novels that I have read. I made this more explicit than the actual novel (in my opinion). Hope you like it, and no proofreading !

main masterlist ↲

peace and love, penny ★

He had shaped you to his liking, knowing that his son wouldn't think of taking your virginity until you both got married, so he took advantage of you and did it before your boyfriend could. He wanted to have you in his arms, he would move heaven and earth so that you would never part from him.

This time, you had exceeded your limits, Eddie made you promise not to let yourself be pleased by his son, and you did, but one night when Eddie was out of town, you considered giving in since he wasn't there and pleased your boyfriend a little.

It seemed like you both needed it in the same way; they are a couple, and there's no problem... until Eddie finds out.

Eddie had seen how you both had become very attached since he returned to the town, he looked at his son with displeasure and then at you, deciphering an answer. When his son got up from the table to go to college, Eddie didn't hesitate much and abruptly stood up from the table. You looked at him strangely, following him to the kitchen, "Eddie, is something wrong?" He clenched his jaw, trying to calm his own thoughts. "I don't know, you tell me," he said without further ado and left the kitchen. You followed him, thinking about what he had just said. "What are you talking about?" He huffed and smiled, thinking you were playing dumb and that you knew perfectly well what he was talking about. "Don't come to me with nonsense, you know perfectly well what I'm talking about." Exasperated, you let out the breath you had been holding in your lungs. "No, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, damn it."

He touched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily, "You had relations with my son, didn't you?" You frowned, was that why he was upset? "What? No, we didn't do anything," he mocked your response, shaking his head. "Do I look like an idiot to you?" you denied, placing your hands on your hips "Well... I might have helped him a little." "See? It wouldn't have cost you anything to admit it. Why didn't you tell me?" You exhaled, looking at the ground, "I knew that if I told you, you would get angry and probably scold me, I'm sorry." He approached you, took your shoulders, and, with one hand, lifted your chin so you would look at him. "Don't ever think like that about me again, I love you. Now, you misbehaved, you were disobedient, and you broke my promise." Your eyes began to glisten, you were remorseful, you had disappointed him "I-I'm so sorry, forgive me" He smiled wickedly, now he had a way to make you pay the consequences and he knew you wouldn't oppose him, you would do everything he asked, wouldn't you?

He had you in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at him while he held your jaw not too roughly. "What did you do with him?" You swallowed hard, "I sucked him off, and he rubbed my breasts." He seemed calm, but deep down, he wanted to strangle his son. "Yeah? What else?" After his words, your pussy began to get wet, and you felt the moisture sticking to your lace panties, the ones you liked the most "That's all," you said, a bit agitated. He noticed your way of responding, he knew you, and he knew that at any moment, you would reach the edge of your limits.

He took your lower lip with his thumb, pulling it down. "You've been very naughty... do you know what girls like you get after disobeying?" you shook your head, looking him in the eyes, begging for mercy "They make them pay, that's what I'll do to you for betraying me."

Your eyes became glassy again. "Please, forgive me for disobeying you," you said. He smiled with pleasure. "Open your mouth." You obeyed, opening it for him, closing your eyes in anticipation of the next instruction, but instead of speaking, he spat in your mouth, splattering your face. "Swallow it, show me that you won't misbehave again," and you did, you swallowed his warm saliva that traveled down your throat, only to end up in your stomach. "Good girl."

You opened your eyes, looking at him, his hand traveled from your jaw to your breasts, squeezing them gently. Eddie's hands are enormous, so much so that they perfectly cover one of your breasts. "How did he rub your chest? Huh?" you moaned very softly, swallowed, and then spoke, "He pinches my nipple and then sucks it" he looked at your breasts, which were trying to escape from the tiny and tight blouse you were wearing "Mmh, and did you like it?" You nodded, biting your lip. Eddie's hand squeezed your breast again, then released it in one swift motion. Both breasts were freed, trembling, with erect nipples, ready to be pinched.

He pinched them and then twisted them, eliciting a moan from you, your legs tightened as you felt your pussy start to drip. "Shit, Eddie... I'm very wet," with your words, you made Eddie's bulge swell even more than it already was, wanting to be taken out of his pants. "Yeah? How much?" he said, pinching your nipple again and licking his lips that were starting to dry. "A lot," you moaned, letting your head fall back. He quickly lifted you off the bed, grabbed your arm, and slammed your chest against the wall. "Stay still," he said in your ear. You obeyed, placing your hands on the cold wood.

Eddie unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor, touched his glans over his underwear, and growled, "Spread those lovely legs, I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't think of anyone but me," you moaned, scratching the door. Eddie pulled out his cock, watching as his tip dripped with pre-cum, stimulating it until it became harder and firmer under his touch.

With his hands lubricated with his semen, he rubbed your folds, stimulating the small hole you have. "Shit," you whispered, lowering your head, catching a glimpse of his arm between your thighs. "So wet and tight, just how I like it," he lightly rubbed your clit, massaging the perfect fold that sent shivers down your back and legs, making them weak. "Oh shit," you stammered, biting your lip. "So beautiful, so weak and sensitive," he whispered against your ear. "Would you please him again?" You shook your head, and your legs trembled again, a tingling sensation coursed through your knees, begging for a break.

He nodded, adjusting the tip of his cock in your hole, letting the tip make contact with your folds, spreading the pre-cum, and finally reaching your entrance. You opened your legs wider and lifted your ass, giving him a better view of your area. "Perfect, a perfect slut, and just for me," he smiled, letting his glans penetrate your tight walls. "You're still not used to my size, are you?" he said, moving his hips back and forth. You denied it, exhaling and feeling how it tightened around you more and more.

You had already hooked up with Eddie before, but his cock is huge and thick, it doesn't fit in your entrance. Your pussy wasn't going to adapt to him in such a short time, so you couldn't say anything other than adjust to his size.

His cock swelled inside you, the tip touched your sensitive spot and you felt a tingling in your stomach, you moaned, biting your teeth, it hurt, but you also loved having his cock inside you. "It's too much, I don't think I can take it for long," he took your hips, pulling your butt towards his pelvis, his cock hitting the back inside you. "Hold on a little longer," you denied, putting your hand over your mouth, stifling the moans you were letting out and couldn't contain inside your mouth.

What they didn't know was that his son had already arrived home; you were so wrapped up in each other that they hadn't paid attention. He began to climb the stairs, hoping to see his girlfriend waiting for him, but when he entered his room, there was no one there. He looked strangely at every corner and then knocked on the bathroom door, but no one answered. The last room left was his father's. He had planned to ask his father about her, maybe he had seen her leave.

On the other side of the door, Eddie was thrusting his cock into your entrance, frantically hitting your uterus, you bit your lip to hold back your moans. He knocked on the door, and Eddie stopped his thrusts, then spoke, "Yes?" there was a short silence, and then his son answered, "Um, have you seen my girlfriend?" On the other side, you were agitated, with your forehead resting on the door. "No, I haven't seen her," Eddie said, pushing against you slowly. "Really? Didn't she tell you she was leaving?" he asked from the other side of the door, you felt Eddie's thumb rub your clit, making you shudder, you were very close to cum.

"No, she didn't," his son remained silent on the other side and then spoke, "Well, I'm going out with some friends, if she arrives, tell her to call me." You squeezed his cock inside you, letting him know you were about to cum, he pinched your nipple, hitting your uterus again, and your pussy contracted and pulsed, dripping your juices over his cock. "Sure, son," he said, then roughly squeezed your breast and let his cum flow inside you.

Upon hearing the door close, he thrust into you once more, ensuring that his load didn't spill out of your pussy. "Oh God," you said, watching as your legs wobbled. "I can't stand anymore." Eddie took your body, laying you down on the bed, hugging you to keep your body warm and comfortable. "Thank you," you thanked, snuggling with him. "You don't have to thank me; it's a mutual exchange for not making a sound. We almost get caught." Your cheeks turned red, and you felt embarrassed, but nonetheless, you had enjoyed it; it had excited you to have your boyfriend's father thrusting into you from behind while you held back your moans. Very sexy.

[heylolita00]

[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."

[solomons-finest-rum]

“Road Runner” (Johnny Davis x OFC)

Masterlist

SUMMARY — Johnny crosses paths with a fiery redhead who seems to live for chaos. She’s the sister of a recently deceased member of the notorious Vandals. As Johnny gets drawn deeper into her whirlwind life, they find themselves caught in a dangerous game.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Holy moly, haven't felt inspired in a while, but then Tom Hardy graced my screen again and, well. It would be a shame not to play with Johnny some. I can't thank enough the wonderful @zablife for the encouragement to write this! ❤️❤️❤️

WORD COUNT — 5,284

Brucie entered the bar at precisely nine in the morning and put a stack of newspapers at Johnny’s regular table.

“Heard about what happened to Eddie?” Brucie asked before he even sat down, and all it got him was Johnny’s absent stare. 

There was a half-lit cigarette hanging out the corner of Johnny’s mouth and he already looked done with the day.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Johnny rasped, then reached for the first newspaper out of the stack to read the front page.

“Freak accident on the road to Skokie. All that horsepower, never had the chance with a truck and a buick ridin’ up against him,” Brucie said and shook his head. 

All Johnny did was he looked around and immediately there was someone up and pouring him and Brucie a cup of bourbon. They were out of the nicer glasses.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Johnny rasped and put out his unfinished cigarette. “What the fuck was he thinkin’?”

“Oh, you know Eddie,” Brucie raised his glass and then so did Johnny. “Wilder than the rest of them, that kid.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed just because, but his mind was already miles away. Planning, thinking ahead, shifting gears. 

“We’ll need to send flowers,” Johnny decided.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” Johnny sighed and looked at the newspaper again. “The kid was too young to end up in a box.” 

There weren’t any pictures of the accident, but the description was vivid enough. 

“We’ll send it.” Brucie wrote something down in his notebook. “Doubt the family will want us there anyway.”

Johnny answered with a shrug, then lit another cigarette.

“What about the bike?” he asked.

“The bike?”

“Nice bike it was. A racer. Shame for it to be stuck in a barn or somethin’.” Johnny coughed a bit and pointed to the newspaper, then took another sip of his drink.

Brucie sighed at the very suggestion of asking the grieving family a thing like that, but finally he just nodded.

“I’ll try and find out.”

Turned out, finding out was not as much of a chore as it was a weird fucking encounter. First, Benny came by the bar and sat down with Johnny, wordlessly staring at the newspaper. The front page was still there in all its gorey glory.

Eddie and Benny used to ride together sometimes. They often made a bet with each other, then led the police on a wild goose chase just for laughs. 

“The bike,” Johnny said to Benny, then tapped the front page. “Know what happened to it?”

Benny, fond of his long pauses, looked down and lit a cigarette. Finally, Johnny raised his brows in annoyance and Brucie perked up his ears to hear the story.

“They lived on that apple farm outside of I24. Eddie and his family.”

Benny often gave up information reluctantly, as if keeping it inside his skull helped to keep him sane.

“They sell apples?” Johnny asked.

“His old man used to make cider, too.” Benny looked to the side pensively. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Still got a bottle stashed somewhere. We should drink it. You know, for Eddie.”

Johnny frowned some more, then just decided to accept the information at face value.

“I’ll go there tomorrow,” Brucie offered, but Johnny shook his head and that was that.

“If you thinkin’ of makin’ an offer, I’d hurry.” Benny took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked the ash off with his thumb.

“Yeah? Why is that?” Johnny asked.

“His sister rides.”

“Bikes? His sister?” Brucie chuckled, then immediately stopped when Gail shot him an angry look.

“No. Horses.”

Brucie looked at Benny then like he tended to do quite often. A space oddity, that kid. But whether he was pensive or sad, Brucie decided to let him be. Eddie was his friend after all.

“I’ll go there end of the week,” Johnny said. “Offer a good price.”

“Why do you care so much anyway? Your bike’s good.” Benny asked the question nobody dared to up to this point. Johnny never got mad at Benny, though, so Brucie stayed put. Truth be told, he was curious himself.

“Because,” Johnny said. “It’s a good racin’ piece, that thing. I’ve seen you two racin’ way too many times.”

“Yeah, but Eddie always lost,” Benny smirked.

“Not when he didn’t let you win.”

Johnny smirked at Benny and that was as good as saying he still loved him despite Benny being a walking accident. So Benny left it at that and finished his coffee.

The farm was quite far away on the outskirts of Chicago. Johnny had to stop for gas on a remote station where every farmer and hillbilly in sight immediately let him know he wasn’t welcome. Johnny opted to ignore them.

He parked his bike by the front gate of the farm and took a look around. Immediately fed up with good countryside air, he lit a cigarette and squinted at all that sunlight. Feeling like a villain in a western, Johnny let himself in and walked the path leading to the barn. Right away he heard horses neighing, then someone shouting in the distance. Johnny turned that way and saw a woman riding a horse. She wasn’t only riding it, more like galloping straight at him. 

He realised it was him she was yelling at then; her fiery red hair a halo around her angry face. Johnny stood there, a little transfixed, his better judgment kicking in only when he realised she wasn’t going to stop the horse. He jumped out of the way at the very last moment, groaning as his side met the thorns of the nearby rose bushes.

The woman stopped the horse abruptly, all the roadside dust blowing up around them and obscuring Johnny’s vision. He coughed and tried to get up, already losing his patience.

But then he saw that angry five foot nothing marching towards him, all that red hair billowing behind her and a sawed off shotgun firmly gripped in her left hand. Thinking himself thoroughly out of bargaining chips, he raised his hands up high.

“Get up!” she shouted at him, her face twisted in a grimace of unholy fury.

“Fuck, I’m tryin’, ain’t I?!” Johnny barked back.

“What were you thinkin’, comin’ here on that fuckin’ bike! Haven’t you done enough?!” The woman kept shouting and Johnny only grimaced in response. 

He was now on one knee, hands still up. Against his better judgment, he looked her right in the eye, but quickly realised talking his way out of this one would prove to be tricky. 

“Look, alright, I don’t know what you’re so upset about, ‘cause—”

“My brother!” She shrieked. 

“Eddie?”

“Yes, Eddie! He died because of you!”

“Now, wait a damn minute…” 

“You! You and that fuckin’ gang of good-for-nuthin’ thugs on those fuckin’ machines!”

Johnny winced and looked at that shotgun again, trying to figure out his next move.

“Right.” He looked up at the woman, squinting from the sun and all that dust. Her dark horse, now grazing nearby, snorted like it was insulting Johnny personally. Not particularly fond of farm animals, Johnny wouldn’t put it past it.

“So you’re the sister, huh?”

She snorted not unlike the horse and finally put the safety on that shotgun. Johnny felt himself exhale.

“How observant,” she mocked, but then she extended her hand to help him up and Johnny took it. His knee immediately let him know how old he was.

“Get out of here. I don’t want you here.” She shoved him a little then and Johnny couldn’t help but be thoroughly shocked. 

Not that it did anything, she was not very strong, but in all his life Johnny had never been challenged by a woman. 

“Look…”

“No, mister, I ain’t lookin’ at nothin’, alright?” She shook her head and pointed that shotgun at the front gate. “Get outta here. We got nuthin’ to say to each other.”

“Alright. Alright. I’m goin’, see?” Johnny raised his hands again for no other reason but to show her she was in charge. He prided himself with never raising a hand at a woman, so he wasn’t about to start now. Not at a grieving one, either.

Even if she was insane.

She watched him turn his back to her and started to walk behind him like a very small guard dog that made up for its size with anger.

“Your parents let you walk around like that?” Johnny asked and dared a smirk since she couldn’t see his face anymore.

They walked a couple steps more along the path before she replied:

“Like what?”

“With that fuckin’ shotgun and all. It’s illegal, ya know? Might try to watch who you pointin’ that at.”

“What, you a cop now, mister?”

Johnny laughed at that and shook his head.

“And what'd you mean by that anyway? I’m supposed to wear frilly skirts on a farm?” she scoffed. “You try wearing a skirt on that ugly bike of yours, we’ll see how far it’ll take you.”

Johnny immediately took offence, since he had just renovated the red paint on it.

“What?” She grinned, watching him pull faces. “I’m supposed to just listen to you ‘cause you’re the boss or somethin’?”

“Yeah, or somethin’,” Johnny sighed, thoroughly regretting his decision to come there in the first place.

“I fuckin’ hate bikes. They’re all ugly.”

“Get outta here.” He waved his hand, letting her know she didn’t have a clue. None.

“Eddie told me all about you, Johnny Davis.”

“Yeah? And what’s that he told ya then?”

She paused and since they reached the gate anyway, Johnny figured what the dead brother had to say didn’t really matter.

“Yeah, you got us all wrong there.” Johnny turned around to look her in the eye. “You got nuthin’ to worry about from us, alright? We are sorry for Eddie. He was a good kid, alright, he… He really was.”

The sister looked at him all inquisitive like, but she didn’t put the shotgun away. It seemed to Johnny he got all compliant for nothing.

“Yeah, right,” she said, though without all that venom now. “I heard you burned down a bar only ‘cause they got in a fight with one of you.”

“That…” Johnny paused, looking for the right words. “That ain’t exactly how it happened.”

“But it did happen?” 

They looked at each other for the longest time, before Johnny finally gave her the smallest of nods.

“So,” she smirked, satisfied. “Let me tell you now so that you don’t get any ideas of comin’ here and botherin’ my folks. It’s the bike I’m thinkin’ you’re after and I can tell you now, we will sell it all, but not to you. I will sell it for parts and there’s nuthin’—”

“One thousand.”

“What?”

“One thousand, cash. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

She sputtered, visibly shocked. That suited Johnny just fine.

“You ain’t serious, mister.”

“I am serious, yeah.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“I am,” he smirked, still a bit amused with her against his will.

When she didn’t answer, Johnny got back on his bike.

“One thousand,” he said again, but this time she turned her back to him in response.

Johnny watched her walk away, then took one last look at that farm; all those apple trees growing in orderly rows like soldiers, the reddish barn that hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years, and that angry woman full of fire inside her, apparently responsible for all of it not going to hell.

They got that in common, Johnny thought, as he rode away.

Johnny came back the next day, one thousand cash in his jacket pocket and a knife in his boot. Not that his plan was to knife the lady necessarily, but last time he came unprepared and he didn’t like it.

She didn’t pull out a shotgun on him again, but there was a knife in her hand and that Johnny liked even less. She was peeling apples; a big basket of them by her side and a bucket of cold water next to it. All that red hair was gathered in a braid so messy it barely held it together. Johnny was reminded of that time Betty went out of town to visit her folks and he got left alone with the girls. Suffice to say, Betty never made that mistake again.

“Thought you wouldn’t show,” the crazy sister greeted Johnny and the apple she peeled landed in the bucket of water with a splash.

“I said I’d come, so…” Johnny said, all in all not too sure how to start the money talk. Men were easy to start that conversation with, at least in his experience. You flash the cash, the deal was struck. Never in his life had he negotiated a deal stranger than this one.

“And what’s that?” She pointed with the knife to the can he was holding. 

Johnny felt then that the string of fate which brought him to the goddamn apple farm was not a string at all, but an electric wire.

“Paint,” he replied and placed it at her feet. 

She raised an eyebrow.

“What, you gonna throw it at me if I don’t sell the bike?”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, girl?” Horrified by the idea, Johnny didn’t even notice it was sarcasm.

She got up then and crouched by the can, then popped it open with the knife. 

“Red.” She looked up at him and for the first time actually smiled.

“Yeah, ‘cause…” Johnny pointed to the barn awkwardly, then shook his head. “Nah, forget it.”

“No!” She popped the lid back on before he could reach for it and nearly got his fingers. Unsure if he did good or not, Johnny decided to keep his hands to himself.

“I know the place is falling apart, alright? I just… Didn’t get the time.” She looked at the barn then finally got up. “Hey, thanks for that, mister. I’ll uh…”

“Johnny.”

“What?”

“Just Johnny. I ain’t no ‘mister’, yeah, you don’t gotta call me that.”

“Sure.” She winked at him then and Johnny didn’t know what to do with that.

“Wanna see the bike?”

She took Johnny to the barn and as soon as he saw the state of that bike he knew he had made a mistake.

“One thousand you said?” the snarky creature dared to ask and she thoroughly enjoyed rubbing it in.

The bike was crushed, there was no doubt about it. There was no moving it from there either. Johnny crouched down to take a look, but it needed no expert to see the huge chunk of the exhaust missing, along with the back wheel. There was a dent on the side of it the size of a boulder, but as far as Johnny could see, the engine was still somehow intact. 

“Here.” He extended the money to her as he got up and she looked at it like she expected it to bite her.

“What?” Johnny asked. “A deal’s a deal.”

Finally, she relented.

“I can drive it back to town for ya,” she said then and pointed to the red pickup at the far back of the barn.

“Nah, it’s…” Johnny shook his head before he could think it through.

“What?” she scoffed. “You gonna walk it?”

“Can you drive?”

“Who do you think picked Eddie up from the bar when he got too drunk to stand?”

Johnny took one more look at the dented space where the back wheel of the bike was supposed to be and he relented.

On principle, though, he rode his bike alongside her pickup. They even started a race as they passed the Salt Creek, because why the hell not. She stood no chance, the pickup was too heavy, but Johnny was impressed that she even tried.

She parked outside his house and Johnny left his bike on the lawn. As if summoned by magic, Betty’s face appeared in the kitchen window. She took one pointed look at the lawn and Johnny knew he would hear about it later.

“I’ll, uh, fix it up a bit. Needs work but it’s a good one,” he said as he put the gloves back on to unload the broken bike from the pickup. He still couldn’t tell if the sister gave a shit about it at all.

“Yeah, well. It’s yours. You can blow it up if you like. You bought it.”

She tried to hide her face from him and Johnny decided to let it be. As she drove away, he found himself watching until that damn banged up red pickup disappeared around the corner. Seeing Betty’s face in the kitchen window again, Johnny knew he was cutting it close.

Some time passed, not like Johnny was counting days or anything, but every time he caught a glimpse of red hair at the corner store or anywhere else around town, he felt like a lunatic. One time one of the guys came to the bar with a redhead and Johnny nearly threw him out for no reason other than apparently having lost his mind.

“You fight too much, Johnny,” Brucie said to him then, half-amused. “Got hit on the ol’ noggin’ one too many times.”

“Shut up, Brucie.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

But then she did come to the bar one night, the real her, and Johnny couldn’t believe his very eyes. Granted, neither could any of the Vandals.

It was one of the quieter nights, even with the occasional shouting and rock music. Johnny nursed his drink in the corner and just as he poured himself another one, he heard it—horseshoes rhythmically hitting the pavement, coming closer and closer. 

Johnny pushed the bottle away and lit a cigarette instead. He must have had enough and was just hearing things, but then the bar door swung open and someone wolf-whistled. Johnny turned around just in time to see Eddie’s sister standing there, jeans and cowboy boots and all. She looked around and that’s when Corky decided to try his luck.

Johnny watched them like a hawk and he couldn’t tell what exactly was being said, but sure enough, in one practiced swing Corky got punched in the throat. 

“Fuck me,” Johnny muttered to himself as he got up and made his way towards what could turn into a rightful mess.

The rest of the guys still couldn’t tell whether they were pissed off or turned on, and apparently neither could Corky, choking on the floor and gasping for air.

“What the fuck?” Johnny hissed and grabbed the crazy redhead by the shoulder.

He didn’t want to read too much into it, but he could swear she looked relieved to see him.

“Got bored of painting my damn barn, didn’t I?” She started to talk like it was rapid fire or something. “Needed myself a drink, heard you got a bar or… somethin’. Fuck, your friends are grabby, though.” 

The cheeky thing. Johnny didn’t even know what to say to that. He looked around and noticed the guys giving them an odd sort of look. It pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t really name.

“There,” Johnny somehow manoeuvred the crazy girl out of everybody’s grasp and they sat together at his table.

“So,” he muttered as he finally found two damn seconds of peace to light a cigarette. “Whaddya want?”

“That’s how this works or somethin’? I gotta come to you with somethin’ I want?”

Johnny tried his best not to smile.

“Yeah, people usually do.”

“Can’t I just want to buy you a drink?”

“In my own bar?”

She rolled her eyes at him, actually rolled her eyes at him, then helped herself to his bottle and poured them both a drink.

“How’s the bike?” she asked, trying to sound all casual.

Johnny sat there motionless for a good moment, smoking and sizing her up. She had some type of a deal, he was sure of it. Everyone did and everyone wanted something. He just couldn’t really tell what it was she wanted. Yet.

“It’s alright, yeah.” 

“You think it will run again?”

“Oh, she’ll run.”

“So it’s a she, is it?”

This time it was her suppressing a smile and Johnny felt easier about it all.

“‘Course it’s a she, what are you talkin’ about?” He finally felt well enough to have that drink and she followed suit.

Then they drank some more and things got more relaxed. And significantly more blurry.

“You know, when Eddie and I were little, he used to never shut up about motorcycles. There was that movie… With Dirk Bogarde. Yeah, you know the one.” She grinned at him, no doubt seeing that spark of fondness in his face that he was unable to suppress. 

“Anyway, he must’ve dragged me like five times to see that movie. In the end I got so sick of it, but I still let him quote the lines at me. Eddie loved all that life, man, and these damn bikes…” 

Johnny let her be wistful about it. She looked like she needed it. There was an urge there to reassure her that Eddie would be missed, because that was the truth, but then Johnny felt her foot sliding up his leg and his brain short-circuited. 

His eyes snapped to hers and that lazy smile she gave him made this whole thing even worse. For a moment he doubted this was even real, but there it was, her foot still intertwined somewhere between his calves, and his brain and dick no longer connected.

“I’m married,” he said there, more to remind himself than to actually break the tension.

But she straightened up in her chair immediately and that was that. Her cheeks grew even redder than the tequila had made them and Johnny sighed a long sigh.

“Sorry,” she murmured and finished the rest of her drink. 

“Nah. Don’t be.”

She looked up again and this time it was all look, don’t touch. But still, Johnny felt like it was more. Or maybe he just really wanted it to be.

“Now listen, I’m… What, a good twenty years older than you—”

“Oh, shut up, old man.”

She poured them another drink and leaned forward on the table. Suddenly, her leg was back between his legs and neither of them could so much as breathe. Johnny held her gaze just in case; she reminded him of all them mountain lions his grandfather was so fond of hunting. Difficult to hunt in the first place, silent and deadly. But in the dark… Yeah, they were at their finest. They crept up on you all softly—you blinked and you died.

Truth be told, Johnny very much wouldn’t give two fucks if he did die then and there. But it was a dangerous thing, the old wolf of the pack actually being called old.

“I ain’t that young, by the way,” she said. “But I bet it’s the fumes for ya. They’re bad for your skin or somethin’.”

Johnny scoffed and downed his drink. She did the same and the lines got even blurrier.

When he came to the next morning, he was still in his chair, leaning against the wall, with the unmistakable taste of last night’s cigarettes in his mouth and the heaviness of too much tequila in his temples.

Something stirred in the corner of his eye then and then Brucie spoke:

“John.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna tell me why there’s a horse in your bar?”

Johnny winced and forced himself to look. Every fibre of his being that was still even able to move groaned in protest.

“Well,” he muttered and rubbed his eyes, but there was indeed a horse—standing by the liquor cabinet, tail twitching nervously and all.

“I don’t know, Brucie, why don’t you go ask it, yeah?” Johnny rasped and then reached for his lighter, but his pack of Marlboros was empty as a tomb. Something stirred again in the corner and Johnny figured it was Brucie finally working up his courage to approach the horse.

“You think it wants a drink?”

Johnny opened his eyes again, suddenly alert. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if Brucie was kidding or not.

“Don’t feed the goddamn horse any liquor, Bruce, fuck’s sake. She’ll kill me.”

“You think it’s a she?”

“I don’t know if it is, yeah, but the horse has an owner and she’s very unstable, alright, let’s just leave it at that.”

“Oh… Your pretty little thing. Gotcha. Yeah, she’s out cold in the back.”

Johnny looked at him, even more annoyed now.

“My what?”

Brucie hesitated before speaking again and finally he pushed a bowl of water towards the horse. With loud, violent slurps, it started to drink.

“She’s sleepin’, Johnny, relax.”

Once again, Johnny felt like he absolutely, categorically wouldn’t relax anytime soon and so he stood up and only then did Brucie finally start making sense:

“Now listen, John, I didn’t let nobody near her, right, but the way you two been polishin’ that tequila bottle was somethin’ else, so… Yeah, she’s out cold.”

Johnny just shook his head and decided any explanation on his part would only make things worse. 

“Fuck, I need to get home,” Johnny rasped, but he went to the back instead. 

And there she was, fuck him sideways, sleeping on a bench and covered with something that looked suspiciously like Johnny’s Vandal jacket. She didn’t even move when he poked her shoulder and so he shook her as gently as he could.

“What?” She almost shot up when she finally woke and Johnny got a little alarmed by how panicked she looked.

“Yeah, you’re alright there, you’re okay,” he said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. “You just had too much to drink, but you’re okay.”

“I seem to remember someone drinking with me,” she snapped and sat up to put her shoes back on. “Fuck, my head…”

Johnny cleared his throat and decided not to comment. His own head was not faring any better.

“Did I say anything stupid last night?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Lots,” Johnny lied, smirking a bit.

She sized him up, full of suspicion.

“You don’t remember either, do ya?”

“Nope.”

Johnny helped her up and tried to ignore how much he liked seeing her in that jacket. Betty wouldn’t ever wear a Vandal jacket, but then again, he never asked her to do it either.

“My horse?”

“Having a drink with Brucie, don’t worry about him, he’s fine.”

She didn’t find that too amusing.

“Hey, Sleepin’ Beauty!” Brucie hollered at her as soon as they emerged from the backroom. Johnny winced at the noise.

She laughed as she saw her horse by the bar, but at least had the decency to look apologetic about it all.

“Your idea to bring him inside, was it?” Johnny asked, but unlike Brucie, he didn’t dare to come closer. 

Brucie, though, that guy had no fear. He was patting the horse on the neck and whispering something to him. Johnny had never seen him affectionate like that.

“There… might have been a discussion last night, how he’d be cold outside, John.”

“That so?”

“It was your idea, actually,” Eddie’s sister interjected, then poured herself whatever was left from the coffee pot.

Johnny felt personally offended by the notion.

“Fuck no, it wasn’t.” 

“I say it was and we can’t ask the horse, so…”

“Look, can I just…” Johnny rubbed his face and tried very hard to remain cool. But at the very last moment he changed his mind and what he finally said was:

“Can I get that horse outta my bar now?”

The cheeky little thing had the audacity to grin about it and then marched through the bar, grabbed her horse by the reins and carefully led it outside. Johnny caught Brucie’s amused look and didn’t even have to ask what all of that was about. 

She still had his jacket on. Johnny kicked himself for it, but wouldn’t ask for it back.

Not that long after, the rumours around town were in full swing. One evening Gail and Kathy let him know exactly what they thought about his old ass trading someone like Betty for a younger model and how apparently perverted he was. Johnny let them talk, mostly since there was nothing he could have said that would make them believe he was not having an affair. 

Then again, maybe he was. Who the fuck knew at this point. Betty believed him when they had that discussion, at least for a time, but finally something in her snapped, too. She took the girls to her folks and hadn’t come back since. Not that Johnny expected she would.

What cemented the rumours was Eddie’s sister coming over one night, entirely out of the blue. Johnny was in the driveway, still working on Eddie’s banged up bike. As soon as he saw that red pickup park straight in front of his house, something stirred in him. But then, he was damn sure all the neighbors saw it park there too, so the time for denial was over. 

“Am I interrupting?” 

She approached him with a six pack of beers, flaunting her figure in those dark blue Levi’s. She could interrupt him all she wanted.

“Nah.” He got up and took the beers from her. Then she leaned in closer and for a good moment Johnny didn’t know what to do with himself.

But all she did was take his handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and she wiped the motor oil stain from his cheek. He got a whiff of that pink Lux soap and then, entirely on instinct, he held her closer with his free hand. She looked up and it was like her eyes said, “Finally.” Johnny knew then that he wouldn’t let go of her anytime soon.

They kissed out in the open and with a full air of social disapproval. Johnny couldn’t give two shits about anyone’s approval, though, and knew she didn’t either. Although… Fucking in that creaky bed he had shared with another woman would have been bizarre, but fortunately they didn’t even make it to the bed. 

She let Johnny push her against the wall and he nearly tore those Levi’s off of her. Kissing her left him dazed, but then she started to bite his neck and that turned him feral instead. It felt alien, being so wanted, and how fucking sad was that. 

But she did want him and they fucked twice. The second time on the sofa, with her on top. Johnny couldn’t get enough of the sight of her.

They shared that six pack in the tub. She was sitting between his legs and it felt like she just belonged there. They didn’t even talk about anything in particular, but the water was warm and she was snuggled up against him like she actually wanted to be there. 

“Where’s that one from?” she asked about yet another tattoo and Johnny looked down to see better which one caught her attention.

“Marines.”

It was an unfinished head of a rottweiler on his thigh. He got half of it, then a dishonorable discharge for his trouble. Never quite got around to fixing it and now it was half-done on purpose.

“You like to swim, huh?”

“Not so much.”

“But you don’t mind the water now, do ya?”

“Nah,” He grunted and gave her the rest of the beer. “It’s like I’m livin’ again, girl.”

“Good. We’re gonna live some, you and I.”

Johnny felt her chuckle against his chest and he just held her tighter. And even if this wasn’t heaven, then the feeling was pretty damn close.

[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!

[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 partners 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.

[feveredvisions]

Blue, As Always

Tom Hardy x Reader Oneshot

Masterlist here! Requests are open. Just drop by an Ask xx

Summary: An attempt at a slice-of-life oneshot where we get a glimpse into love, mischief, and the quiet magic of a long-married passion.

Note: heavily inspired by tommo's new interview with esquire <3 also needed smnthn comforting cos luteal phase during the full moon phase is hella violent brah :// (blaming my emotional n mental flareups on the moon and astrology!!) my brain is in a blender and it wont get pureed so im sorry for any grammatical errors.

Divider: @plum98

Sometimes love isn’t loud.

Sometimes it’s the gentle sound of a French bulldog snoring through a press interview in a luxury suite at Claridge’s Hotel.

Sometimes love looks like you.

There are few certainties in Tom Hardy’s life these days: the taste of Yorkshire tea brewed just right, the sharp scent of his wife’s rose talc in the mornings, and the sound of Blue—the well-fed and thoroughly loved Frenchie—snoring through even the most earnest human conversation.

This afternoon was no exception.

On the 5th floor of the Claridge’s, in Suite 505— its ceilings painted in a bespoke hand-painted art of blue and white wisterias with colourful native garden birds perched on the brown branches; floors seamlessly covered in an oatmeal loop pile carpet; clean cream walls with french mouldings and off-white sconces with warm glowing lights for an artsy yet warm lively accent— the late afternoon sun spills through the delicate lace embroidered curtains, hanging in front of the open balcony to welcome the fresh breeze in. Casting through beautifully intricate shadows of the delicate lacework on the carpet, like a graceful moving projected image by nature with the afternoon breeze. Illuminating the room in a soft sunny glow of life. A damn good life.

Blue was snoring. Loudly. A sound of a very content canine. Earlier, the silky inky Frenchie had walked, dined on boiled chicken breast, and now found that the only reasonable thing left to do was nap.

Curled into a warm, silky-furred, compact Stygian croissant of a French bulldog bliss on the settee— his belly rose and fell with the exaggerated breath of someone who had a full stomach and zero responsibilities, his feeties akimbo. You sat demurely with your ankles crossed, sheer hosiery glinting faintly in the sun-kissed glow of the room. Ruby red silk blouse that's crisp and tucked in a perfectly pressed skirt, nails glossy in a neutral ballet-something shade, and your hair in its natural kept stature (and the dirtiest of thougts about your husband who looks absolutely eatable right now)— rubbing small absent-minded circles on Blue’s belly  (always right below his rib or he gets very ticklish on the bones) while your other hand cradled a delicate gold-rimmed porcelain teacup. Your tea had long gone lukewarm, but had only gotten better; sweeter, smoother— perfect balance of peach and lemon and a slight fresh vegetal bitterness from the green tea leaves. Paired with the buttery, nutty goodness of the pistachio biscuits, which came as one of the many fancy freebies in the hotel suite, crumbled in your mouth and mingled well with your tea. A mental note was definitely put in priority to smuggle the rest of the pistachio biscuits into your bag before checking out of the suite.

Across the room, Tom leaned back in the plush leather couch, one boot hooked over the opposite knee as he went on in his interview with Miranda Collinger, Deputy Editor of Esquire, and is in the process of collecting material for her cover profile of the upcoming May 2025 issue of the magazine where him and Blue (a pair of snazzy gentlemen) would be on the cover; Scribbling notes and recording the gospel according to Mr. Hardy.

You stayed out of it. This was his space, his time, his press junket. You just tagged along to this short trip to breathe and not mediate your two twenty-year-olds arguing over car keys for the weekend. Although, your uterus couldn’t help but grow warm and rave over the sight of your husband in a Ralph Lauren suit whilst wearing his thick black-rimmed glasses. It was supposed to be your luteal phase, and it did not feel like it at all ever since the photoshoot began. All glory to his team of genius stylists. And God, his neatly trimmed beard. You've seen him with his grizzly beard, no beard, bald headed, back at it with the beard, but it never gets old.

You blinked in hopes to erase the visions of you sitting on his beautiful face and moisturising it with your slick of appreciation. One of his many favourite things coming from you apart from your unconditional love throughout the years that you have tolerated and loved him beyond his extremely flawed design as a human being. All the ugliness that came with his Adonis-like beauty, you took all of him because fuck you love him even if he came with a missing chromosome (hypothetically). Love and your stubbornness conquering all that shit and all his shit.

You weren’t invisible. Never to Tom. He glances at you with something unspoken in his eyes. Perhaps a shared inside joke. Probably his biological sixth sense picking up on your quiet arousal…or was that the look of a woman that loves him..?

“He’s bored too.” Tom says, nodding towards the bulldog that you now placed on your silk covered lap like a furry burnt sausage. “Snoring like a pensioner in a matinee.” Then eyeing you for a brief moment. Your lower belly growls and it was absolutely not for food. 

Miranda chuckled. “He’s got the right idea, if you ask me.”

“Yeah. Had his chicken. Little walk. Time for a kip. Living the dream.”

Blue let out another snort as if in agreement. You lightly scratch the dog’s chin, absently nibbling another pistachio biscuit.

You smile softly behind your teacup because, yes, that's your life now as of date. The calm. The chaos. The man with the lion’s heart and the dog who drools on your Egyptian cotton sheets but that’s okay because he’s your third soon just in dog form (spoiled, adored, and unconcerned). For a moment, it wasn’t about legacy or craft or whatever dramatic phrase men like him get asked when they’ve done enough living to be interesting. It’s just about Blue. The snores. The calm. This.

As the interview neaared to a close, Tom looks at you again with his cheeky schoolboy smile. “Come sit with us for a bit, babe.” He says, patting the empty spot next to him. “C’mon. You’ll make this whole thing less me, yeah?”

Miranda pipes in with a serene enthusiasm and politeness. “Please, do join us, Y/N. You’d elevate the material.”

You blinked, biscuit halfway in your mouth. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.” You say with a smile. The way good wives do…and the dangerous ones too. “I’d only clutter the scene, trust me.”

“She’s being modest,” Tom told Miranda, eyes glinting. “But don’t let that fool ya. She's got a black belt in Krav Maga and can strip a glock in twenty seconds.”

“Oh stop,” you lightheartedly scold him with a laugh, dabbing crumbs from your lips. “It’s seventeen seconds, actually.”

Miranda laughs, unsure if it’s a joke. It’s not.

Before anything else unfolds, your phone begins to chime. Loud. Cheerful. Bloody persistent. “Oh!” You gasp, gently moving Blue from your lap like he’s a sleeping toddler that mustn't be disturbed. You scurry to the bedroom like your lace slip’s on fire, returning moments later with a flush on your cheeks and your now silenced phone in your hand.

“Apologies,” you murmur. “That was my birth control reminder. Middle-aged and still dodging fate.”

Miranda lets out another light laugh in sympathy and understanding, unsure how to respond. But Tom, with his damn cocky proud smirk that only meant trouble, leans back and crosses his arms.

“Can’t blame her really,” he says. Gazing at Miranda then at you, his eyes sliding up and down your body like he’s already covering you in (his) honey. “I still am quite the reckless horndog around her.”

You freeze, mouth parted. Miranda bursts into lighthearted laughter.

Tom winks at you, his lips forming a goofy charming, crooked grin that could make God himself banish Tom’s unpardonable sins like turning you into a flushed mushed in front of polite company. Always catching you off-guard when he senses you’re being uptight.

Blue, still in his sleep, lets out a grumpy snorf.

You couldn’t help but cover your face as you were laughing now too. The prim and proper housewife crumbling just enough to reveal the woman beneath: brilliant, blistering, and still so madly in love with the man who can’t help but tease you in the most unconventional situations.

Miranda turns off her recorder. “I think that’s our closer.” She begins to pack up. Being the gentleman that he is, Tom walks Miranda to the door, sending her off with sincere hug and stuffing extra packs of pistachio cookies in her bag.

Then he saunters over towards you, pressing a warm kiss to the crown of your head. Hmm Jasmine and Irises and her… To you, he smells like oud and bergamot and him. Your nails instinctively scratching his left pec through his blouse. Fuck…you could probably tear this designer piece apart to get him half-naked…

“Reckless horndog?” You murmur as you glare up at him. Mock chiding.

He grins down at you. “Oh, you love it.”

Hell yeah, you do.

Blue twitches and whimpers in his dreams of swift chases, sausages, chicken, and other happy doggy dreams. Snoring on.

In this moment, in this quiet little corner of London, the great Tom Hardy isn’t a character or a headline. He’s just a man. With his snoring dog. His wife.

And Blue, as ever, is the only one truly unimpressed and cool.

-FIN-

thanks so much for reading love u xxx

[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 :) 💚

[tomhardystories]

Part 21: Edinburgh Happened

It started the same way most of their adventures did - Jules in the kitchen, overcaffeinated and suspicious, and Tom leaning against a counter, smirking like a man with too many secrets and not enough impulse control.

She was wearing his old Ramones T-shirt and sipping aggressively from a chipped mug that said "World’s Okayest Bitch." Her hair was tied up with a pencil. Her eyebrows were already doing that arched suspicion dance before he even spoke.

Tom didn’t look up from his phone when he said, casually "So. I booked us a trip."

She blinked. Slowly. Like a lizard that just noticed its prey. "To where?" she asked warily, because "trip" could mean anything from a weekend in Paris to him dragging her to some emotionally haunted moor where someone named Beatrix was buried alive in 1792.

He looked up then, all pleased with himself. "Edinburgh."

She paused. "Scotland?"

"No" he deadpanned. "The tropical one in the Bahamas."

She threw a dishrag at his head.

He caught it mid-air. Smirked. "Rude. Anyway, yes. Scotland. The one with castles, fog, and emotionally repressed poets. You'll love it. It's like if your Spotify Wrapped was a city."

"I don’t have time for a trip" she muttered, sipping her coffee like it was a weapon.

"You haven’t left this apartment in three days." Tom pointed out. "Your mother texted me, ME, to say you sounded tired in your voice notes and asked if you were depressed or just busy being melancholic again."

Jules groaned. "She did not."

"She did" he said smugly. "And then she asked if I was feeding you enough vegetables."

"Well now I’m definitely not going."

"You’ll pack. And you’ll love it. I want to see you in knee-high boots, stalking around cobblestones like a disgraced duchess who drinks too much absinthe."

She tilted her head. "You’re disgusting."

"I know. Thursday. Be ready."

Edinburgh greeted them with sharp wind and better cheekbones than either of them possessed. The kind of chill that wrapped itself around your bones like a corset and whispered "Welcome to the 1600s, bitch."

The hotel was tucked away on a narrow street that looked like it had seen its fair share of stabbings and whispered confessions. The building had peeling paint, uneven steps, and a brass plaque that looked haunted. Jules loved it immediately.

At the front desk, the receptionist was a redhead with a facial piercing and an accent thicker than cream. "Room 302" she said brightly. "And just a heads-up, this place used to be a brothel in the 17th century."

Jules turned to Tom, delighted. "I love history."

Tom leaned in and whispered "I love context."

She elbowed him in the ribs.

Their suite looked like a Victorian séance room got drunk and tried its hand at interior design. Velvet curtains, antique lamps, a canopy bed, and - most notably - a window that overlooked an actual graveyard.

Jules squealed. "We are so making out in front of this window."

Tom looked around and declared "This place is going to make you say weird things during sex."

"I already say weird things during sex."

"Fair point."

She threw herself onto the bed, limbs splayed like a Victorian damsel waiting to be ravished. "God, I missed hotels."

He leaned over her, warm and solid. "You missed me in hotels."

She gave him a look. "That too. Barely."

They wandered through wet streets, dodging puddles and smug pigeons. Everything smelled like damp stone and early death, which was apparently the local fragrance. Jules was in a long coat, boots, and sunglasses she absolutely didn’t need, but she claimed it was for the aesthetic.

Tom bought roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and insisted she try one, holding it to her mouth like she was the fussy queen of some forgotten Balkan country. She bit his fingers instead.

They ended up at a café so small it might have been a broom closet with a caffeine addiction. The barista blinked when Jules ordered oat milk.

He said "Right. Are you allergic or just… American?"

She smiled sweetly. "Just pretentious."

Tom laughed so hard he choked on his espresso.

They sat in the fogged-up window, legs tangled under the table. She sipped her coffee and looked out at the city like she was about to write a song about how much she hated her first husband.

He watched her like she was the most interesting thing in the entire country.

She caught him staring. "Don’t get weird."

"You’re just very... cinematic here."

"You say that in every city."

"No, in Paris you were dangerous, in Tokyo you were shiny, in Rome you were unraveling. But here?" He leaned in, kissed her wrist. "You’re haunted."

She rolled her eyes and blushed. "You’re so full of shit."

"And yet, you booked a full moon ghost tour for us tonight, didn’t you?"

She tried not to smile. Failed.

Back at the hotel, the hallway creaked like it was being haunted by its own floorboards. Their room was cold, but it didn’t matter - Tom lit a fire, which crackled like it had been waiting just for them.

Jules kicked off her boots and flopped onto the floor in front of it. Tom joined her, both of them facing the flames like witches waiting for a sign.

Outside, rain tapped against the windows like a polite ghost.

"You happy now?" he asked.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. "This place is deeply unhinged. I love it."

"Tomorrow we’ll go buy books we’ll never read, and maybe get cursed."

She yawned. "Perfect. Maybe a little light grave robbing."

"Very you."

He kissed the top of her head.

And for a long while, they just sat there - two slightly chaotic people in love, wrapped in the quiet hum of an old city and each other’s presence.

They woke up slowly, the way you only do in a city older than your great-great-grandmother’s secrets. The room was cold because of course it was - a haunted ex-brothel turned boutique hotel didn’t believe in central heating. But Tom’s arms were warm and his legs were tangled around hers and honestly, Jules didn’t feel like moving.

"Your feet are frozen" he muttered into her neck, voice thick with sleep.

"I’m dead inside" she replied. "This is just the outside catching up."

After a long shower (where very little actual showering happened), they wandered out into the city again, this time armed with matching knit beanies and a growing caffeine dependency.

They browsed secondhand bookstores with crooked shelves and cranky cats. Tom bought an absurdly expensive edition of Dracula just because Jules liked the font. She bought a poetry book titled "Sad Girls in Cold Places" and declared it her new memoir.

That night, they met up with the ghost tour group in a narrow alley that smelled like rain, history, and maybe unresolved trauma.

Their tour guide was a woman in a top hat and long velvet coat who spoke like she'd dated several vampires and wasn’t over it. Jules was instantly obsessed.

"Welcome" the guide said dramatically "to the darkest corners of Auld Reekie. If you feel a sudden coldness… it might not be the weather."

Jules grinned. "She’s camp. I love her."

Tom whispered "You’re going to be unbearable after this."

She beamed. "Absolutely."

They wandered through underground vaults, old closes, and churchyards that made Jules gasp and clutch Tom’s hand like she was auditioning for a Gothic novel.

At one point, the guide said "This cell was once used to imprison suspected witches."

Jules, deadpan: "Finally, some relatable content."

Tom: "Do I need to be worried?"

Jules: "You should’ve been worried years ago."

Back in their hotel room, Jules immediately turned on the kettle.

"I feel spiritually exfoliated" she announced, pulling her sweater off dramatically.

Tom was lying on the bed, one arm behind his head, watching her like she was his favorite problem. "You were holding my hand so tightly, I think my knuckles cracked."

She made a face. "I wasn’t scared. I was immersed."

"You screamed when that rat ran by."

"I yelped. Like a lady."

She climbed into bed beside him, wrapping herself around his side like a determined cat. "Do you think ghosts follow people home?"

"Only the horny ones" he said, kissing her forehead.

They made love slowly, quietly, like the air was listening. The old bed creaked like it was vaguely offended, but neither of them cared. Tom was his usual focused self - intense, quiet, whispering things in a low voice that made Jules shiver harder than the wind outside.

And Jules - tonight - was soft. Not screaming his name, not dramatic. Just quiet sighs and the occasional breathless "God, I missed you" even though they'd been together all day. She was wrapped up in him, in the strange comfort of candlelight and old walls and something timeless between them.

Afterward, she lay on his chest and traced lazy circles over his ribs.

"We’re going to die one day" she whispered.

He blinked. "Wow, alright. Vibe shift."

"No, but like… we’re going to die and some future ghost tour guide is going to be like, "And in this room, a British actor and his chaotic girlfriend had loud sex and emotionally repressed conversations."

Tom grinned. "That would be an honor, honestly."

She giggled against his skin. "I love you."

"I love you. Even when you flirt with ghosts."

They fell asleep like that, half-laughing, half-exhausted, tangled and warm under heavy blankets in a room that probably did have spirits lingering.

But if there were ghosts, they left them alone. Or maybe they just sat back and watched, thinking: Ah. Finally. A couple more beautifully messed-up humans in love.

The next morning greeted them with relentless drizzle and a sky the color of disappointment.

Jules stood by the tall hotel window in one of Tom’s long-sleeve shirts, hair messy, mug of tea in hand, and frowned at the street below.

"Edinburgh really is committed to the bit, huh?" she muttered.

Tom, still tangled in the blankets like a sleepy Greek statue, made a vague noise. "What bit?"

"The whole 'mysterious lover who writes poetry about rain and ghosts' aesthetic. I swear the city is flirting with me."

He stretched lazily, his hair a chaos of waves and sleep. "Should I be worried?"

"Only if it starts texting me."

They didn’t have a solid itinerary for the day. Just vague ideas: a museum, a hidden café Jules had seen on TikTok, and something that involved books or at least pretending to read them while making out in a quiet corner.

Tom, naturally, had mapped three different scenic walking routes "just in case."

Jules, naturally, ignored them and led him into a maze of streets where they ended up finding a tiny gallery of watercolors and a man selling gingerbread out of a van with no license plates. She bought a bag. He gave her a look.

"Just... gingerbread from a stranger?"

"He looked like a man with a past" she replied. "I respect that."

The real magic happened late afternoon, when they ducked into the old university library to escape the rain.

It was nearly empty. Just a few scattered students, a librarian who looked like she could hex you if you sneezed too loudly, and rows upon rows of books that smelled like stories and silence.

Jules wandered between the shelves like a cat, running her fingers along old spines, occasionally pulling one down and flipping it open like she might absorb the knowledge through osmosis.

Tom found her sitting on a window bench, curled up with a worn-out copy of Letters to a Young Poet. She looked up at him with that soft, faraway look she got when something had pierced through her usual armor.

"This book is dangerous" she said quietly.

"Why?"

"It makes you think about all the things you’ve wanted to say but never had the nerve to."

He sat beside her. "Anything in particular?"

She hesitated. Looked back down at the book.

"I almost told you something just now."

He leaned in a little. "Tell me."

She shook her head, lips curled in a crooked, sad smile. "Maybe later. Maybe when it’s a little less beautiful in here."

Tom studied her face for a moment, like he was memorizing it. Then, simply: "Alright. But don’t wait too long."

By evening, the fog had rolled in thick and dramatic. Edinburgh was dressed like a film noir and they fit right in - him in a black coat, her wrapped in his scarf, walking close, like maybe the fog was a person trying to listen in.

They found chips - actual chips, greasy and perfect - from a small takeaway near the Grassmarket, and ate them sitting on a bench in silence, watching the mist eat the city.

"You think we’re going to be boring one day?" Jules asked suddenly.

He glanced at her. "Define boring."

"Like… mortgages and meal prep and talking about replacing the bathroom tiles."

He smirked. "I think we already talk about meal prep."

"Yeah but in a sexy way."

He laughed. "We’re not going to be boring, Jules. You’d burn the house down out of spite."

She grinned, cheek resting on his shoulder. "Good. Just checking."

Back at the hotel, she took forever in the bathroom - cleansing rituals, music, hair tied up, everything smelling like lavender. When she came out in one of his shirts and a pair of socks with bats on them, he was already in bed, reading.

She climbed in beside him, quiet.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

She nodded, but her fingers curled around his arm.

"I didn’t say the thing today" she murmured into his skin.

"I know" he said. "You didn’t have to."

She kissed his shoulder. "But I might tomorrow."

And outside, the fog stayed wrapped around the city, holding in all the words not yet said.

The fourth day began with the kind of silence that only comes when you both know something is ending - not forever, not dramatically, just… for now.

Jules lay in bed a few minutes longer than usual, watching the light move across the ceiling like it had somewhere better to be. The room smelled like coffee and Tom’s aftershave. He was already dressed, sitting by the window with a notebook on his knee and his glasses sliding down his nose. That writer-at-a-retreat look that made her feel ridiculous things.

"You writing me a sonnet?" she croaked.

He didn’t look up. "Nope. Grocery list."

She snorted, flopped dramatically onto her stomach. "Make sure to add attention and validation. I’m running low."

He stood and walked over, kissed the top of her head. "Added. And two boxes of sarcasm."

They went to breakfast in their matching I bought this in Edinburgh and all I got was existential dread sweatshirts.

On the way, they stopped by a secondhand shop Jules had been eyeing for days - tiny, cramped, filled with old records and stranger things. She beelined for a basket of vintage buttons.

"Are you going to sew now?" Tom asked, watching her sift through them like buried treasure.

"No. But look at this one." She held up a pale lavender button with a tiny engraved flower. "This looks like something an old witch would give you before you found out you were part of a forgotten royal bloodline."

He stared. "That is… wildly specific."

She bought it, of course. Wrapped it in a tissue and put it in her coat pocket like a secret.

Breakfast was warm and chaotic: too many coffees, a plate of eggs she didn’t touch, Tom stealing bites off her toast while pretending to be deeply engrossed in an article about sheep migration patterns. She texted her mom a blurry photo of him with the caption: "Still tolerating him. He’s cute though." She responded with "Keep him. He looks patient."

They had one last thing to do before leaving: walk up Calton Hill.

The wind at the top had no manners.

It shoved her hair in every direction, tugged at her coat like a bratty toddler, and made her eyes water - which, for the record, was 100% the wind’s fault. Not emotions. Absolutely not.

Tom stood beside her, steady as always. Solid. Calm. Face slightly pink from the cold, eyes trained on the horizon like he was reading some ancient story in the skyline.

Jules exhaled. Loudly. "This wind is definitely trying to kill me. I think it’s personal."

Tom smirked, still watching the city. "You did insult its cheekbones on day one."

"They started it."

A pause. Then softer, her voice shifted.

"You know that thing I didn’t say yesterday?"

Now he turned. No rush, no surprise. Just… open. He always knew when something was coming. She both loved and hated that.

She stuffed her gloved hands deeper into her pockets. "I almost said it in that creepy antique shop. But I panicked and bought a button instead."

He smiled. Just barely.

"And now I’m saying it here" she went on, her voice wobbling like it didn’t get the memo about playing it cool. "Even though I look like a raccoon in a wind tunnel, and my nose is doing something deeply unattractive."

Tom tilted his head. "You still look beautiful."

She gave him a watery laugh. "God, you’re such a sap. I love that about you. It’s disgusting."

She looked down at her boots, then back up at him.

"I love you" she said. "And not in the 'we have fun together and you’re hot and good at folding laundry' way. I love you like… like I’m not afraid to be the worst version of myself with you. And somehow, you still look at me like I’m this… magic thing."

She shook her head, her voice breaking. "I’ve spent my whole life making jokes so no one gets close enough to leave. And you… you’re just here. Not trying to fix me. Not running. Just here. With your ridiculous eyebrows and your quiet hands and your poet heart hidden under all those tattoos."

Tom’s throat worked hard around something he didn’t say.

She whispered "I think you might be my home. And that scares the shit out of me."

A gust of wind pushed against them like it had feelings about that.

Tom didn’t answer right away. He reached up, gently pulled her scarf down just enough to kiss her. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fireworks. It was steady. Tender. The kind of kiss you gave someone when you wanted them to stay forever.

When he pulled back, he was looking at her like he could read every word she never said.

"I’ve loved you" he murmured "since the first time you insulted my shoes."

Jules choked on a laugh and a sob.

"And I will keep loving you" he added "even when you forget how to say it. Even when you’re a storm. Even when you buy cursed buttons and refuse to eat toast crusts."

She kissed him then, hard. Let the wind howl. Let the city watch.

Because for once, Jules wasn’t joking.

They packed up with the practiced rhythm of people who’ve done this before - not just leaving places, but knowing how to take the best parts with them. The hotel room looked too clean, too empty. Jules left behind a scribbled note for housekeeping that read: "Thanks for the soft towels and existential crisis. 10/10."

At the airport, they sat quietly at the gate, eating pretzels and scrolling through photos. One of them - blurry, wind-swept, and unflattering - made Jules laugh so hard she nearly choked.

"You better not delete that" she warned him.

"Wouldn’t dare."

And as the plane took off, Edinburgh faded beneath them like a fever dream: sharp air, smug pigeons, ghost buttons, secret confessions.

A city they didn’t quite belong to, but which had made space for them anyway - just for a little while.

It had been two weeks since they came back from Edinburgh.

Life had resumed its usual rhythm - a chaotic symphony of work meetings, takeout orders, FaceTime calls with Louis, and Jules pretending she wasn’t still emotionally hungover from telling Tom she loved him on a windy hill while looking like a Victorian chimney sweep.

The button - the cursed-but-make-it-fashion antique oddity - had stayed behind.

Or so she thought.

One lazy Tuesday morning, Jules opened her jewelry drawer to find it sitting on top of her earrings. Just... there. Innocent.

She froze. "Tom?"

From the kitchen: "Yeah?"

"Did you pack the button?"

A beat. "What button?"

"The Scottish button."

"Oh. That button. No, I thought you left it in the hotel. On the nightstand. You said something about letting the spirits have it."

"I did" she called back, staring at it. "I said, and I quote: 'Let the highland goblins keep it.'"

"Well" Tom replied, calm as ever "maybe they mailed it."

She scoffed, picked it up carefully like it might whisper her secrets. "Okay, rude."

The next day, it showed up again - in her purse. She hadn’t even taken that bag to Scotland.

"Tom. It moved again."

He looked up from chopping vegetables. "Where is it now?"

"My Marc Jacobs tote."

He wiped his hands, came over, and squinted at it in her palm. "Maybe it’s like a cat. It just goes where it wants."

"Why would a haunted button follow me across the Atlantic?"

He shrugged. "You gave it meaning. That makes it magic."

She paused. "That’s… actually kind of sweet."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "You’re welcome. Now put the eldritch fashion relic somewhere safe."

She decided to keep it in her coat pocket, like a little totem. A reminder that vulnerability wasn’t the enemy. That sometimes the weirdest, ugliest little things - a button, a late confession, a guy who didn’t flinch when she was falling apart - could turn out to be… lucky.

Weeks passed.

She stopped finding it in odd places. It just stayed in her pocket like it belonged there. Once, when she was about to have a meltdown over work, she reached for lip balm and her fingers brushed the smooth surface of the button instead. She didn’t cry. She went out for a walk and came back calmer.

One night, Tom found her asleep on the couch with it curled in her palm like a talisman. He didn’t ask. Just kissed her temple and whispered "You’re so weird. I love you."

[jakegyllenbaalz]

tom hardy as charles bronson (bronson, 2008)

[lovebydaylite]

Just thinking about Alfie falling absolutely in love with a Singer that works at one of Sabini's clubs.

[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 что 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!