#bartender!tom x reader

[urfavesimswriting]

Johnny’s Bartender — Moodboard

this is like my first time making a moodboard n it’s lowk ass 😓

i’m back into writing and i’m so excited to write for this, Johnny Davis has been on my mind since I first watched the bike riders 🙂‍↕️

[julietsf1]

Strawberry Season - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: she was his plus-one, his accessory, his afterthought. but Lando Norris? he made her laugh before her boyfriend even noticed she’d stopped smiling (6.7k words)

content: sad/comfort, slow burn, he falls first, stuck in bad relationship (non-graphic), mutual pining, mention of fish!

AN: I was having a nostalgic day and suddenly I remembered Shawn Mendes exists. listened to Treat You Better and now boom this was made. big kiss to you all!! don't forget you deserve someone who makes you smile <3

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The Hôtel Hermitage had a way of dressing the evening in silk and scent—amber light dancing off champagne flutes, velvet murmurs weaving between notes of string quartets, the faint hush of the sea just beyond the terrace.

You arrived on your boyfriend's arm, perfectly polished, smelling faintly of oud and confidence. Your gown—a midnight blue silk with delicate beading at the shoulders—glistened like the reflection of stars on still water. He, in a tuxedo he hadn’t even ironed himself, gave you a cursory once-over, the kind usually reserved for window displays or weather forecasts.

"You clean up well. When you try," he remarked, the words soaked in backhanded charm and just enough volume to make the sommelier glance over with subtle disapproval. "Didn’t expect that dress to actually work on you."

Then he kissed your temple like one might stamp a document—detached, obligatory—and peeled off toward a group of men with hedge funds and zero personalities, tossing the comment like a grenade dipped in cologne. He chuckled at his own wit before they even reacted, already anticipating the hollow laughter of men who mistook cruelty for charisma.

You blinked once, twice, then turned on your heel and made for the bar.

"One strawberry martini, please," you said to the bartender, your voice calm and glossy, though your chest felt like it was holding its breath. The bartender gave a subtle nod and began working in quiet sympathy.

You leaned your elbow on the marble and exhaled. Your reflection in the mirrored back wall looked elegant and mildly amused. That, at least, you could live with.

"Your boyfriend’s tux looks like it’s been through customs, dry-cleaned with a rock, and ironed with a shoe."

You turned. The man beside you held a glass of something expensive and looked far too pleased with himself. He was, annoyingly, the kind of handsome that didn’t need to try. Hair—perfectly careless. Smile—dangerously self-aware. The overall vibe? Trouble, tailored in what I assume is Tom Ford.

You laughed, sharp and immediate. "Do you know I spent half the afternoon trying to convince him to iron that shirt? Offered him a steamer. He looked personally victimized by the concept of chores. Hopeless."

He looked delighted. "So this was a collaborative failure. Now I feel bad for mocking it. Sort of."

"Don’t. I made one polite suggestion and he acted like I’d insulted his entire lineage. I refuse to be held responsible for his fashion choices," you said, the corners of your mouth finally giving in to a smile. The knot in your chest loosened just a little—this was the most fun you’d had all evening.

"I can’t tie my own ties," he offered casually. "So really, who am I to talk?"

"What do you do, then? Just let your girlfriend do it for you?"

"No girlfriend, just clip-ons. Or my mate George. He’s so posh he probably learned to tie a bow tie before he could tie his own shoes."

You laughed again, lighter this time. The sound surprised you with how easy it felt.

"Well," you said, "I can't even walk in my So Kates for an hour, so I’m in no position to judge anyone tonight."

His eyebrows lifted like you'd said you walked here barefoot. "That’s borderline inhumane. Those are incredibly uncomfortable, right?"

"Horrible," you admitted, sipping your drink. "But the real perk is that I now have a perfectly valid excuse to leave this party in about thirty minutes."

He tapped his glass against yours. "To noble suffering."

"And men who can’t tie ties."

"Ouch. That was personal."

You grinned, the martini smoothing out something tight in your chest. The conversation rolled along like it had always been waiting for an excuse to begin.

"Lando," he said suddenly, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando," you replied, taking it, your grip easy, your smile laced with light amusement.

You tilted your head slightly. "I think I recognise you—from the racing, right?"

His brow quirked, caught somewhere between pleased and intrigued. "Guilty."

You sipped your drink, eyes glinting. "Well, it’s easy to remember a face like that."

"In the positive way?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Please."

His posture straightened just a touch. The smirk didn’t leave his face, but something about it softened at the edges.

"I’ll try not to let that go to my head," he said, a beat late, his voice just a little warmer, his eyes twinkling amused. 

"You already did."

"Unfair. That was disarming. You’re very good at this."

"At what?" you said, feigning innocence.

"Catching me off guard in a way that’s... annoyingly effective."

"I have a talent," you said, sipping your drink.

"You do," he replied, gaze lingering just a second too long before he added, "and you’re very distracting."

You arched a brow. "Good distracting or 'tripped-over-my-own-feet' distracting?"

"Bit of both. Still deciding."

You laughed, shaking your head, the edge of your smile refusing to leave.

And just like that, the night took on a different hue. The room still sparkled, but its edges softened. You talked about Monaco in winter, about awful hotel carpets, about how Lando once tried to cook pasta in a kettle. There were no pauses, no polite silences. It was ridiculous and lovely and utterly unserious.

At some point, your boyfriend reappeared in the distance, laughing too loudly with someone whose blazer had dragons embroidered on the sleeves.

Lando clocked it instantly. "Should I spill something on him? Not on purpose, obviously. But also maybe very much on purpose."

"Tempting," you said.

He set his glass down. "But we’re too elegant for that."

"Allegedly."

The music swelled, a slow turn from something glittering into something that signaled the end of the night.

You sighed and glanced at the crowd. "I should go find him."

Lando leaned against the bar with a smirk. "Are you sure? He gives off strong 'brings up his net worth in casual conversation' energy."

You smirked. "You’re terrible."

"But right."

"No comment."

As you walked away, he called after you, "Next time, I’m bringing backup shoes for you."

You didn’t turn. But your smile stayed with you, long after the violins began their last swell.

…

The paddock terrace buzzed with the sort of energy only Monaco could host—where money didn’t whisper, it practically shouted through linen suits and Hermès bags, and everything smelled faintly of jet fuel and overpriced champagne.

You arrived on your boyfriend’s arm, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete, your dress catching the breeze in a way that had drawn more than a few glances already. The adrenaline in the air was contagious. You couldn’t help it—you were excited. This was your home turf, after all. Monaco at its absolute peak.

You leaned over slightly, catching your first glimpse of the pit lane just below the terrace’s glass railing. The sound, the scent, the movement—it all made your heart flicker.

“This is amazing,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can actually feel the vibration of the engines from here.”

Your boyfriend barely glanced up from his phone. “Yeah it’s whatever,” he muttered. “Look—those guys in the corner, that’s who I need to speak to. Go entertain yourself, will you?”

You opened your mouth, but he was already off, striding toward a group of Loro Piana-clad finance types who looked like they’d never broken a sweat in their lives. One of them gave you a cursory glance before turning his attention back to whatever new tax loophole they were dissecting.

Left alone, you drifted toward the edge of the terrace, your fingers lightly brushing the glass. You looked in the distance, taking in the beautiful track. The air that smelled like tyre smoke. Somewhere, a commentator’s voice crackled through loudspeakers.

Then you heard it—cutting through the din like it was aimed just for you.

“Hey, Strawberry!”

You blinked, turned your head.

Down in the pit lane, Lando was looking directly at you, leaning casually against the garage barrier with his helmet tucked under one arm and a grin that bordered on criminal. “Good to see you again!” he called up, already looking far too pleased with himself.

Your smile widened despite yourself.

He pointed upward, voice still carrying. “What? You thought I’d forget your cocktail of choice? Strawberry martini, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you. A few heads turned to see who he was yelling at. You gave a little wave, pretending not to enjoy the attention.

"Fancy seeing you here."

“You look bored up there!” he shouted, cupping a hand around his mouth for dramatic flair. “Wanna come down and see where the fun actually happens?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued.

He motioned toward the stairs behind you. “Come on, Strawberry. I’ll even let you wear the team radio.”

You glanced back toward the terrace. Your boyfriend was still deep in conversation, probably pitching himself like a startup, laughing with one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a drink he hadn’t even offered you.

So, you turned back to Lando—who was now dramatically miming putting on headphones like he was in a music video—and tilted your head like you were still considering it.

"Alright then," you called down. "But if I trip in these heels, I’m blaming you."

"I'll catch you," he yelled back, utterly unfazed. “Or I’ll sue the FIA for putting stairs in a paddock. Either way—worth it.”

You made your way down the metal staircase, the heels clicking like castanets, and by the time you reached the bottom, Lando was already holding out a pair of headphones and an access bracelet with a kind of smug reverence.

“For you, madame,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your official ticket to the chaos.”

You put on the bracelet with a smile, already feeling a little lighter.

“For the record,” he said, holding out the headset, “I don’t offer these to just anyone.”

You took them. “Oh, so I’m special.”

“Undoubtedly.”

You slipped the headphones on as he stepped back, hands in the pockets of his race suit, clearly satisfied.

“Let me guess,” you said, voice a little louder now with the headset in place, “you do this for all the guests who look mildly unimpressed by the view upstairs?”

“No,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Just the ones I secretly hope stick around.”

You gave him a look—curious, not skeptical—and he added quickly, “Because you’ve got good race-watching energy. Very calm. Slightly elegant. Makes the garage look better.”

“Right,” you said, clearly amused. “You just want me to make you look cool.”

“Impossible task,” he admitted with a grin. “But I admire your optimism.”

The garage buzzed around you—technicians moving with purpose, radios crackling, tyres getting shuffled like oversized poker chips. And yet, somehow, everything in your little corner felt... light.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “I like stealing a few quiet minutes when I can.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot during weekends like this I can imagine.”

He glanced at you, thoughtful for a moment, like he wanted to ask something but decided against it. Then his expression shifted back to its usual mischief.

“Want to see something fun?”

You blinked. “Fun in a normal person way, or in a ‘you drive 300km/h for fun’ way?”

“Both,” he said, tilting his head toward the car in the middle of the garage—sleek, low, and absolutely radiating menace. “Come on. Get in. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “Earned it how?”

“For surviving the upstairs crowd without launching yourself off the terrace,” he said, already grinning. “Also, I feel like you'd suit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want to see me try to climb into that thing in a dress.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “But I’ll make it look like I’m being a gentleman helping you in. Good for my PR.”

You laughed but still let him offer his hand. His grip was steady, warm, guiding you in with an ease that made the whole moment feel weirdly... natural.

Inside, the cockpit felt surreal—like slipping into another universe. Tight, sharp, oddly comfortable in a way that made you sit up straighter.

You looked up at him. “I feel like I need clearance from air traffic control.”

Lando smirked. “You look good in it.”

You raised a brow. “Is this part of your usual garage tour?” He grinned. “Only the deluxe version. Very limited availability.” 

“Mm-hmm.”

He crouched beside the car, arms resting on the edge, expression suddenly playful. “Alright—race start. Lights out. Whole world watching. What’s your move?”

You pretended to think. “Adjust my lip gloss. Then floor it.”

He burst out laughing. “Unreal. No notes.”

You smiled, settling back slightly in the seat, the hum of the garage around you fading into a softer kind of focus. His eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary, making you feel a bit warmer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

“Okay,” you said eventually. “I like your version of fun.”

“Told you.”

Just then, you heard your name.

Lando glanced up behind you, his smile dimming just slightly.

You followed his gaze.

There, at the top of the stairs, your boyfriend had finally noticed. Arms folded. Sunglasses pushed down just enough to show a flicker of something more than irritation. 

You shifted slightly in the seat, your back instinctively straightening, your smile thinning.

“I should probably head back,” you murmured, glancing up again. “Before that turns into a thing.”

Lando’s eyes were still on you.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I kind of like that I get under his skin.”

You gave him a warning look, but your smile gave you away.

“He’s... not great with this sort of thing.”

Lando leaned one arm casually against the car, just close enough that his shoulder brushed the edge of yours. “What sort of thing? Someone actually talking to you? Enjoying you?”

You swallowed. “He’s just protective.”

“He didn’t look all that interested twenty minutes ago.”

You didn’t respond.

Lando straightened up slightly, his grin flickering into something more assured, less teasing. “You don’t have to explain it. But I’m not sorry for this.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and for a second, you forgot the tension humming above the pit lane.

You laughed softly. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning.

You climbed out carefully—again with his help, though he tried very hard not to smirk when your heel caught slightly on the floor.

“Thanks for inviting me down,” you said, adjusting your dress.

He nodded. “Anytime. Next time you should stay for the race.”

You paused at that, surprised, amused, and... something else. Then you turned, stepping away, the noise of the pit building back around you.

“Bye, Strawberry!” he called after you, voice light and full of sunshine. “Try not to break hearts on your way up!”

…

The lunch reservation was for 13:00. The cancellation came at 12:52.

“Something came up. Just a quick game at the club. Have to raincheck.”

You stared at the message like it might change if you blinked hard enough. It didn’t. The text sat there on your screen, casual and infuriating, like a shrug in Helvetica.

The maître d’ at the café had already asked if you’d like to be seated twice. You smiled politely, murmured a no thank you, and slipped out before you started feeling more humiliated than hungry.

The sky was unfairly pretty for a bad day—clear and soft, with sunbeams brushing the cobblestones as if Monaco itself had no idea someone had just bailed on you for nine holes and overpriced cigars.

You didn’t want to go home. You weren’t angry, not quite. Just tired in a way that lingered behind your ribs. So, instead, you wandered a few streets over—past a bookstore, a gelato stand, and finally, a small flower shop with wide windows and hydrangeas stacked like frosting.

You paused. Then pushed the door open.

The scent hit you first—green, sweet, almost cold from the water buckets lining the floor. Peonies, roses, lavender, tulips. All in quiet conversation. The florist gave you a gentle bonjour from behind a counter cluttered with ribbon and stems.

You wandered aimlessly. No plan. No occasion. You just needed to feel like something soft could still be held in your hands.

You reached toward a bouquet of pale pink peonies—petals feathered and ruffled, like they were mid-sigh.

“I was hoping you’d go for those.”

You turned—half startled, half already smiling.

Lando was standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, a grin threatening the corner of his mouth. He was wearing a zip-up and trainers, casually gorgeous in the way some people just are when they’re not trying.

“I was going to say,” he added, stepping further inside, “you look like someone who could use a bouquet.”

“You following me now?”

He shrugged. “Just happened to be across the street. Monaco��s small and you have a way of catching my eye.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you.

Lando stepped past you and plucked the peonies from the bucket like he’d been sent here by divine instruction.

“Don’t,” you started, watching as he pulled out his card.

“I insist,” he said smoothly, not even looking back. “They look like you.”

That made you pause. “Soft and overpriced?”

He smirked. “Chic, delicate, vaguely intimidating… but in a very classy way.”

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as he paid, thanked the florist with a grin that probably earned him three free carnations, and handed the bouquet to you like it was an Olympic medal.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

You looked down at the flowers, then back at him. “I was just trying to walk off a lunch that didn’t happen.”

“Rough day?”

You nodded once.

He hesitated. Then: “Come on. Let me walk you home. Or somewhere. I’m excellent at distracting people.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you busy?”

“Not even a little.”

You stepped outside together, the late sun catching the edge of your bouquet. He fell into step beside you like it was instinct.

“So,” he said, as you turned the corner, “what car would you never be caught dead in?”

You squinted. “Like… ever?”

“Yes. Immediate judgment. Go.”

You thought. “Anything that looks like it was designed by someone who hates joy. Or a Fiat Multipla.”

“Very specific. I respect it.” He nodded solemnly. “For me, it’s the ones with faces. Like, cartoon villain faces. Headlights that judge you.”

You burst out laughing. “What kind of car trauma are you working through?”

“Deep and unresolved,” he said gravely. “I once had a rental that made me feel like it wanted to eat me. Never again.”

The conversation spiraled from there—into ugly rims, hideous spoilers, the tragedy of beige leather interiors. Every few steps, Lando pointed out a car and gave it a nickname. 

"That one’s definitely a Greg. Greg works in insurance and never tips."

You laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that catches you off guard and warms your ribs a little.

And then—your phone buzzed in your bag.

You glanced down. His name lit up the screen.

Lando noticed the pause.

You looked at the call. Then pressed the side button, letting it disappear. You didn’t say anything about it, and he didn’t ask.

But he smiled. Just slightly.

It was the quietest rebellion you’d made in a while. And it felt... right.

A few minutes later, as you reached your street, you slowed.

“This is me.”

He nodded, eyes flicking up toward the front of your building like he was memorising it for later. Or just being nosy. Hard to say.

“Thanks for—well, for all of that,” you said, lifting the peonies slightly.

“Anytime,” he replied, and you believed him.

You turned to go.

“Oh, and hey,” he called, stepping backwards down the street, that familiar grin slipping into place. “If you ever need help judging more terrible cars…”

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it lightly in your direction. You caught it—his number, scribbled on a business card with Lando (flower expert) scrawled beneath in messy handwriting.

“…now you know where to find me,” he finished.

You looked down at the card, then back up.

“I do now,” you said, smiling—soft, amused, and something else you didn’t want to name yet.

And you didn’t look back until your door had closed behind you—and the peonies were already in water. 

…

Your birthday started with a buzz—literally, from your phone. Noon. A text.

Happy bday x

No call. No emoji. No punctuation enthusiasm. Just lowercase indifference and a kiss like a formality. Like he'd done his civic duty and could now go about his day in peace.

By the time your boyfriend actually arrived at the party—a whopping two hours late, no explanation—you were already knee-deep in hugs, flowers, Aperol spritzes, and the cake was nearly finished.

The rooftop was busy. Sun-drenched. Monaco glittered in the background like it knew it was part of the aesthetic. Friends mingled, music hummed, someone had started making mimosas in a blender for reasons no one could quite explain.

And then there was Lando.

He’d arrived on time, casually cool in a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of sunglasses perched in his curls.

You hadn’t expected him to come, not really. But you’d invited him anyway—half as a joke, half because he was one of the only people lately who made things feel lighter. Since the flower shop, you’d been texting—mostly memes, random complaints about ugly cars, and his very intense opinions on croissants. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d started looking forward to his name lighting up your screen more than you should’ve.

So when he appeared with a cheeky smile and a gift bag in tow, you nearly forgot to keep pretending you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said, putting the bag on the gift table. “No refunds or returns.”

You grinned. “Perfect. I was just saying how I wanted to make my own life harder today.”

“Glad to contribute.”

Your boyfriend showed up five minutes later.

No apology, no excuse. Just sunglasses, a glance around, and a distracted kiss on the cheek before he handed you an envelope.

Inside was a gift card. For skincare.

“I figured you’d appreciate this,” he said, loud enough for the people around you to hear. “Don’t want an old lady by my side, yeah?”

Someone laughed awkwardly. You didn’t.

You smiled. Thinly. The kind that feels more like a paper cut than anything resembling joy.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, folding the card and tucking it into your bag.

Lando had seen it. The whole thing. He didn’t say anything at first—just sipped his drink, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses.

A few minutes later, he drifted close, nudged your elbow lightly, and said, “Mind if I borrow the birthday girl for a sec?”

You blinked. “Sure?”

He led you away from the crowd and toward the quieter corner of the terrace, near the railing. The music faded behind you. The breeze picked up, cool against your neck.

“I really wanted to personally give this before I have to leave.”

He pulled something small from his little gift bag.

A Cartier box.

You looked at him, suddenly cautious. “Lando, what—”

“Relax,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t mortgage a yacht or anything.”

He flipped the box open with a little dramatic flair.

Inside: a sleek, elegant watch—timeless and perfectly understated, the metal catching the sunlight just enough to glow. When you looked closer, you spotted it—on the back of the face, engraved in the corner, a tiny strawberry.

You looked back up at him.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets now. “So you know when it’s time to leave,” he said lightly, then winked. “Or when it’s time to stay.”

You laughed, a real one this time, head tipped back just slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I should be offended,” he murmured, carefully fastening the clasp around your wrist. “But you are right.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have a speech.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” He stepped a little closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin just slightly to keep looking at him. “Won’t say it’s well prepared, though.”

You glanced up. “No?”

He shrugged, then looked at you—not performative, just sincere with a glint of trouble behind it. “I figured you already knew. That you’re kind. And bright. And that you maybe make half of Monaco feel slightly boring in comparison.”

Your eyes caught his, something warm pooling between the humour and whatever was quietly rising beneath it.

“But also,” he added, tone shifting back to the familiar grin, “you’ve tolerated me for weeks, so I figured you deserved a prize.”

“Ah,” you said. “So it’s a pity watch.”

“It’s a prestigious pity watch,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, fingers brushing over the charm. “Truly.”

A few friends called your name in the distance, but you didn’t move yet.

When you finally hugged him goodbye, it lingered. A second too long. Not enough to make it obvious—but enough that you both noticed.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hand pressed lightly against your back, and neither of you made a joke this time.

And that’s when it hit you. That soft, uncomfortable, quiet truth slowly creeping up on you.

You didn’t want to go back to the party.

You didn’t want to go back to him.

You just wanted to stay in that warm, safe, ridiculous moment a little longer.

…

It had been one of those dinners where the wine flowed more freely than the conversation, where the seating was all wrong, and the playlist too curated to feel spontaneous. You’d arrived on time, makeup set, dress clinging just right, genuinely hoping the night might turn things around.

He had promised he’d come.

You’d waited. You made polite conversation with strangers. You checked your phone under the table every ten minutes. At 10:14pm, a message finally came.

Running late. Take a cab? x

You stared at it. The ‘x’ annoyed you most—like it could soften the blow. Like it meant anything at this point.

You slipped out quietly, offering the host a graceful excuse. No one really noticed. You walked down the hill alone, heels clicking against wet stone. The rain started halfway to the road—first soft, then persistent, warm but unrelenting.

By the time you reached the corner, you were soaked. Your jacket was thin and decorative. Your hair clung to your cheeks. A cab passed. You raised your hand too late. Another didn’t even slow.

Then headlights curved around the bend.

A sleek black car eased up to the curb, quiet and smug.

The window rolled down.

“Need a ride, Cinderella?”

Lando.

You blinked at him through the rain.

He was in a hoodie, hair damp, wearing Nike slides like he’d rolled straight out of a student flat. His smile was all teeth and trouble, curls damp at the edges, and yet he looked exactly like what you didn’t know you needed.

You exhaled through a laugh. “What are you even doing here?”

“Padel,” he said simply, “with the boys. Charles insisted we needed some cardio. Alex brought protein shakes. It was big.”

You didn’t move.

He nudged the door open from the inside. “Get in. You look like a drenched sad poodle.”

You slid into the passenger seat, wet fabric against warm leather. The door thunked shut, muting the storm instantly.

The cabin smelled faintly of eucalyptus and sweat and jasmine air freshener. It was... comforting.

Lando glanced over. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though the answer was somewhere closer to no.

“Why were you walking?” he asked.

You stared out the window. “My ride bailed on me.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Then, quieter: “Right.”

You could feel the temperature drop half a degree in the silence that followed.

He turned onto a quieter road, headlights sweeping over puddles, rain tapping steadily on the roof.

Then he cleared his throat. “Padel really roughed us all up today.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you professional athletes?”

“Oh, yeah. You’d think we’re all coordinated and elite and whatever,” he waved vaguely with one hand, “but I’ve never seen grown men lose their dignity faster than when we play anything outside of racing.”

You laughed softly. “You’re telling me Charles Leclerc isn’t good at everything?”

“God, no,” Lando said, perking up. “Charles is awful at most sports. He insists though he could’ve been a pro footballer. Brings it up every time he can.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Lando grinned. “He once missed three serves in a row at padel, slammed the racket down, and said, ‘It’s because my reflexes are trained for football.’”

You snorted. “He did not.”

“And then there’s George,” Lando said. “Who, by the way, calls padel ‘cheap tennis for the common folks��� but still never declines an invitation.”

You laughed. “I assume this is the same George that helps you tie your bows?”

“Absolutely.” Lando continued, “And then there is Alex who has the coordination of a baby giraffe. He runs like he’s buffering.”

You were laughing now, fully, warmth curling in your chest.

“So what about you?” you asked, glancing sideways. “How much do you suck?”

“I’d like to think I’m one of the better ones in the group,” he said confidently.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s definitely not true.”

“I’m amazing at everything, especially other sports.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a god at golf,” he added, eyes twinkling. “Elite. Practically unbeatable. Some say Tiger Woods retired just to avoid me.”

“Some say?”

“Me. Just me. But I say it with conviction.”

You grinned, resting your head against the seat, the storm outside softening under the steady purr of the engine.

“You’re good at this,” you said after a pause.

“At what?”

“Distractions.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer.

A few minutes passed like that—quiet, easy, the kind of silence that felt earned. The kind you didn’t want to break.

Then Lando turned off the main road.

You lifted your head. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, flashing you a quick glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you. Yet.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Two turns later, he parked in front of a small café tucked between shuttered boutiques. Soft orange light glowed from the windows. The sign above the door read Clémentine in fading script.

“I need hot chocolate,” he said. “And you, tragically, look like you do too.”

You laughed. “This your secret spot?”

He grinned. “Sort of. George’s girlfriend loves this place. Alex’s girl says it feels like a Wes Anderson film. Charles’s thinks they do the best croissants in Europe—which is wrong, but she’s charming so we let it slide.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So this is… an exclusive tier”

He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah. You’d fit right in.”

You blinked, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

He looked over the roof of the car and winked. “Let’s go, Strawberry.”

…

Inside, the café was quiet and warm, the kind of place that smells like something’s always in the oven. The barista gave Lando a knowing nod.

“Deux chocolats chauds, extra cream, and an extra cookie, please,” he said as you slid into a corner table.

Your dress was still damp at the edges, and your heels had started to pinch, but the chair was soft and the lighting was kind. 

You watched him as he pulled off his hoodie—without a word—he held it out to you across the table.

“You’re shivering,” he said simply.

You hesitated, then slipped it on. It was warm, oversized, and smelled faintly like him—cologne, laundry detergent, and something like orange peel. It pooled around your wrists like it belonged there.

He dropped into the seat across from you, in a plain white t-shirt slightly creased and still damp at the collar. He looked maddeningly effortless. 

When the drinks arrived, he handed yours over carefully, fingers brushing yours as he passed the mug.

“I think you forget how extraordinary you are sometimes,” he said.

No grin. No teasing glint in his eye. Just sincerity, like it had been sitting quietly on his tongue for a while, waiting for the right moment.

You looked at him.

And for a heartbeat too long, the world went still.

Then, gently, you lowered your gaze, your hands tightening around the warmth of the mug. You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

Something softened in your chest. Something that hadn’t for weeks.

…

The invitation had come via text, in true Lando fashion.

Hiya there’s this art auction Friday. Charles’s girlfriend’s hosting. Could be fun. Come with? Low pressure, high snacks.

You hadn’t even known Lando liked art, let alone attended charity auctions hosted by the Monaco elite, but the message made you smile. You’d read it twice. Maybe three times.

He followed up, minutes later:

Bring your boyfriend, if he won’t spontaneously combust in a room without talking about stocks.

That was how you ended up on the guest list for a night you weren’t supposed to remember as the one where everything finally snapped.

You didn’t know Alexandra—not really. You’d seen her tagged in posts with Charles, always in Dior or vintage Alaïa, always looking like she’d been drawn rather than born. But the invite felt personal in a way you couldn’t explain. Like Lando had meant for you to have something nice.

You showed up with your boyfriend.

He was already half-distracted before you arrived, scrolling his phone as the car pulled up outside the villa, barely glancing at the curated sculpture garden or the warm lighting glowing out from the glass facade.

“Art shows, what a waste of time and money,” he said, adjusting his watch, not even pretending to be excited about going with you. “Hope I can do some decent networking, make something of my night at least.”

As expected, he made a beeline for the restroom the moment you stepped inside. You hated how much relief washed over you—but deep down, you just didn’t want his sulking to cloud your first impression.

But then—you spotted Lando.

He was standing near the champagne tower, wearing a charcoal jacket with the sleeves half-rolled and a grin like he’d been waiting for you.

He caught your eye and made a show of pretending to squint. “Strawberry?” he said dramatically as you approached. “Wow. Look at you, pretending not to know me in front of the important people.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was hoping you’d stay over there a little longer.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded solemnly. “But then I wouldn’t get to tell you how unreasonably hot you look.”

You gave him a dry smile. “You’re terrible at compliments.”

“And yet, somehow, you keep showing up.”

Just then, a lilting voice cut in—velvety, amused.

“Is this the infamous Strawberry?”

You turned.

She was every bit the Monaco fantasy: Alexandra, in vintage Saint Laurent, hair pinned like a Vogue spread, a glass of champagne in one hand and the quiet confidence of someone who knew every art dealer in the room—and their secrets. And yet, the way she looked at you felt nothing but warm.

“I’ve heard things,” she said, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. “Mostly from this one, who dramatically insists he doesn’t talk about you, and then does. A lot.”

You laughed, surprised. “Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Lando raised his eyebrows in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable slander in my own presence.”

Alexandra gave you an approving once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look incredible, by the way. Please tell me you’re staying for the cocktails after. We have a pianist who’ll play Taylor Swift if you bribe him with compliments or €20.”

“That might be the most compelling reason I’ve ever been given to stay at a party,” you said, grinning.

Alexandra gave you a grin from ear to ear, amused. “I’m really so happy to finally meet you! I can already tell we are going to be great friends! You should meet my dog.”

You smiled. “Oh my god! I would love to!”

“Already regretting introducing you two,” Lando said. “Feels like I’m third wheeling.”

“That’s your own fault, Norris,” Alexandra said, sipping her champagne. “You have been hyping her up for weeks, of course I’m excited.”

You looked at him. “Oh really?”

Lando didn’t even blink. “All good things. Mostly.”

Alexandra raised her eyebrows at you. “He actually tried to be subtle about it. It was cute.”

You bit back a smile. “I can imagine.”

“I’ll come find you later,” Alexandra added, brushing your arm. “Got to make sure Charles hasn’t lost Leo yet. So nice to meet you, lovely!”

She slipped off into the crowd with the grace of someone born to host art auctions and mild chaos.

“She’s my new favourite person,” you said.

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt,” Lando said. “But only because you look stupidly good tonight.”

He sipped his champagne, eyes back on the crowd like he hadn’t just said something that made your pulse tick strangely in your wrist.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t think of anything clever fast enough.

But the flush in your cheeks said enough.

You gave him a side glance.

…

Laughter drifted lightly through the space, more polite than genuine, the kind of sound bred in auction houses and villas with good acoustics. You let yourself drift for a while, away from the main crush of guests and the low buzz of clinking flutes and unsolicited business pitches.

Lando had disappeared into a conversation across the room—arms folded, half-listening, already looking for an escape route. You wandered along the perimeter, letting your eyes pass over sculpture and canvas, nothing really sticking—until something did.

A Monet.

Not loud. Not the centrepiece of the evening. Just tucked off to the side, quietly luminous. The colour was soft, the light dreamlike, and it hit you all at once—how rare it was to stand still in front of something that didn’t need to impress anyone to be worth something.

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t move either.

And then, out of nowhere, a voice landed at your side.

“You’re not seriously getting emotional over that, are you?”

You blinked once.

Your boyfriend had materialised beside you, the corner of his mouth turned up in that smug, half-bored way he always wore at events that weren’t about him.

“It’s just some smudged garden scene,” he added, barely sparing it a glance. “Looks like the guy couldn’t be bothered to finish it.”

You said nothing.

He chuckled, nudging your elbow like he was letting you in on a joke. “Honestly, my niece brought home something just like this last week—finger paints, but same idea.”

You turned toward him.

And for once, your voice didn’t waiver. “Do you ever get tired?”

He raised a brow. “Of what?”

“Of being so obnoxious.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I was joking—”

“I know you were not. You just have to be an asshole all the time,” you said, stepping back. “I’m so done with this.”

You handed him your untouched champagne without looking at him again.

And then you walked.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… forward. Certain.

Across the room, Lando caught sight of you. He paused mid-sentence, head tilting ever so slightly, eyes following the clean line of your exit. He didn’t know what had happened. But he knew enough.

And he didn’t see the man behind you calling your name, confusion creeping into frustration, his voice rising in your wake.

…

The days following the gala blurred into a haze of solitude. You hadn't anticipated the weight of ending a relationship that had, for too long, been a source of discomfort rather than joy. Even though it felt like a relief to be free, the fresh perspective you had now gained made looking back on the relationship seemingly harder, being disappointed in yourself for sticking around so long.The walls of your apartment seemed to close in, each corner echoing with memories you'd rather forget.

Then, an unexpected message illuminated your phone screen. It was from Alexandra.

Hii! I know we've only met once, Charles is hosting a yacht party this weekend. I'd love for you to come. It'll be fun, and I think you could use a night out. What do you say?

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Alexandra's warmth was palpable, even through text. The idea of attending a lavish yacht party was daunting, especially solo, but the prospect of genuine company was tempting. Before you could overthink it, you quickly responded you’d be there.

…

The evening of the party arrived with a golden sunset casting its glow over Monaco's harbor. As you approached the yacht, its grandeur was undeniable. Laughter and the clinking of glasses floated through the air, mingling with the soft strains of music. Taking a deep breath, you stepped aboard, the gentle sway beneath your feet reminding you of the fluidity of the moment.

You hadn’t arrived with a dramatic entrance, but you may as well have. There was something in the way you carried yourself—unhurried, unbothered, glowing without trying—that turned heads. The white sundress moved like water around your legs. Your hair was soft, undone. You looked like summer had chosen you personally.

"Hey! You made it!" Alexandra's voice rang out, genuine delight evident as she approached, her embrace warm and reassuring.

She beamed the moment she saw you. “You look like revenge dressed in satin. Come ruin someone's night—in a good way.”

"Thank you! I’m so excited!" you replied, grateful for her presence.

She linked her arm with yours, guiding you through the throng. "Come on, let's get you a drink and introduce you to some people."

So you mingled.

You laughed. You listened. You accepted compliments with a smile that didn’t flicker with doubt this time. The isolation of the past few days had left you sharper, oddly steadier. You hadn’t expected to feel so… grounded. You were alone, technically. But not lonely.

And then—across the deck—you felt it.

Someone watching.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Lando stood near the upper rail, half-leaning into conversation with Charles and George, drink in hand, curls damp like he’d only recently dried off. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive without meaning to be, and he was laughing at something George was saying—until he saw you.

Then he stopped laughing.

His eyes softened. Lit up. Like you’d just stepped out of a dream he wasn’t finished having.

He didn't move immediately. Just watched. And when you finally gave him a smile—small, knowing—he excused himself, barely disguising it.

You turned back to your conversation, heart thudding quietly.

When he reached you, it was casual. Or it would’ve been, if not for the very specific way he looked at you. As if seeing you tonight had knocked the wind out of him slightly.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice easy, but with that familiar edge of amusement.

You tilted your head. “Trying my best. Alexandra told me to come ruin someone’s night tonight.”

Lando’s gaze swept over you, amused. “I’ve got a pretty good candidate.”

You met his look head-on. “You volunteering?”

“I’m begging.”

You took a step closer, just enough. “Careful. I take those kinds of requests seriously.”

His voice dipped. “I was hoping you would.”

You laughed.

He smiled, pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d come,” he said, a little quieter now. “I didn’t want to push.”

“I needed a few days,” you replied honestly. “To unpick a few things.”

Lando nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something more, something gentler, but didn’t want to risk it here.

“Want to see the good part of the boat?” he offered instead, gesturing subtly toward the back. “It’s less busy, better view of the sea.”

“Are you offering a tour or an escape plan?”

“Both,” he said. “But this is not my boat so don’t blame me if we get lost mid-tour.”

You smiled, setting your glass down. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He offered his hand this time. Not his arm. His hand. Like it was only natural you’d take it.

And you did.

…

The further you got from the music and noise, the more the sea became the soundtrack. The laughter and clinking glasses behind you faded into something muted and unimportant. Lando walked beside you—not rushing, not talking. His thumb brushed against yours every few steps, like a quiet question he didn’t need answered yet.

At the stern, it opened up—a wide, quiet deck, low to the water, with just enough light to see but not enough to distract from the stars. The sea lapped gently around the hull. It smelled like salt and sun.

You leaned against the railing, feeling the breeze touch your skin. Lando stood beside you, but not too close.

“Nice out here,” you murmured, looking up.

He glanced over at you. “You suit starlight. That’s unfair.”

You gave him a look. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Absolutely,” he said, eyes warm. “I’ve been holding back for weeks.”

You laughed, quiet and real. He grinned, pleased.

But then, after a second, he sobered. His gaze drifted down, toward the water, and when he spoke again, his voice had shifted.

“You look happy,” Lando said lightly, almost teasing. “I almost didn’t recognise you without the polite ‘I’m-fine’ smile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Wow. Go ahead and expose me.”

“I’m serious,” he said, this time softer. “It’s good to see you like this.”

You glanced at him, and for a moment, he didn’t try to dodge the feeling in the air. He looked out at the sea and back again.

“I hated seeing you pretend,” he said finally. “These past few months… at the garage, the brunch, the auction—you were always there, but it felt like part of you was somewhere else. You still smiled, still made jokes, still looked beautiful, but…”

He trailed off. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Just because he meant all of it.

You didn’t speak right away.

“You wanted to throw him in the harbour, didn’t you.”

A beat.

“Every single time,” Lando said, with no apology.

That made you laugh again, but quieter this time. Almost sad.

You looked down at the rail, fingers brushing the edge. “I wasn’t really fooling anyone, was I.”

“You fooled plenty,” he said. “Just not me.”

You looked away for a beat. Then quietly, “I haven’t been unhappy around you, though.”

Lando froze.

When you turned your head back, he was watching you like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“Say that again,” he said, almost joking. Almost.

You smiled, small and real. “You’ve been the exception, Lando. You’ve always felt like... a relief. Like I could let out a breath I never knew I was holding.”

His expression cracked open at the edges—something flickering across it, equal parts surprise and affection.

“I’ve been trying not to say something,” he said eventually, his voice lower now. “But it’s getting... impossible.”

You arched a brow. “To me or to you?”

He looked at you deeply, green eyes soft but with a sparkle. “Me. Definitely me.”

There was a beat of silence, hanging between you like a held breath.

“You just keep making it harder,” he added, almost laughing at himself. “Showing up looking like this. Laughing at my stupid jokes.”

You stared at him. He raised his hands, just slightly.

“I know I joke around a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s easy to hide behind that. But I’m not playing with this. I’m not here to push or expect anything you’re not ready for.” He paused, letting the words settle. “I just… I need you to know. I’ve been falling for you since the gala.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed or dramatic—just honest. And they landed like something you’d been waiting to hear without realising.

You stayed still, listening.

“Since the dress,” he went on, his smile tugging softly at the corner of his mouth. “Since the strawberry drink. Since you made fun of my bow tie.”

You laughed—quiet and barely there. But it was real.

“Since you made me want to stick around,” he added, “even when you were barely looking at me.”

His eyes met yours fully now. “You’re magnetic,” he said, simple as anything. “Warm. Sharp. And really hot even when you look like a drenched puppy.” He exhaled lightly. “And I just… I didn’t want summer to end without you knowing.”

You stepped closer.

Close enough to feel the change in the air, the shift in his breathing.

You placed your hand on his chest, light but certain.

“Lando.”

He didn’t move.

“If I kiss you, is it going to be a problem?”

His answer was immediate, and sure. “No.”

Then, softer. “But only if you want to.”

You looked at him for a long, quiet second.

“I do.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it since May. Maybe longer.

And then you kissed him.

Slow, at first. Curious. The kind of kiss that asks before it takes. His hand hovered near your waist, the other brushing your jaw with the gentlest touch—as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted slightly, that control cracked.

His arm wrapped fully around you then, the kiss deepening with a sudden warmth that made your stomach twist. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for weeks. Like he'd held every grin, every brush of your arm, every stolen look in his chest—and finally let them out all at once.

You felt it in the way his hand slid up your back, in the way his mouth moved with yours like he already knew the rhythm.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath hitched.

His forehead leaned against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then you smiled, just a little. “So… did I ruin your night after all?”

Lando let out a low, breathless laugh. “You can ruin my life, for all I care.”

He leaned in again, this time without hesitation.

And then he kissed you—like he had nothing left to hold back. Like the wait had been worth it. Like it had always been leading to this.

…

It was the kind of Sunday that felt like a soft breeze. The kind where you woke up to Lando already beside you, hair a mess, voice rough with sleep as he offered to make pancakes—and then promptly convinced you to go out for groceries instead. A domestic detour. A small adventure disguised as an errand. Like you had so many of these past weeks with him.

You hadn’t argued. Not really.

Now, somewhere between the mangoes and the melons in your favourite Carrefour, you were watching Lando shake a pineapple like it had personally offended him.

“That’s not how you check if it’s ripe,” you said, barely holding in a laugh.

He looked genuinely betrayed. “It’s not? Then why did that woman on YouTube tell me to do it?”

“You watched a pineapple tutorial?”

“Research is key,” he said, placing it carefully into the cart. “Anyway, I came prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You pick the snacks, I’ll handle dinner?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then promptly wandered off to the crisps aisle like a man on a mission.

You lingered in the herb section, still debating parsley versus basil, when a voice behind you slid into your spine like cold water.

“Well. You look good.”

You turned.

He looked the same—your ex. A little too polished, sunglasses indoors, holding a bottle of overpriced green juice that screamed aesthetic punishment.

“Thanks,” you said simply. “I’ve been feeling better.”

It wasn’t petty. Just honest.

He blinked, clearly not expecting honesty.

You were just about to step away when—

“Oh, no. No no no,” Lando groaned from the next aisle, appearing with a look of theatrical dismay. “There’s a full seafood crime scene back there. Half the ocean’s laid out. I’ve never seen so much salmon.”

He stopped short when he saw you. And him.

His entire posture shifted.

He stepped up beside you, one hand sliding effortlessly around your waist, grounding and easy. He didn’t force it. Just filled the space.

“Hi,” Lando said, his tone calm, eyes flicking to the man in front of you. “I’m Lando.”

Your ex gave a tight nod, straightening slightly. “We’ve met.”

Lando’s gaze dipped to the man’s basket—almond milk, snack bars, and two tubs of something suspiciously protein-packed and aggressively vanilla.

“Solid haul,” Lando said, casual. Then, after the smallest pause, “Though I’d go easy on the sugar. Causes hair loss, you know. Wouldn’t want to risk it, considering your current situation.”

He didn’t smile. Just winked. Cheeky enough to pass for humour. Sharp enough to land exactly where it needed to.

Your ex blinked again. Offered no reply. Just turned back toward the juice aisle with the grace of someone trying not to trip over his own ego.

“Lovely to see you,” Lando called politely, already nudging the cart forward—his hand still warm around your waist.

You let him guide you down the aisle, heart flickering with quiet satisfaction.

“Hair loss?” you asked, giggling, once you were out of earshot.

He shrugged, eyes forward, lips twitching. “What? It was observational science.”

“You’re awful.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your temple. “But I’m yours.”

You laughed, soft and real, tucking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[bewitched-hours]

Good morning/evening.

Well its me again :] and I'm here for another request.

Basically, Mafioso x Bartender?Reader oneshot [You can make it into yandere if you want; No pressure].

Where Reader was once Mafi's best friend when they were young adult [During that time, They didn't know that He works and is a mafia himself.]

However, They had end their friendship after slowly realizing They're being friend to a dangerous criminal. After that, They live hidden with the fear of being mistaken as His accomplice and fear of geting revenge + beaten.

As for that, They faked their identities and hidden their true job under cover as a bartender since all the people come to the bar to drink [get drunk, remember nothing next morning = barely see the bartender's face well + They hidden their identities.]

But They didn't even expect to meet Him IN THAT FRICKING BAR THEY'RE WORKING-

[Extra note: Mafioso in Forsaken, not in Dream game.]

Well, the rest is up to you. Stay safe and hope you have a great day :]

-Phalpelisk

Ooo, what a good little prompt I've been fed today~ And tbh, I can't even really find much about dream game aside from fan-stuff so I always just assume Forsaken with Mafioso... (Seriously, where do I even start-)

Reader gets She/They~

Do you regret it? Probably not.

Even getting indirectly involved with the Mafia would've been too dangerous for your tastes. You did what you had to do to make sure he wouldn't be looking for you.

You had faked your death, started over with a new identity, even dying your hair and wearing lenses along with a brand new closet. Though you always had a hat on that shrouded your face in shadows just to be sure.

Nowadays you were just a bartender taking care of the unfortunate and letting them air out their frustrations for the night while you collected tips for your sweet attitude. It was hard to act like that at times but you've never lived better!

But back when you were still younger... You sometimes catch yourself still thinking about your best friend. You felt bad leaving him behind but you didn't want to be seen as his accomplice or anything if push came to shove. You were too scared to let that happen.

Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he was now. Maybe he stuck to the Mafia business? Or maybe he could've changed? Was that possible?

As you thought on such manners in the quiet of the evening, you heard the bells of the door ring their gentle tune. It was him...

You hadn't expected to find him strolling by your workplace but tried to keep your composure. He didn't look too different from when you last saw him and you could always play off your anxiousness- if he noticed it- by pointing out the fact he was a mafia boss or just his looks... Was he known as a mafia boss even? Maybe it was time you invested yourself in the news more...

"Gonna need a Tom Collins..." He sighed, sitting down as you began mixing without a second thought.

Tom Collins... Gin, lemon juice, some simple syrup, a club soda and some ice with a little lemon wedge and cherry for garnish. It's actually one of your favourites...

As you shook your shaker with the ingredients, you couldn't help but notice his tone. "Long day, huh?" You somehow managed to keep a calm voice as you spoke up, straining your current mixture into his ice-filled glass and topped it with the soda and garnishes. "Nothing a little gin and lemon can't fix though, right?" You tried to keep it lighthearted, your sweet act going right past him as he began drinking.

"Just on the hunt for someone." He suddenly chuckled, catching you off-guard. Mafioso was always someone who could somehow see right through you and made you feel predictable. Though you blamed that on him having known you for practically an eternity.

Although, curiosity was practically your second nature. "Oh? Anyone special?" You asked casually, refilling his glass as you figured he might need a couple glasses before even getting tipsy... Well, at least you could probably get away with being casual considering your fake identity.

Except... He knew. "Just an old friend... Faked her own death." He looked up at you to note your slight slip-up in hesitation.

Even though you tried to play it off as simply wanting to see the time, keeping on your signature sweetness as though it was nothing as you continued. "She must be important then, to have someone look for her even so." You faked a chuckle, it all went right past him.

Your act was like glass to him. It frustrated him a little that he couldn't break through it and keep you to himself like he initially planned but he needed you to slip-up so he knew he was stalking the right you.

And you were basically giving him just that as he went on. "One way to put it. Not like I can blame her but she didn't do that good of a job covering her tracks." You couldn't see it but you could hear the smugness in his tone as you hesitated again to subconsciously think about your steps back then.

You felt your heart race as you knew you were caught but still attempted to shake it off in hopes he didn't catch on... Which he did...

"Is that so?" Seriously- How were you keeping such a casual tone despite being caught red-handed? "Any leads then?"

Your nervousness only grew when you heard him chuckle. It felt more menacing than anything. "Just your newfound sweetness... Your acting's better though." He sounded satisfied with himself, taking one last sip of his glass before handing you his card.

"You can run the tab on this and meet me outside. I'll be sure to speak to your boss so you won't have to worry." He got up and allowed you to see his smirk, making you sigh in defeat as your act dropped. At least the other patrons were all already tipsy or drunk enough to not intervene or report this...

You quickly run his card and let him type in the pin as you made your way around to the back where you could change to your usual outfit.

A knee-length dress that you simply had worn today because it made you feel cute, thigh highs to keep your legs warm and a pair of comfortable but fancy looking shoes to match the dress... What luck-

Getting outside, he had been waiting for you by an oddly casual looking car and approached as soon as your eyes met.

"Feel free to smoke a bit until I'm back." He simply said as he handed you a pack of cigarettes and a lighter before heading inside, leaving you no room to question him.

But with a huff, you did light yourself one and began smoking to calm your nerves. How did he even find you? Did he hire someone?

The thought made you shiver slightly but you went further ahead and decided to have a look at his car.

All black, even inside. Slightly tinted windows, a bunny- A BUNNY???

"Ya like him?" His sudden appearance made you practically jump as you dropped your cigarette. "His name's Gubby, you can hold him on the drive if you'd like." He didn't even really acknowledge the cigarette so you subtly stomped on it and quietly nodded before walking around to get in the passenger side.

Gubby practically bounced forward to meet you, sniffing your hands and squeaking happily as you pet him. It was pretty cute...

Almost makes you forget you're basically being kidnapped by your old best friend-

You must've been subconsciously smiling on the quiet ride as Gubby nudged himself against your fingers if you stopped petting him for even a second.

"Feels good not to act?" Mafioso snapped you out of your thoughts and you sheepishly nodded, realizing you've been letting down your guard already. Not like he didn't know.

"I just can't figure out how you managed to figure me out." You sighed, giving into Gubby's demands for affection again. "I got a new identity, dyed my hair and cut it- I even got contacts!" Your little pouts seemed to amuse the man you had known.

"I had a little help but it wasn't too hard to pick up a trail when looking through some old documents." Another shiver ran down your spine. Did the Mafia have access to government files or something? Sounds hard to believe...

Once you seemed to be close to your destination, Mafioso handed you a blindfold and looked at you expectantly. "I'm taking you to my hideout but I'm not having you remembering the way in or out in case anything happens." He sounded more serious and firm and honestly? You didn't have the energy to argue today so you just wrapped the blindfold around your eyes and used the little space below your eyes to just focus on Gubby instead. At least someone in this car can enjoy themself that way...

It was maybe half an hour to an hour of just hearing the engine of the car and the radio playing some songs from a CD Mafioso had on him. You kinda liked it even though it wasn't your usual cup of tea so you allowed yourself to hum along, much to his amusement.

"Glad you like it, [Reader]. It's really the only music I got available." You shrugged in response, trying to get used to your old name again.

It felt... Odd. You were so used to your new life but your old name was both comforting and eerie to hear... Especially out of an old friend's mouth...

But when the car finally stopped, you almost instinctively scooped up Gubby and held him in your arms as you waited for Mafioso to guide you again... Since you- ya know- STILL COULDN'T SEE-

Instead, he decided to lift you out of the car and carry you in a bridal carry as you practically clung onto Gubby to avoid him falling off. Not a single word fell from either of you though as you tried to listen around in confusion.

When the blindfold was finally off, you were greeted by the sight of Mafioso's goons... Who all seemed very curious about your appearance as you were finally let down to the ground and one of them took Gubby off your hands to let you move your arms again.

"This is [Reader], as you all know..." Did he talk about you? Wait- did they help Mafioso find you??? "They're staying with us indefinitely." waitwhat-

"Hold on- Indefinitely??" You questioned in shock, noticing the goons looking a little nervous as Mafioso sighed. "Yes, indefinitely. I put in a lot of work to find you and I'm not risking that again so we'll have your stuff brought here. You'll be taken care of so you won't have to worry." He sounded way too calm for your tastes but were you really in the mood to argue with a mafia boss? Nope.

With a groan, you began following the goons to your new room as they struck up conversation, asking about you and talking about themselves before letting it slip...

"Boss was pretty careful to make sure you didn't notice him following ya-" The goon was pretty quickly shut up by the others in a panic as you stared at them in confusion and slight anxiousness. "What does that mean?" You demanded to know, practically clawing at your own arms to not freak out right now.

"Ah- well-" Their mingled explanations were barely audible over each other so you stomped your foot once and the sound was luckily loud enough to get their attention back to you and allow you to speak.

And for once, you had a pretty mean glare on that managed to make them hesitant. You were able to drive a little fear into them and they were beginning to see how you and Mafioso fit together. "I'm not dealing with a headache today so I want one simple explanation, even if it's fake. I'm not driving myself to paranoia over not having a solid explanation for what you mean when you said he followed me." Your tone was firm and frustrated.

They all looked between each other nervously before one of them decided to step forward and satisfy your curiosity. "Well, we only found out you two had been friends recently. He told us you were someone dear to him and we were to help him find you at a set time each day. When he finally found you he had some of us visit you in disguises to find out what he wanted but because you put up an act he decided to go himself."

You stared at them for a while, trying to process their words until sighing and letting your shoulders slump. They took that as satisfaction and all sighed in relief. You could tell they were at least half-truthful but...

Were you really that important for Mafioso to hunt you down like that?

Who were you kidding, this is the most stubborn man you've ever known. It wasn't unrealistic to make yourself believe that Mafioso was just that stubborn to find you after your supposed slip-up in your plan years ago.

Still, you never wanted this! You've faked your death and created a new identity for yourself to get away from Mafia business! Not be dragged into it!

Sighing, you let the goons lead you to your room again and you were actually kinda surprised to find out it was decorated to your liking. It was mostly based on stuff you used to like back then but those things you still enjoy today so maybe Mafioso made a lucky guess in the new stuff. It would be more touching if you weren't basically the main character in a mafia romance novel.

No, you told yourself you wouldn't act like one. Never. That was way too cringe for your liking but at least you could finally lie down again.

You immediately noticed the comfort in the plush bed as you flopped down with the goons leaving behind a button and telling you to press it if you need help before disappearing. You didn't know what it would do but knowing Mafioso, it probably had a tracker or something in it. Whatever...

Back to the bed, it was comfortable enough to tempt you to fall asleep right then and there. It was the closest you've ever felt to sleeping on a cloud. But you couldn't let that distract you.

Especially not when you heard tiny scratches at your door and were almost excited to open it. You knew it was Gubby and you were more than happy to have him join you. He was in your lap on the bed in mere seconds with you happily scratching between his ears.

"Maybe this won't be so bad if you keep me company, right?" You said playfully, enjoying the little squeaks to comfort yourself for what felt like hours.

What have you been doing for that time? Daydreaming of course.

What about? Hey, you're the reader here, you think of it yourself lmao-

Nonetheless, you were a little embarrassed when you were brought back to reality by the door opening and Mafioso stepping through with a sigh and slight chuckle. "[Reader], I think you're starting to copy Gubby..." Was all he brought out for you to notice you and the bunny both had the same expression while looking at him. And you couldn't stifle your giggling for long as Gubby began jumping in front of you and squeaking in protest, his hind legs stomping against the plush bed in anger.

If only you knew the full extent of the lengths he went to to find you...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[littlemissmiller]

𝑀𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: the summer before you graduated college, Joel Miller became a regular at the bar you worked. he was perfect except one small problem…you already have a boyfriend

Warning: 21+ (drinking), fluff, slight age gap (reader is in her early 20s and Joel is 30) smut, oral (f receiving) p in v, slight body worshipping, porn with plot

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: i did it! i finally wrote a fic to live up to my blog name! i’m so proud of this one y’all like omg…i love it, it’s so perfect. such a cute lil fluffy smut (≧◡≦) ♡ also still can’t get over the fact that people like my little hobby, so thank you for all the love! it only encourages me to write more. speaking of which, i have so many stories for the summer coming up, especially with tom blyth coming back as billy. i already have a few stories started so hopefully they will be out sooner rather then later. ok that’s it i have nothing more to say. enjoy ❣︎

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It was your last summer before graduating college and being home made you want to cherish your last year even more. You were looking forward to it and ready to be done bartending so you could see your friends and have some real fun. Sure, this job made you a ton of cash, but being home was nothing in comparison to being with your college friends in a town totally catered to you and your fellow students. Although your hometown had its perks. At least it used to. Your longtime boyfriend had never left your hometown or went to college. He had instead opted for going into a trade and becoming an electrician.

Your relationship was strong at first, but every semester it became harder and harder to navigate. Time after time you had convinced yourself that he was still your best friend, but meeting new people in college and getting to experience the joys of youth on your own for the first time, had given you a lot of perspective. So every birthday, holiday, and summer, you felt like you were coming home to a completely different man. Yet you stayed with him because you really wanted to make it work and you told yourself you loved him. Yet something unexpected had happened. One evening at work, a group of men came in to watch the Rangers game. That’s when you first met him and that’s the night Joel Miller would become a regular at your bar.

He was clearly older, at least thirty, but you couldn’t help but practically gawk at him all night. And you couldn’t help but think that Joel was eyeing you too. But you felt a wave of guilt overcome you. You knew you shouldn’t feel like this. You knew you shouldn’t be staring down another man like that but you couldn’t help it. But his arms looked so strong, like he could carry you effortlessly. You couldn’t help the way you smiled every time he would share a boisterous laugh with his friends. His own sweet smile drew you in and you noticed he had the cutest cheek nimble on top of it. From his big chiseled nose to his perfectly crafted jawline, he was an absolute Adonis. Just then another wave of guilt washed over you and you tried to shake away your feelings of disloyalty as you walked into the kitchen, putting their food order in.

As you walked out of the kitchen and brought them their next set of drinks, you tried not to look at him so much but it’s hard not to. Then he spoke up.

“Hey darling? Could I get some more napkins when you get the chance?”

“Yeah sure!” You scurried off and came back immediately

He smiled at you as he thanked you which made your heart flutter. As you made your way back to the kitchen, another server catches up to you.

“Who’s the handsome cowboy at 13?” She asked

“Oh” you started “I’m not sure. Are you talking about the man in the white shirt?” You lied acting like she was talking about someone else

“Girl, don’t play. I can see him undressing you right now”

You glanced over, and caught him smiling at you while he sipped his beer. You started to smile back, when the guilt hit you again and you turned back to your co-worker.

“Oh…yeah…h-he is handsome yeah…but not like I’m interested.” You lied again

“Okaaay whatever you say…” she said unconvinced, rushing off to her table

Joel and his buddies left around 9 and you noticed that Joel leaves the biggest tip out of everyone. Around 10 o’ clock you clocked out and headed to your boyfriend’s house where you had planned on spending the night. Once you arrived, you walked straight into his room where he was playing some PC game. His back was towards you and he didn’t notice you at first with his big headset on. You hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek. He startled and you jumped back.

“Woah! Hey! Your home” he remarked, clutching his chest, barely glancing at you “Jesus you scared me.”

“Clearly” you giggled

“God don’t sneak up on me like that. Could have cost me the game” he sighed, as he returned his full attention to the screen.

“What ya playing?

“COD” he remarked dryly

“Are you gonna be finishing soon?” You inquired

“Ahh probably not. I figured you’d be too tired to hang after your shift so I told the boys I’d be on tonight.”

“I thought you said we would watch a movie after work tonight?”

“Oh yeah, I mean I don’t know I just kinda figured you’d want to go to bed when you got home. Plus you fall asleep to every movie we watch together”

“Yeah” you sighed in disappointment, wanting to follow it up with “but that’s not the point.” You knew he’d get upset at you for pulling him away from his game. “I just want to cuddle you.”

“Ok ok I got ya. I’ll be in bed soon, ok.” He said halfhearted, still not looking at you.

You changed into a pair of sweat shorts and an old shirt and got ready for bed. As you climb into bed you want to cry. And you questioned your guilt from tonight. Maybe it was because it had been a while since a man seemingly flirted with you that made you realize just how lousy your boyfriend has become. When was the last time he genuinely made you feel special? You fell asleep, but were woken up by small kisses on your neck, but your boyfriend began to move more aggressively, trusting and grinning his crotch against your ass. At that point you’re too tired for sex, and all you wanted was for him to hold you and care for you.

“Mmm babe I’m really tired” you whined

“I thought you wanted attention?” He asked, continuing his actions. You pushed away slightly but he continued, only pulling you closer against his chest.

“I do, just not like this. Not right now ok? I just want to sleep.”

He sighed, turning over

“See this is why I don’t want to do a movie with you. I knew you would be too tired.”

“That’s not…” you wanted to finish your sentence again and say “that’s not fair” but once again that would probably upset him and now he was annoyed with you so you don’t want to push it. “I just want to sleep now ok.”

“Ok. It’s fine. Goodnight.” He huffed, falling asleep.

The next couple of shifts your mind is preoccupied by your newfound feelings about your relationship. Your boyfriend wasn’t abusive by any means, but it was clear the relationship wasn’t healthy anymore. That’s when the crying at work started. Mainly because you had just come from his house before each shift and every interaction with him pained you. The only thing that kept you from continuously calling off was Joel. Almost every shift around 5 o’clock he would come in, order a few beers, maybe something to eat, and chat it up with you.

By the third week, all your co-workers were teasing you about him. Whenever his truck would pull up in the parking lot, someone would come get you.

“Your cowboy is here!” Someone yelled out to you, stepping out of the kitchen. You left the servers station to greet him.

“Hey Joel! Mich Ultra? You asked

“You know it darling. How you’ve been?” He smiled, causing you to practically melt into a puddle. You gathered yourself and smiled back at him.

“About the same as the last time you saw me.”

“And still as beautiful as ever.” He winked

“You flatter me Mr. Miller. I bet Mrs. Miller is one special lady hmm?” You asked more or less trying to see if he was actually flirting with you or just being nice.

“She would if there was one.”

“Oh I thought you said you have a daughter?” You questioned more

“And a man can’t be a single dad in this world? How sexist of you” he chuckled sarcastically

You rolled your eyes at him and laughed along.

“I just thought such a handsome cowboy as yourself would have a beautiful gal to go home to.”

“I wish…” he sighed, eyes giving you a once over

“So where is she then? Your daughter? If not with her mom. You know we allowed kids in before 9 right?”

“Yeah, she just has soccer practice at this time three days a week. I figured why not wait for her to be done and come see you since I’m out and about.” He explained

“Ain’t you just a charmer.” I’ll get you that beer.”

You walk over to behind the bar and fetch Joel his beer.

“He’s just all over you” one of the bartenders remarked

“And he tips well too.”

“Gee I wonder why” they smirked, giving you a look “how does your boyfriend feel about him?”

“I mean he’s just a customer. They flirt all the time and who doesn’t like the extra cash?” You started quickly

“Mhmm sure” they said

You walk back to him, bringing him his beer and continuing to chat with him. He ordered another beer then left to go pick up his daughter Sarah.

Now every time at work shift, it felt like an escape. It also felt like a fantastic secret that only you knew about. A fantasy being played out in real life. Joel was so charming.

Even though he was older, his youthful demeanor shone through. He was caring too. If he wasn’t asking about you and your life, he was talking about his daughter. You could tell she was his world. He absolutely adored her, and you loved to listen to him go on and on about her. You didn’t quite care what your co-workers would say or how your boss didn’t like that you hovered around his table, sometimes neglecting your other ones.

But he couldn’t complain too much given Joel was a respectful, paying customer. And a great tipper. And he would always leave a little note on his receipt. Nothing too flirtatious, just innocent enough to toe the line. This went on for a couple more weeks, your boyfriend none the wiser. Not like he was paying much attention to you anymore. Every note, you would take them and make sure to hide them when you got home. You stored them in your sock drawer and kept them secret like everything else about him. You still felt guilty though and realize that you need to end things with your boyfriend. It’s harder than you thought and truthfully you don’t know how to leave someone you’ve cared about that much. And been with for so long. But talking to Joel made you realize what you needed. And what you wanted. And you wanted him. And something told you he wanted you too.

Then back at home, living with your boyfriend it was a totally different reality. He felt so disconnected from you, so indifferent. And the more you faded away from him the less you felt like you really loved him still. And he noticed you pulling away from him. One night, you came home and had kept another one of Joel’s receipts.

“See you Wednesday :) Joel”

You left your server book out on his bed, along with your purse and hopped into the shower without thinking. When you got out of the shower, your boyfriend was sitting on his gamer chair, nose deep in your server book. You froze and tightened the towel around you nervously.

“Oh hey babe. When did you get home? I thought you and the boys were having a boys night? “

“We decided to just get dinner instead. What’s this?” He asked, holding up the receipt.

“Oh, just one of my regulars. Don’t worry about it.” You giggled, trying to play it cool reaching for the book. He holds it back from you and stands up.

“Who’s Joel?”

“My regular” you repeated

“Oh yeah. I bet he tips you well hmm? Pays you lots of attention?” He asked accusatorily.

“I-he…he’s just a regular we get them all the time.”

“Yeah, but you said he is one of YOUR regulars. Why yours? Why is he writing you notes?”

“He-he just always sits in my section I don’t know. That’s not too unusual…and a lot of customers write thank you notes and stuff I can’t control them!” You insisted, readjusting your towel again

“You expect me to believe that?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Well I don’t need creepy men hitting on my girl at work.” He barked back

“He’s not creepy and you’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh then what is he?”

“He’s just a customer!” You argued even though it was a lie

From that moment on, your boyfriend had grown highly suspicious of your relationship with him and Joel. Wednesday rolled around and Joel showed up again as expected. You nervously approached him as he sat down.

“Well hey their sugar” he smiled

“Hey Joel” you replied, only giving him a half smile

He searched your face and could tell something is up.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just life stuff. So Mich Ultra?”

He nodded and you walked off. His eyes followed you, watching you as you went to the bar. You came back and gave him his beer. You wanted to set it down and walk away, but Joel’s concerned eyes beckoned you to say.

“Thinking about food?” You asked him

“Maybe. I’m sorry doll, I don’t mean to pry but if I did anything to put you off-“

“No Joel of course it’s not you it’s just…relationship issues” you huff

“Sorry to hear that sugar. I hope y’all can work it out”

“I hope so” you sigh, knowing it’s a lie.

Just then your boyfriend storms into the bar. You don’t notice him at first, but then you hear a set of heavy footsteps approaching towards you and you look up. Confused, you call out his name.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can’t visit my girl at work anymore?” He asked glancing at Joel

“Excuse me.” You mumble to Joel, walking over to him and grabbing his hand. You lead him out of the building.

“What are you doing?!” You shouted

“Is that him? Is that Joel?” he sneered

“Why do you care all of a sudden hmm? You’ve barely paid attention to me in the last few months. What happened to us?” You nearly sobbed.

He sighed and shook his head

“What do you want from me? I mean I’m frustrated with you too if that helps. You have completely shut yourself off, don’t tell me shit! I’m upset too! Especially that I know you’re flaunting yourself around weirdo old men.”

“Stop! That’s it, I can't do this anymore. I’m so scared to tell you anything because of how you act when I share your feelings. When I come home, you ignore me and frankly it seems like you only give me affection when you want to fuck me!”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed, throwing his arms up.

“Oh my god! You over exaggerate everything. Is this why you’re acting like an attention seeker? Because you think I don’t pamper you?”

“Unbelievable. Pampering really…you know what I’m not arguing with you! I’m done! We’re done!” You shout and storm back into the back

“Done? Really like that? Four years done like that? Fine whatever, be that way, I know you don’t mean it. I’ll see you at home.” And he storms off back to his car.

You wanted to cry as you stormed back into the bar, but you held yourself together.

You tried to hide your clearly upset face as you rushed back into the kitchen and into the back alley next to the dumpsters. Joel noticed and ran out of the bar looking for you. He searched around the building then he called out to you.

“Hey. What’s wrong.”

You can’t help it. One look at him, and you ran into his arms. He embraced you, holding you tight.

“Hey my little firefly…what’s wrong?” He asked, his sweet southern drawl falling like your tears.

“I loved him Joel… why do people stop loving you back…” you sobbed

Joel gently stroked your hair, attempting to calm you down. It didn’t feel strange to be held by him. You felt safe, and comfortable in his arms, despite barely knowing him or even having any interaction with him outside of work, that moment felt right.

“I don’t know darling.” Joel sighed

You eventually gathered yourself and go back inside with him. Your boss thankfully didn’t notice your absence. Joel returned to his table and you returned to your other patrons. After his beer, Joel left and you didn’t really get a chance to see him leave. When you went to collect his tap you saw another note this time with his phone number and it read:

“Gotta go get Sarah. Call me if you need to talk”

Your heart dropped. He had finally given you his number and at the same time you still felt guilty. Even though you had, despite what your now ex-boyfriend thinks, finally ended your relationship. And here the opportunity was. Right in front of you. You look at the receipt, take it, fold it and immediately put it in your pocket to keep it safe. You clock out at ten and are all too eager to get into your car to call Joel. Once you do, you dial the number and it rings.

“Hello?”

“He-hey Joel it’s me…” you uttered

“You ok darling?” He asked sweetly

Maybe it was his voice, the question, or the fact that the weight of the burdens of your life seemed to have fallen apart around you, but you cried again. Letting it all out and at the same time feeling better than ever.

“Hey hey hey” Joel whispered “I just put Sarah to bed…why don’t you come over here? We can talk ok?”

You nodded and sobbed.

“Ok…”

Joel texted you his address and you put it into your GPS. It’s only about a ten minute drive to his house and when you pulled up, you nervously exit your vehicle. You walked up the front door and knocked quietly, not wanting to wake Sarah. A moment later, it swung open and Joel’s handsome face looked at yours with deep concern.

“Come on in.”

You nodded and walked into his home. As expected it’s much nicer than your boyfriends, but then again Joel is an actual adult, with a kid, and mortgage to pay off so it was to be slightly expected. It wasn’t too fancy, just your standard suburban home. You walked over to the couch and Joel followed you.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Honestly I need something a little strong. Got any whiskey?”

He smiled ear to ear.

“Ya betcha.” And he rushed off into his kitchen.

You made yourself comfortable and tried to relax as you looked around Joel’s living room. You curiously strode over to his bookshelf and read the titles. Lots of history books, a few fiction and then you noticed the framed photo of him and his daughter. You realize you’ve never seen a photo of her, but she’s just as beautiful as you could have imagined. You smiled and Joel caught you in your curiosity.

“She’s been my little gem since day one. Just me and her. I don’t think I ever told ya, but her mom left us so…” he remarked.

You looked at him, smiled and nodded.

“She’s beautiful, Joel. You’re a great dad.”

Joel sat the glasses of whiskey down on the shelf and reached for your hand. You gasp slightly, look at where he’s touched you and then look up into his eyes. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“You asked me why people stop loving people back and ya know, I still don’t have a good answer for that. I guess it’s because I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the last twelve years.”

“Joel…you’re such a good man…” you sighed, squeezing his hand.

“You’re too kind darling.” He smiled

“No really.”

You stared at him for a moment. His eyes searched your own looking for what he suspected you wanted from him. He cupped your face and he leaned in to kiss you. His lips fit perfectly against yours, like he was made for you. It was perfect and passionate. He was so gentle, yet you could feel how badly he had wanted this moment with you. He pulled back for a moment to make sure he hadn’t crossed the line.

“Got a bedroom?” You smirked

Before you knew it, Joel was crawling on top of you and you took off your shirt. At the same time he was busy frantically kissing your neck and jaw. He tossed it off and Joel took a moment to admire your chest. He gasped and reached to grope your breasts. Your soft, perky mounds fit perfectly in his hand and he began to massage you. He was in utter awe of you. Almost overwhelmed that he was getting to have you like this. You stared back up at him, equally in awe at that moment.

His big brown eyes melted your heart and all your troubles melted too. Fuck your lousy ex. All you wanted and needed was Joel. He kissed you again as he continued to play with your breasts. You let out a few giggles that turned into harsh, sharp moans as he moved his mouth down your body.

“Fuck…” you whispered, the word dancing around the room.

As his lips trailed you, your body reacted, your hips bucked and you were practically squirming under him. When his mouth found your cleavage, you felt the heat in between your legs grow stronger.

He continued to kiss you, only breaking away to take off his own shirt. He was toned, his skin smooth and he was unbelievably broad. You couldn’t help but admire the way his collar bone met his neckline. It was clean and sharp. You tried not to think of your ex, but in comparison he was not as fit as the gorgeous man in front of you. You placed your hands on his chest and felt his pecs, running your fingers down to his abdomen. You leaned up to kiss him again. His lips were so soft and addictive. You could’ve kissed him all night, but your desires beckoned for more. He held you up slightly and flipped you over. As he did he unhooked your bra and you let it fall off your chest. He tossed it on the ground and admired your bare chest for the first time.

“You’re so gorgeous. “ he uttered as your hair fell in front of you.

He pushed it out of the way and cupped your face. He pulled you back down to capture your mouth once again, lightly gripping the back of your neck. Your bare boobs pressed down against his chest, a feeling which you love. Skin on skin, the close intimacy and the feeling of being wanted more than just something to fuck. That’s how your ex had made you feel the last few months when you and him had sex, so being touched, cherished by Joel made your head spin. You weren’t used to it and you could feel your body reacting to the unfamiliar sensations. Joel noticed.

“Baby, you ok?”

You blushed at the nickname, smiled and nodded.

“It’s just been some time since I felt like this.”

“When’s the last time he touched you?”

“I-I mean we would have sex once or twice a week…”

“When is the last time he really touched you though. Made you feel special?”

You simply stared at him speechless and tilted your head.

“You know what, forget about him. Just focus on me. Let me make you feel good like you deserve.”

With that, he decided to be bold and reached for your mini skirt. He pulled it down past your hips and you lifted them up so he could pull it off you. He tossed it on the ground with your bra and his hands immediately moved to cup your ass. He squeezed the pillowy flesh as you moved your hips. You could feel him getting hard under you and you eagerly reached for his belt. His hands moved up to your waist, rocking you more. You undo his belt and he lifted up his hips to take off his pants. He slid them off along with his boxers, revealing his length. It was perfect. Just the right size, the mushroom tip red and swollen. Encouraged by his actions, you slide your panties off and you are both completely bare in front of each other.

He soaked the sight of your naked beauty in, eyes trailed over all your curves and edges. You were simply divine to him, a work of art. He runs his hands back up to your chest, briefly groping them, his eyes completely focused on your face. You grab his cock and began slowly stroking it. His mouth drops slightly as he watched you. He tilted his head back on the pillow briefly, before he looked back up to watch you. His breathing became ragged and you picked up your pace. You start to move on top of him, guiding his cock to your entrance, but he stops you.

“Let me get you wet.” He insisted, grabbing your hips and flipping you again. Immediately, he kissed down your body, worshiping you. “You’re so perfect. If you were my girl I’d never stop showing you how perfect you are.” He muttered in between kisses.

He kissed your inner thigh before he experimentally rubbed your clit. You gasped, your hips bucked in his face. He smirked at your reaction, loving how you responded to his touch. Taking that as a sign you wanted more, he gently kissed your slit. He gave you another one and another one until the little pecks of his lips turned into the sloppy mess of his tongue. It had been ages since a man had gone down on you like this. Your ex-never warmed you up beforehand anymore, too eager to satisfy his own desire and pleasure. Joel knew how to be a real man. His tongue and lips suck and rub at your core. He moved his head too, adding to the friction. You reached for his brown locks, desperately in need of something to hold onto. He hung onto your hips and he moved you against his face. He moaned against your core, eating you out like you were the most delicious meal of his life. He pulled back, out of breath and drunk in your juices.

“Could taste ya all day darling.”

You nodded as he inserted a finger in you, twisting it. He slowly pumped it into you, curling it up as he added another finger. He watched as your face scrunched up in pleasure. He sped his hand up, totally focused on getting you to finish.

“Joel…Joel…Joel…” you chanted “Gonna cum”

He nodded and worked you a bit more until you tightened down around his digits. You came hard, the euphoria rushed through your body like a roller coaster.

“So beautiful oh my god.” He praised, rubbing your thighs.

He crawled back up to you. He kissed you letting you taste yourself. You hadn’t felt this kind of passion in a while, this intense feeling of intimacy.

“You ready? He asked, slowly rubbing your clit again.

You nodded as he lined himself up with your slit. You felt as his cock pushed past your folds and stretched you out perfectly. You gasped and he kissed your cheek feather light. He cooed at you as he slid in, hitting the back of your cervix. You gasped, which turned into a raspy moan that floated from your lips. Joel cupped your face, stroking his thumb across your cheek. You two shared in the silence of your pleasure for a moment, taking in how good the other felt. He moved, slow at first then he sped up. He felt so full inside you, and you lost yourself in the sensation of his length. You could have stayed like that all night, the steady motion of his cock pumping into you was pure bliss.

“Does that feel good?” Joel inquired lovingly

“Yes, please Joel I want more. I need more of you.”

Per your request, he gave you more, slightly giving into his own desires to want to ravish you. But given it’s your first time with him, Joel didn’t want a sloppy, lustful encounter. Yet, he picked up his speed, his length now hitting the back of your walls at an almost brutal pace. Joel makes sure to keep checking in on you to make sure you’re okay or that it doesn’t hurt too much. You panted and panted as he continued, gripping onto his waist with your legs, pushing him deeper into you. He moved a bit more then flipped over. You smiled at him, slightly out of breath.

“I want to see that beautiful body riding me. Is that ok?”

You nod enthusiastically, slowly starting to move your hips. Joel’s hands groped your ass, rocking you on him more. He sat up, pressed his lips firmly against yours and held you tight. You started to bounce on him which elicited a guttural moan from his lips. He moved his hand to your hips, looking up at you in awe.

How could anyone not treat you like the absolute treasure you are?

Joel thought and wondered to himself as he held you. He couldn’t believe that your ex-boyfriend would neglect you. What a foolish man, but now he had you. In the exact moment he had imagined. He had you. He moved his hips in sync with yours. You steadied yourself on his shoulders, ecstasy, providing you escape. Your breath hitched as you feel his cock stiffen more inside you. He was close. You didn’t want it to end but then again you had a feeling this wouldn’t be your last encounter with Joel. A few last rocks of your hips and he was spent. He pulled you off him abruptly as he shot his load onto his stomach. You caught your breath, resting your forehead against his. You held his jaw in your hands, settling your hips.

“Joel…” you whispered, the words ghosting over your lips.

“Yes darling..” he whispered back

“Y-you have no idea how much I wanted you like this.”

“I know. Me too, but not just like this. I want you. All of you. Can I please have it?” He nearly begged

Your enthusiasm took over you and you planted a spontaneous kiss on his lips.

“Yes Joel…you can have all of me.”

꧁✩★✩꧂

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part one | r.c.

summary:

“I’ll be upstairs with Monique, a’ight?” he said, muttering in your ear. “Are you okay getting the drinks to the boys?”

“Yeah yeah,” you huffed with a wave. “Go on. Be safe.”

Rafe smirked at you, ignoring how Monique was staring daggers at you. “Come get me if anything’s wrong, you hear me precious?”

OR; Topper gets duped by a pretty “bartender”, Rafe (almost) has another hook up, and you're trying to tell yourself that this is enough.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of drugs and alcohol (weed!), this chapter has no smut, but the later parts will so 18+ MDNI!

word count: 2.5k

author's note: wait... is this finally the first chapter of illicit affairs?🤭 yes it is!!! ik i've been teasing it for so long but it's finally hereee!!! inspired by my own tom holland fic (don't talk to me pls) and it has evolved into a series... i hope you love it so much!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

part one: "don't call me kid"

Women and men can’t be “just friends”.

You had always hated that saying. Like, why the hell couldn’t men and women be friends? All three of your best friends were guys, and you didn’t even remotely want to be anything more than friends with any of them.

Okay, maybe you wouldn’t mind being more than friends with one of them.

Bane of your existence.

Pain in the ass.

Annoying as hell.

Your best friend, Rafe Cameron.

You tried so hard to not be in love with him, to only be his friend. Mostly because it would make your life so much less complicated, but also because you hated proving that saying right by being in love with your guy best friend.

“Hey, you still with us?”

“What?”

Rafe stared at you with a frown, before he plucked the joint from your lips.

“You nearly smoked the entire thing by yourself. What’s got you thinking so hard?”

He raised an eyebrow at you while taking a hit from the joint, barely pulling it from his lips before Kelce snagged it from him.

“Greedy bitch,” Rafe huffed before he turned his attention back to you. “You tired, Precious? Want to leave?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname - despite the long tradition of it - and shook your head. “Nah. It’s not even one. And Topper hasn’t made a fool of himself yet.”

“Fuck you,” Topper shot back immediately, moving his cup out of the way when you reached for it. “No, no drinks for mean girls.”

“Come on, don’t be such an asshole,” you whined, smacking your mouth a little to get rid of the dryness the joint has left. Making grabby hands at the cup, you annoyed Topper until he finally gave in, handing you his cup. You took a big gulp, before you pulled a face, pushing the cup back into his hands, barely able to swallow whatever the hell he was drinking.

“Ew, what is that?”

“Some girl in the kitchen made it for him,” Rafe told you, snickering. “I don’t think he was even watching what she was pouring into his cup. Too entranced by her pretty eyes.”

“She said she’s a bartender,” Topper said defensively and you only snorted. He made it far too easy for girls to mess with him.

“Top, I love you,” you said, getting to your feet and straightening your clothes in the process. “But please, you can’t keep falling in love with every pretty girl who pays attention to you.”

“But I’ve been in love with you for six years Precious,” Topper proclaimed as he clutched his chest melodramatically, “When will you give me a chance?”

You only scoffed at his antics, twisting your hair up before putting a hair clip in it. “You wish,” you said, slapping his hands away. “I’ll get us some new drinks.”

“I’ll come with,” Rafe offered.

“Can you get me one too?” Kelce piped up and you pinched his cheek, making him wince.

“Vodka soda?”

Kelce gave you a dirty look, rubbing his cheek before he nodded petulantly. You gave him a thumbs up, grabbing Rafe by the wrist to drag him inside.

It was incredibly packed as soon as you entered the house from the backyard, the body heat from about 50 drunk people raising the temperature indoors and it smelled like the inside of a beer keg. Rafe kept his hand on your lower back, to not lose track of you as you carefully weaved between the people on your way to the kitchen. You tried not to get distracted by how his hand occasionally brushed over your exposed skin whenever your top rode up. He had always been this way. Running a hand through Topper’s hair to annoy him, clasping Kelce’s shoulder whenever he drank too much and was hanging over the toilet, squeezing Wheezie’s arm in a quick hug, and keeping his hand on your lower back whenever the two of you were walking somewhere crowded. He liked to show affection the way his father failed to do. So you refused to overthink it when his hands splayed over your skin, despite your heart racing whenever it happened.

Losing yourself to your thoughts for a second, you didn’t pay any attention when some guy walked into you, too busy talking with his friend to watch where he was going. You nearly went flying face down on the ground, but Rafe’s hand quickly found your waist, steadying you.

“Hey, watch it!” Rafe snapped at the guy, who only raised his hands in defense.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, gently pushing his hands off of you. “We’re nearly there, don’t start a fight.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Rafe giving the guy a stink eye before you reached the kitchen, where it luckily wasn’t as cramped, with only a handful of people mingling and talking. Grabbing four cups off of the stack on the kitchen island, you pursed your lips as you let your eyes roam over the options, rows, and rows of alcohol.

“Do you want a beer or something harder?”

“Beer, I think I might have to drive us home,” Rafe replied, grabbing the vodka bottle that was on his left, and handing it to you.

You unstacked the cups on the counter and poured vodka into three of them. Rafe reappeared by your side - not that you had noticed him leaving, you were too focused on making sure there was an equal amount of vodka in all the cups - sipping on a beer, a jug of cranberry juice in his other hand. You grabbed the jug out of his hand, wordlessly, filling your cup to the brim.

“Where’s the club soda?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. Rafe only shrugged.

“Couldn’t find it.”

“Here’s club soda, Rafe,” a flirty voice suddenly said, and Monique Colver batted her long, fake eyelashes at Rafe.

“Thanks Monique,” Rafe replied with a smirk, taking the bottle to give it to you, which you accepted wordlessly.

Here we go.

“Call me Moni.”

“Moany?” you muttered under your breath while you filled the other two cups, barely wincing when Rafe gave you a side eye, acting like he was listening to every word that left Monique’s lips.

“- but I told my dad I really wanted to travel a bit so he got a me a trip to Europe.”

“Oh yeah? What countries you tryna see?”

Ugh.

You downed your entire cup in one go, already refilling it when you heard “show you” and “upstairs” and you rolled your eyes. You lifted your cup to your lips, basically putting your entire face in it, really, anything to remove yourself from this conversation, only pausing with drowning yourself when you felt Rafe’s hand on your lower back. Again.

“I’ll be upstairs with Monique, a’ight?” he said, muttering in your ear. “Are you okay getting the drinks to the boys?”

“Yeah yeah,” you huffed with a wave. “Go on. Be safe.”

Rafe smirked at you, ignoring how Monique was staring daggers at you. “Come get me if anything’s wrong, you hear me Precious?”

You flipped him off and he took that as a sign to leave, following Monique as she dragged him upstairs.

“Bitch,” you muttered to yourself, grabbing the three cups on the counter and heading back outside to the boys.

It was a miracle that not a single drop was spilled on the way, probably because you were too busy trying not to imagine what was going on upstairs.

“There she is!” Kelce greeted you. “Almost died of thirst. What took you so long?”

“Don’t ask,” you muttered, handing them the drinks and Topper eyed you suspiciously. Acting like you didn’t notice it, you plopped yourself into the empty seat next to them, taking a big gulp from your drink.

“Where’s Rafe?”

“Where do you think?” you said with a sigh, giving him a look.

You weren’t jealous.

Okay, you were.

But it wasn’t the main reason why you were so annoyed.

You just hated it when the girls Rafe hooked up with always treated you like you were their competition, like you would take him away from them.

Which, fair, you could if you wanted. If you faked an injury or being sick, Rafe would immediately drop them to get you home.

But he’d never want you the way he wanted them. Yes, you knew he loved you, and yes he was your best friend, but you couldn’t help but want more. Maybe that was selfish. You let out a small sigh, leaning your head on Kelce’s shoulder, missing the way he glanced at Topper. Lucky for you, they decided against pushing it. Taking a sip from your drink, you tried not to think about Monique and Rafe. It didn’t help that the vodka and the joint were starting to work, spreading into your system, making you feel all warm and woozy, your head cloudy.

Your eyebrows shot up when Rafe suddenly appeared, squeezing himself between you and the armrest, his hair disheveled. You were still stewing, looking at him with a crease on your forehead.

“That was quick,” you noted. “Where did you leave Moany?” You couldn’t help but ask, putting emphasis on her nickname.

Rafe only shook his head, plucking your cup out of your hand to take a big gulp.

“That man is traumatized,” Kelce pointed out, nodding in understanding like he didn’t need any further explanation.

“Wait, Monique Colver?” Topper asked. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Rafe held up his hand, stopping him. “Yes, but that wasn’t the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, already knowing what was coming. He was such a drama queen sometimes.

“What did she do?”

Rafe didn’t answer, taking another sip of the drink, before he winced. “She told me to call her Precious.”

“What?!”

“HUH??”

“Ew!”

“You know what’s the worst?” Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t even get off.”

“That’s your biggest problem??”

He rolled his eyes at you, shifting on the sofa. “Pretty big, yeah.”

“Ugh.”

“Can we get back to Monique wanting you to call her Precious?” Kelce interjected. “Did Rafe call you Precious in front of her?”

“Yes, very clearly. There’s no way she didn’t hear,” you replied.

“Maybe she hates your guts and she wanted to roleplay being you while Rafe abuses her in a sex-way.”

“Kelce, literally never open your mouth again,” you groaned, covering your ears with your hands, while Topper cracked up, Rafe only pulled a face.

“It makes sense,” Topper insisted. “Like, Precious is the only girl who’s been around us, or well, Rafe, constantly. You know, apart from Sarah and Wheezie. Maybe that was Monique’s way of telling you she wants to be your girlfriend.”

“What?” Rafe asked, his forehead creased.

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re giving her way too much credit, I think she’s just weird.”

“You’re biased,” Topper pointed out, reaching behind Kelce’s to boop you on the head. “I don’t think you’ve ever liked any of the girls Rafe hooked up with.”

“Ugh, what’s there to like? They either act like I’m invisible or are passive aggressive bitches,” you huffed, smacking his hand away. Rafe snickered, throwing an arm around your shoulder to pull you close, pressing a kiss on your head.

“They’re jus’ jealous, cuz you’re the only girl I keep around.”

“Get off me,” you grumbled, your cheeks warming regardless. Rafe knew how to make you feel special.

Kelce yawned, stretching his arms, laying one of them on top of Rafe’s arm around your shoulder. “This party sucks. And I’m starving.”

“I’m so down for tacos right now, do you think Mateo’s still open?” Topper asked, sitting up straight because if there was one thing he took seriously, it was tacos.

“It’s two am on a Saturday,” you pointed out, and his shoulders sagged. You exchanged looks with Rafe, a grin growing on your face. “His truck is definitely still open.”

“Alright!” Topper cheered, jumping up. “Let’s go then!”

He dragged the rest of you off of the couch, herding you through the backyard and to the car, all the while laughing and joking around. You ignored the dirty looks you received from others as you got into the passenger seat, Rafe getting into the driver’s seat of his truck.

It didn’t take long until Rafe pulled up into the parking lot where Mateo’s food truck was parked, the four of you tumbling out of the car, Topper nearly falling flat on his face as he sprinted to the food truck. The light was still on, with faint Spanish music playing in the background.

“If it isn’t my four favorite Kooks,” Mate said, wiping the counter with a towel, before throwing it over his shoulder, eyeing you expectantly as you stood in a row in front of him. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have any carne asada tacos?” Kelce asked, peering over the display.

“Even four would be enough,” Topper added, wringing his hands nervously.

Mateo sighed and you’d already come to terms with having to go to bed with a taco craving, before he grinned at you, shaking his head fondly.

“Grab some drinks and have some patience, I’ll feed you in a second.”

Ten minutes later, the four of you were chowing down on some tacos, washing it down with ice-cold cans of coke.

“Fuck, I so needed this,” Topper moaned, biting into his third taco and you rolled your eyes at him, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin.

“Get it together Top.”

Rafe nudged you with his knee, giving you a look. “Give him a break, I know you’ve been craving some tacos as well,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, which made you pull a face.

“Eurgh, please use a napkin you slob.”

You pushed the stack of napkins in his direction and he only grinned at you, picking up some off the stack to wipe his mouth.

“What would I do without you?” he teased, but you only rolled your eyes fondly, picking up some nachos.

“Whatever, eat your damn taco.”

Rafe squeezed your wrist with his clean hand, and you only leaned your head on his shoulder, starting to zone out when they started talking about some new boat, just enjoying their company. Honestly, you were glad you had them. Even if they were boys, incredibly dumb, and lacked a little tact sometimes, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You glanced down, where your legs were pressed against Rafe’s as you sat next to each other on the picnic bench, just like always.

Maybe, you thought to yourself, maybe this was enough.

“You good?” Rafe asked, raising a brow at you, taco halfway into his mouth.

“Yep, ‘m perfect.”

It had to be.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: tell me what you think pls!!!

🏷️list: @maybankslover

[scoutswritingcorner]

Formal Disappearance

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW: None

Song(s) I was listening to: Head Over Heels/Broken by Tears for Fears

A/N: I want more flustered Alastor guys. If I have to make it so be- Let me fluster the deer man.

Alastor looked around the room as Charlie explained her new “bonding exercise”, his gaze sweeping over the crew that was all here..Something was missing- No, someone was missing from the gathering. His sweet Doe was missing, how did he not notice this earlier? In fact he hasn’t seen you all day. The last time he saw you was last night when you were hiding your reddened face as you laughed at his joke. His ever wandering eyes snapping towards Husk causing the old tom cat to flinch and bristle up causing his smile to flicker for a second, before grinning wider. Oh, he knew something. “Husker, my dearest friend, do you have something to share with me?” Alastor tilted his head as he turned to face the bartender.

“Me? Nope, I don’t have anything to say.” Husk responded not meeting his eyes. Alastor’s eye twitched as his ears fell back against his head, his clawed finger tapping on his cane. His patience was running thin, he hated being apart from you for this long. But he would never mutter it out to a soul, his pride was far too big for that. “Know what?” Charlie asked, smiling tensely, she hoped this wouldn’t turn into a whole thing. Alastor glanced at her but didn’t answer her as Husk flinched from his sharp gaze. “They had to go do something for their job.” Husk answered quickly causing Angel to smirk, “They looked smoking, Smiles. You should’ve seen them before they left.” The comment made Alastor snap his neck back towards Angel Dust who flinched and backed away muttering an apology.

“Oh! They had a huge formal event for their job today, that’s why they aren’t here right now. They had left early in the morning while you were doing a broadcast. They didn’t want to bother you but they said they left a note in your room.” Charlie explained clapping her hands together causing Alastor to hum loudly, so that’s what the note was for this morning. Well, what’s a few more hours without you by his side? He wasn’t desperate for your attention,

~~~~~

It had been four hours (possibly even more) since you had been gone and Alastor was struggling to even be near the others, his temper was getting to him and he missed you oh so dearly. He missed your smile and how your voice seemed to travel through the hotel like one of his favorite songs. He couldn’t even focus on the paper in front of him, what was keeping you this long at this so called formal event? He let out a soft growl watching as his own shadow pulled his focus on the wall in front of him. A lovestruck smile on the pesky shadow as it pointed towards the foyer of the Hotel. He stared at the shadow with an eyebrow raised confused on why his own shadow was acting like this.

Then like a siren song piercing through the silence he heard your voice echo, “I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t expect it to take that long. I thought it would be an hour or two at best.” Your voice echoed down to the parlor causing him to immediately stand up from his spot on the armchair in front of the fireplace. His ears happily flickering as he heard your precious laughter echo after a few seconds of soft whispers. He hurriedly made his way towards the front foyer of the Hotel ignoring how his Shadow dashed after his long strides. If his undead heart could beat, it would surely be racing at this point just at the thought of seeing you after hours, his tense smile now becoming relaxed at hearing your voice.

Looking up from the bottle of water in your hand at the shadow of your boyfriend curling around your own before. “Dearest!~ There you are and here I thought you had run away fro-” His voice stopped suddenly like a broken record as he gazed at your form. How absolutely darling you looked all dressed up. How your outfit clung to you from the necklace you were wearing (specifically the one he had gotten you a few weeks back) complimented your whole outfit perfectly. 

A dark red blush creeped up his neck to his cheeks as his ears laid back on his head. Noticing how you stared at him, a small smirk on your lips as you tilted your head. “What’s wrong, Dear? Don’t you like my outfit?” You teased, causing him to look away with a dark blush coating his cheeks and glaring at the wall as if it offended him. Angel snickered and turned his gaze back to Husk, “I think Smiles adores it a little too much, Toots.” An almost feral snarl leaving your Beau’s lips at hearing Angel point that out. You walked closer, holding your hand out to him. “Don’t worry, Dear. I saved one last dance for you.”

Alastor looked down at you, blush still prominent on his cheeks but he grabbed your hand and leaned down to kiss your knuckles, “Only if you’d have me, Cher.” He whispered out only for you to hear. A soft smile gracing your lips, you nodded at his request. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Dear.” He swore his tail was about to create a hole in his jacket from the way it wagged so fast, linking your arms together he walked you to another part of the hotel to dance the night away.

[palevcr]

IN THE LAP OF EXCESS

he was sin in a suit. sharp jaw, sharper tongue, and a mouth full of trouble. she was too young, too bold, too curious. and she liked the way he looked at her—like he had no right to want her, but wanted her anyway. tony stark knew better. but that didn’t stop him from pulling her into his penthouse, sliding between her thighs like she was the last bad decision he’d ever make. maybe it should’ve been a mistake. but god, did it feel like power.

pairing:older!Tony Stark x younger!reader

genre: age gap, billionaire x intern, smutty tension, seduction at a party, mentor kink

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, age gap (legal I SWEAR), power imbalance, morally gray behavior, filthy dialogue, whiskey-soaked tension, implied infidelity, dominant older man, “you’re fucking someone young enough to be your daughter”, degradation & praise

The same glinting sea of crystal flutes catching light like shattered stars. Tailored suits whispered against one another, threads stitched with old money and silent ambition. Diamond-drenched smiles flashed across the room, sharp enough to draw blood, and the air was perfumed with the unmistakable scent of obscene wealth—aged whiskey, designer leather, foreign cologne that lingered like a dare.

It wasn’t a party. It was a pageant of power. A mating ritual for the elite, where net worth replaced pheromones and laughter was just another form of warfare. Everyone dressed to impress, but more importantly—to intimidate. Sharks in silk. Jackals in Tom Ford.

Tony Stark had seen it all. Hell, he'd built the goddamn ballroom they were dancing in—metaphorically and otherwise.

He wore black Armani like sin, every seam tailored with surgical precision, his presence cutting through the noise like a scalpel. A living contradiction—grit polished to a mirror sheen. Charm and danger woven into flesh and fabric.

He moved through the crowd with lazy magnetism, trailed by whispers and second glances. A nod to a senator’s wife, who giggled like she was half her age. A smirk at a tech CEO who would sell his soul—and maybe already had—for a Stark Industries deal. Tony didn’t do handouts. Especially not to men who begged with champagne breath and damp palms.

The endless drone of shallow conversation eventually scraped against his nerves.

He peeled away, slipping toward the bar where a veteran bartender—one who’d weathered every era of Stark’s destruction and resurrection—poured before he arrived. No questions. Just ritual.

“You know what I like,” Tony muttered, voice low and rough—like gravel soaked in honey. The whiskey was served neat. Deep amber. A drink that tasted like legacy, guilt, and too many ghosts.

He had barely raised it to his lips when something shifted in his periphery.

A girl.

No. A woman—but only barely.

She stood out instantly. Not because she was trying to. Because she wasn’t. No designer logos clinging to her curves, no vulgar display of borrowed wealth. Just soft shadows and quiet confidence. A silhouette framed by the chaos, sipping red wine like she belonged, like she hadn’t just walked into the lion’s den with bare hands and bold eyes.

Tony blinked. Someone bring their daughter? Or worse—an underaged plus-one with daddy issues and a forged invitation.

He leaned casually against the bar, giving her a look that was too slow to be subtle, head tilted with feline curiosity.

Then she turned.

And fuck.

Pretty wasn’t the word. Dangerous was closer. Lipstick the color of blood and bad ideas. Eyes wide enough to get a man in trouble. She looked young. Too young. FBI-knock-on-your-door young. His libido sat up and took notice while his common sense muttered don’t be an idiot, thats a lawsuit waiting to happen.

But then she smiled. Cool. Unshaken.

“Do I have something on my face, or...?” she asked, lips curving like she already knew she did.

Even her voice had edge. Smooth with the tiniest bite. Like silk pulled tight over a blade.

Tony took a long sip, buying himself a second to recalibrate. “No. Just trying to figure out which chapter of the sorority handbook covers sneaking into billion-dollar parties.”

She laughed—honest and unpolished. Then bit her lip, and Tony nearly groaned.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said. “No cult. No glitter. Just me.”

“Mm. You sure?” he drawled. “Because I’m getting heavy ‘freshman with a fake ID’ energy.”

“I’m twenty-one,” she replied, lifting her glass in mock indignation. “And I’m an intern. Not that I was invited.”

Tony blinked. Then laughed—a rich, unrestrained sound that turned heads.

“You’re seriously telling me—the guy who wrote the guest list—that you snuck in?”

She shrugged, unapologetic. “Figured if I was going to get thrown out, it might as well be by someone interesting.”

For a moment, he just stared. Admiration stirred, quiet and dangerous. She was clever. Sharp. Bold. The kind of girl who could accidentally undo a man—just by looking at him like that.

Jesus. His mind was already slipping. Lipstick smeared. Dress hiked. Those lips wrapped around his cock, sucking and milking him dry.

Focus, Stark. He sipped again, letting the burn snap him back to center.

Still, he leaned closer. Couldn't help it. His breath brushed her ear, his cologne thick in the air—wood, spice, and sin.

“You even old enough to be drinking?” he murmured, pretending it was a joke.

She met his gaze, calm and unblinking. “I told you. Twenty-one.”

“Right. And I’m just Tony,” he said, smoothly interrupting her before ‘Mr. Stark’ could leave her lips. “Call me that again and I’ll start looking around for my father.”

She laughed again, softer this time. It was dangerous. Because it wasn’t flirtation.

It was fun.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, shifting slightly closer, enough to catch the whisper of her perfume—sweet, delicate, but grounded. Not like the powdery clouds most girls drowned themselves in. It smelled like summer and secrets.

She held up her glass. “Not sure. Some old man gave it to me.”

Tony exhaled a sharp laugh, letting his head drop for a second.

“And you just took it?” he asked. “Christ. I don’t know if you’re brave or just stupid.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why not both?”

He chuckled darkly, his gaze dropping to the neckline of her dress. Low. Elegant. Deceptively innocent.

She caught the look and smiled, slow and knowing. “He seemed pretty set on me taking it. And I hate being rude.”

Flirting like it was just another man—not Tony Stark. And that? That got under his skin in the best possible way.

So he stayed. Talked. Asked her name. Got her to laugh again—light, real, nothing like the false noises echoing around the ballroom. Topped off her glass every time it dipped below full. And eventually, when the conversation got too warm, when the looks got too long, he leaned in close and murmured:

“Follow me upstairs.”

Then he walked away.

No looking back. He didn’t have to.

She came.

Tony sank into the leather of his penthouse armchair, legs sprawled, glass hanging loosely from his fingers. The elevator pinged. He didn’t need to look.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, voice husky with something heavier than alcohol. She stepped in, eyes wide as they took in the rich, restrained decadence—floor-to-ceiling windows, soft jazz humming from invisible speakers, the city sprawled out below like a conquered kingdom.

“Nice, huh?” he said, lifting his glass in a lazy toast.

She nodded, stepping between his knees.

His hand slid to her hip—warm, steady. He guided her down, slow, deliberate. “Sit,” he murmured.

She did. Settled over him. His hips shifted upward in welcome.

Her breath caught. Shaky. Barely audible. His smirk returned.

He set his glass aside, both hands now on her—roaming over hips, up her sides, beneath the fabric.

No bra.

Sweet. Fucking. Hell.

His palms found her chest, a perfect fit for his hands. He gave a slow, reverent squeeze.

“You’re pretty touchy,” she whispered, voice barely there.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, thumbs brushing across sensitive skin.

“No.”

She breathed it out, soft but certain, her breath ghosting over his lips just before they collided.

The kiss was not sweet. It was messy. Desperate. Teeth clashed, tongues tangled, and Tony groaned against her mouth as his hands roamed freely—palming her tits, thumbs brushing across hardened nipples under that dangerously low-cut dress.

“You playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips, voice gravel and sin. “Coming up here. Sitting on my lap. Kissing me like that.”

“Who said I don’t like danger?” she whispered back, hips rolling subtly, just enough to make him hiss.

Tony’s grip tightened on her waist. “You don’t even know what danger is,” he growled.

She just smirked, lips slick, pupils blown. “Then show me.”

That snapped something loose in him. One big hand slid up to wrap around the back of her neck as he kissed her again, rougher this time, like he was trying to memorize her mouth with his own. His other hand stayed anchored to her hip, guiding her against the hard line of him beneath his trousers.

“You realize,” he muttered between kisses, voice low and dangerous, “you’re fucking someone old enough to be your father.”

She bit his lower lip, not gently. “You’re the one fucking someone young enough to be your daughter.”

That made him laugh—dark and amused. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look at her. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Isn’t that why you brought me up here?” she replied sweetly, rocking her hips again, slow and calculated.

Tony’s eyes darkened as he stared at her. “Careful,” he said, voice like velvet and broken rules. “You’re gonna make me do something reckless.”

“Maybe I want you to.”

That was all it took.

In one swift movement, he stood, hands gripping her thighs as he walked them both over to the massive bed like she weighed nothing. He tossed her down onto the silk sheets, watching her bounce once, hair a halo of temptation around her flushed face.

“Stay there,” he ordered, already undoing the buttons on his dress shirt with practiced efficiency. “Keep your hands to yourself. If you’re good, I’ll let you touch me.”

Her lip curled in challenge, but she didn’t move. Not yet.

Tony shrugged off the jacket and shirt, muscles cut and golden under the low light, his arc reactor casting a soft glow against his chest. He looked like sin wrapped in money and scars—older, yes. But powerful. Hungry. The kind of man who devoured girls like her for breakfast and never looked back. He crawled onto the bed like a fucking panther, slow and deliberate, settling between her legs. Her dress had hiked up high enough to reveal her thighs, smooth and soft and begging to be touched.

“I should feel bad about this,” he muttered, hands sliding under the hem of her dress, dragging it up her body inch by inch. “But I don’t.”

“You really don’t,” she breathed, arching into him as his fingers found the edge of her panties.

Tony grinned. “Nope. Not even a little. You came up here looking for trouble, sweetheart...”

He dipped down, mouth brushing the inside of her thigh, hot and wet.

“...And you fucking found it.”

Tony’s lips trailed fire down the inside of her thigh, teasing the bare skin exposed by that dangerously short dress, and she gasped—half from surprise, half from the sharp heat spreading low in her belly. His hands gripped her thighs like he was marking territory, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate patterns just above the fabric of her panties.

“God, you’re so fucking soft,” he murmured against her skin, voice husky and low. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

She shivered under his touch, eyes dark and hungry, and Tony was already pulling those panties aside with a cocky smirk—because why waste time?

His tongue flicked out, teasing her folds, licking a wet stripe up her core, making her back arch off the sheets. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging him closer, breath hitching as he sucked a harsh kiss right where she wanted him most.

“Stark...” she gasped, voice raw.

“It’s Tony,” he murmured against her, sliding two fingers inside her with a slow, torturous rhythm. “You’re twenty-one, and you’re already making me this desperate. It’s criminal.”

“Maybe I want you to be desperate,” she whispered, voice thick with want.

Tony chuckled darkly, fingers curling inside her, thumb circling her clit with expert precision. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The age between them? It was electric. Forbidden. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a delicious, wicked violation.

He pulled back just long enough to unzip his pants, his cock springing free—hard, thick, and absolutely made for her. He leaned back in, aligning himself with a slow, deliberate slide that stole her breath away.

“You’re fucking someone old enough to be your father,” he said low, teeth grazing her ear, voice thick with lust and amusement.

“And you’re fucking someone young enough to be your daughter,” she shot back, biting his neck.

He slammed into her then, slow at first, savoring every inch, every gasp, every curve that clung to him. She clenched around him, a mix of shock and ecstasy tightening her muscles.

Tony’s hands roamed, gripping her hips, pulling her flush, hips snapping with a cruel kind of rhythm. “You’re mine tonight.”

Her nails raked down his back, breath ragged and wild. “Make me forget everything but you.”

The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, heavy breaths, whispered curses, and the delicious tension of two bodies out of sync with the world — perfectly, dangerously in tune with each other.

This has BEEEEN sitting in my drafts, and I thought I’d let it out of its shackles while I work on the part two of the Draco story 😆 its exam season too so bare with me💔

[petrichoravis]

Eternal Return. | s.r.

summary: you and Spencer have very different definitions of love.

word count: 2,6k

what to expect: spencer reid x reader, toxic relationship, gn!reader but written with fem!r in mind, mention of wanting to be hit, angst, reader is drunk for one millisecond, addiction but not of any substance but more as a metaphor, anger, fighting, suggestive towards the end but no smut, situationship needs its own warning, English is not my first language.

songs that inspired this fic: strangers - ethel cain, vortex - lizzy mcalpine, loving you will be the death of me - tom odell , limerence - lucy dacus

a/n: if you’ve seen this before, no you haven’t

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intro

When you look up the definition of the word eternal, many definitions will be presented to you.

One of them will be, that the word can be used to emphasize expressions of admiration, gratitude.

Another result will tell you that eternal can mean that something seems to last or persist forever, especially on account of being tedious or annoying.

Two things that seemed so opposing, that have the same name, but mean different things.

chorus

The neon lights made the glitter on your collarbone shine as you moved effortlessly around the dance floor. You felt truly alive for the first time in months.

A guy was eying you from across the club with hungry eyes, a girl was drooling, frozen in place as she watched your movements. God, it felt good to be hungered for, to be lusted after.

Spencer watched you, too, from where he leaned against the wall furthest from the dance floor. His eyes were always respectful, always so soft. He would never look at you like that. And as much as you knew this was hurting him, you just wanted it rougher, harder.

Both of you have been through your game enough to know how this would end, but it didn’t stop you from hoping that this time would be different every time.

Right now his eyes were sad, with his brows furrowed as he watched you dance with another guy.

You let the stranger’s hand wander lower this time, in hopes of pushing Spencer to the finality of his restraint. You wanted him to come over and rip the guy off of you. You wanted to be a possession.

But because Spencer was lovely, kind hearted Spencer, he watched from the sidelines as you moved your hips and let the guy kiss your neck.

It wasn’t that he didn’t hate what you were doing, he wanted to tell you to stop, to make you leave. It just simply didn’t feel like his place. He wasn’t confrontational—funny, given his job—especially not with you.

You got bored of the guy soon after and excused yourself to get another drink. It was Spencer’s opportunity to get you home.

Bumping into the people around him as he made his way towards you didn’t phase him at all, too focused on getting to you before you placed your order.

“I think you’ve had enough, love.” He whispered softly as he reached you. His hand caught on the small of your back.

“Doctor.” You slurred a little as you turned towards him. A seductive smirk adorned your lips. “I didn’t know you were here too.”

You came here together, but it felt like an unnecessary thing to mention in this moment.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get you home.” He apologised to the bartender for the inconvenience of having to make a drink that won’t be needed and payed for it regardless.

A whine left your mouth as he wrapped an arm around your torso and pulled you out of the club. “You’re such a spoilsport.”

“You will thank me tomorrow.”

“I doubt it. That guy was really hot.”

The pause you make let Spencer know that you were waiting for a reaction, but he refused to give it to you.

Prison changed Spencer, not in the good ways, either. He learned to be violent, to be harsh, to take a punch and hand out one that hurts twice as bad. But he refused to take it out on you.

He led you to his car, opening the door and buckling you in when you were seated. When he rounded the car and got inside, you had already unbuckled the seatbelt again.

“Don’t do that, it’s dangerous.” He scowled.

“No, it’s not. It’s more fun like that.” You grinned at him.

“Fun?” He asked, his voice raising a little. It was getting harder to restrain himself. “You think it’s fun to become a Projectile? To be thrown from the car or shaken up within it, potentially dying?”

The harshness of his voice only made your eyes gleam. It was exactly what you wanted, a reaction from the usually so composed Spencer Reid.

“No,” you said with the tone that one would say dummy, “the risk of it is fun.”

Spencer’s hands clenched around the stirring wheel, closing his eyes and taking a seen breath to calm down he manages to reply without a trace of anger in his voice. “Well, we’re not driving home until you’re safe.”

You blew a breath out of your nose, but moved to reach for the seatbelt. “Fine. But like I said, spoilsport. You could really loosen up a little, Doctor.”

Choosing not to engage further, Spencer started the car. The drive was quiet and you occasionally threatened to open the window and let your head hang out to fight this boredom.

You sobered up a little on the drive, the water he always kept in his car and fresh air clearing your head.

When you arrived at your place, Spencer parked the car and got out without a comment. You thought you had almost done it, pushed him far enough, until he opened your side of the car and helped you out.

“God, you’re unbearably kind, you know that?”

“There is no such thing as too much kindness.”

You knew he ment it, too, and that just made you want to push him more, to make him break through his carefully crafted facade of gentlemanliness.

Sadly, you didn’t think it was a facade, he was truly just good.

He further proved it when he knelt down in front of you to untie your shoes as you entered your apartment. It was clear that he was mad, his silence spoke volumes where his usual ramblings should be, but he still took his time to ensure your comfort.

“Hit me, Spencer,” you said almost calmly. You almost sounded like you were begging for it. “Come on, I know you want to.”

“I would never hit you, you know that.” He said, taking off your shoe. His voice shook a little with the energy he had to invest into holding back his emotions.

He refused to put even a finger on you in those situations. He will always refuse. But it was enough, for a while you were sated by the quiet flame of anger in his eyes, by his clenching fists and need to leave the room. But not for long. Not today.

“But why? It would help you get the anger out. I’m sure you have statistics on that.” You pushed on.

“I’m not angry at you.” The muscle at his jaw ticked as he took your other shoe off, placing them onto the shoe rack.

You scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

He stood, then, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. He didn’t say anything else when he opened his eyes to look at you.

Spencer didn’t hate you, it would be easier if he did. He loved you so much that he would give you everything of himself, even if it would kill him. But he would not harm you.

The worst part was that he knew it might cost him you.

You looked up at him with siren-like eyes that almost made him get back onto his knees and give you everything you wanted.

No, that wasn’t right. He wouldn’t be giving you what you wanted, would he? He would give you what he wanted you to want. Tender love, worship.

But it wasn’t what you wanted and it wasn’t fair to both of you.

Still, Spencer’s love for you was strong enough to take it and he would gladly, for being in your life was all he wanted, to be able to love you the way you deserved to be.

He watched you watch him and saw himself in the reflection of your eyes. Like the repeating mirror effect. A good metaphor for your relationship, he thought.

“It’s late, we’re both tired.” He said quietly, the exhaustion of the night catching up with him. “Just come to bed and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

You just rolled your eyes, your feed stayed anchored in the same place. “Come on. You must be mad at me.”

Spencer’s jaw clenched and he looked at you. Really looked at you. Looked at you like he hated you, despised you. Like he would rather be anywhere else but here with you.

A sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes to calm himself down again, but you wouldn’t give him a chance.

You just smirked, you had him where you wanted him. “He was all over me Spencer and I let him, I would’ve let him kiss me if you didn’t interfere. I would’ve let him do more, honestly. His hands felt so good—”

“Stop!” A bang as Spencer hit the wall with his flat hand. “Stop.” This time he said it as if he was in pain instead of seething with anger. His face didn’t look like he was full of hate anymore, the ugly emotion he never wanted to feel in relation with you was replaced by remorse.

“Yes,” he started, his voice cracking a little. He couldn’t look at you. “I am angry. Of course I hated his hands on you. I wanted to…” a shuddering breath, as if he couldn’t believe his thoughts. “But just because we’re…it doesn’t give me the right to pull him off of you, if him all over you is what you wanted.”

There is a short moment of silence where both of you debated what to say, thought about where this conversation would end. If this was the end, the push too far.

Stepping closer to him, you said, “What if I wanted you rip him off of me?” You were back to being sweet, now that you had gotten what you wanted from him. Sultry and smooth as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Then you have a very wrong picture of me.” He mumbled, looking at you, then. All he saw in your eyes was the satisfaction of pushing him to express his anger. And as much as it made him feel wrong, a sick part of himself enjoyed being pushed and pulled by you.

“Maybe,” you purred. Of course you saw that part of him, too, even in the dim lighting of the hallway in which he thought he was hiding so well. “Maybe I know you better than you know yourself.”

Another step closer to him and his hands went to your waist automatically. It reminded you why you stayed despite your differences. Even the worst people—the ones who claimed to be indifferent to phrase and worship—wanted to feel like gods from time to time.

Spencer said nothing, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes searched your face for any sign of remorse, but he wouldn’t find any, he’s been here often enough to know that he shouldn’t hope. But nothing was stronger than a hurt persons longing.

He just saw satisfaction and lust. You had been given what you wanted and now you were greedy for more. You had gotten a taste of blood.

Spencer was too aware of the fact that you weren’t a good person and every time he would bring you up in a conversation with Penelope or any other team member, they would reinforce that statement.

But how could he listen to them? It’s not like he fell in love with your goodness. It’s not like he was goodness impersonated either, so how could he fault you for it?

“Let’s go to bed.” You murmured seductively, you lifted up one of your hands to brush along his stomach over his shirt and, with satisfaction, felt his muscles clenched under your touch.

He let you lead him to your bed, then, let you push him down onto it.

His gaze never left you from where he sat, watching you as a strap of your tank top slipped off your shoulder. You made a show out of climbing onto his lap, all seductive and confident. Your knees on either side of his hips as you finally sat down.

You grinned down at him, kissing his cheek, his jaw. Spencer gave a soft breath and closed his eyes.

This was like an addiction, every time he swore he wouldn’t do this again, he already knew that he would give into it at the slightest temptation. He simply didn’t have the willpower to deny something that felt so good.

One of your hands cradled the back of his head, letting your fingers weave through his soft curls. Until you his pulled his hair to tip his head back. Spencer’s mouth opened in another soft gasp, this one closer to a moan.

You leaned down to capture his lips between yours and his head went silent. He had no time to be ashamed of what he did in the hallway, no time to be angry when your tongue licked his lips like it was right now.

Big hands on your hips, holding onto you like you might slip away. You groaned into each other’s mouth as you rocked together, clothes wearing thinner until they were in piles on the floor, heavy breaths forming clouds in the air.

He wanted to resist you, tell you that this was a bad idea. Connecting sexual acts with anger could reinforce a cycle of conflict and intimacy is what he would say if he could remember how to speak. But he couldn’t and what did it matter now, anyway? That cycle had long been closed and whether or not he gave into you one more time doesn’t make a difference now.

I won’t give in the next time it comes to this, he promised himself.

Spencer’s body sighed your name as he let himself fall back onto your bed, the shape of him on the mattress welcomed him back as you climbed on top of him.

Who wouldn’t choose the devil they knew over the heaven they didn’t when the devil looked this beautiful?

outro

Both of you would take this moment as a victory. Spencer got to worship and love you tonight. Tell you, you were the most beautiful person he has come across in his short life on this planet.

And you would take it as a victory to have watched him break, hit the wall and look at you as if he wanted it to be you instead.

The next week, like every week, you would repeat this play. Both of you would always end up back with the other again and Spencer would always promise himself that this time would be the last.

But there will not be a last time, not in quite some time.

You would always find him in the right moment (or the wrong moment, if you will, it were his weakest moments that you seemed to be able to smell like a hound). In a bar or a club, maybe even in his apartment this time, the location didn’t matter.

Because you wanted the hurt, the raw skin, the taste of blood in your mouth. You wanted the part of love that kills. But you wanted it from Spencer.

And he wanted the nurturing kind of love. The one where there is trust, fleeting touches of fingertips against soft skin, kisses that feel like spring, a bed for two. But he wanted it with you.

The Eternal Return of two people who wanted to love the other, but had two very different definitions of the term. It’s not their fault that there is one word that encompasses so many different meanings.

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[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[saberlight1]

lovefool — billy the kid

pairing: billy bonney x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, fluff, Y/N usage, reader is a cowgirl and gunslinger, hints towards murder, one bed trope, standard billy the kid warnings.

authors note: hii!!! i’m so happy to be writing about billy, thank you anon for sending in this request that this is based off of. i loved the show and slowly am getting more obsessed with tom blyth everyday i swearrr. i hope you enjoy!

masterlist

You and the boys damn near fell through the doors of some random boarding house you came across— the lot of you attempting to run away from a rival gang that caught you stealing cattle.

Jesse threw 10 dollars down on the counter, more than enough to get rooms for you all. You had been running around all day— but the smell of gunpowder and crimson blood still clogged your nose hairs and adrenaline still pumped through your veins. You simply wanted a bath and to go the hell to bed.

But, who would you be to turn down Jesse’s smiling face, holding out a shot of whiskey for you.

You sighed, your hat tipping down with your head as you shook it, your hands rested neatly on your gun-belt, cowboy boot tapping softly on the floor as you pretended to weigh your options.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N.” He held it out for you. “Drink with us!”

You chuckled. “Why not,” You went to sit down at the bar next to them.

“Hell yeah!” Jesse and the rest of the boys who were scattered around the bar cheered— you normally weren’t one for their after hour shenanigans.

“Only for a little bit, though. I’m tired as hell.” You said, downing the whiskey shot.

“Sure,” Jesse waved you off with a knowing look, ordering a couple more rounds for you all. You laughed, going along with his antics as always. You had known Jesse since you were young— he was the one who had vouched for you in this group, who had helped you gain the respect that you had today.

You let out a hiss at the burning feeling of that whiskey going down your throat, slamming the shot glass back onto the table.

“I’ll have what they’re havin’.” You heard that familiar husky voice from next to you. Billy Bonney stood with a small smirk toying on his lips as he sat down on the stool next to you. He nodded at the bartender when he slid him said shot, the outlaw throwing it back without hesitation.

“Where you been, cowboy?” You asked, slightly tipsy.

“Been at the Saloon playin’ Poker.” He responded.

“You win?”

His smirk only grew. “Sure did. It was a big pot too,”

“Good for you, Billy.” You smiled, turning back to grab you and him another shot. “To your winnings.” You cheered, the pair of you clinking your glasses together before downing them.

“Aye, y’all get that cattle?” He asked, leaning closer to you with a quieter voice. “Y’all stink of gunpowder.”

“Nah,” You shook your head. “Their boys came out— the shots scared the cattle away, and we ain’t have enough ammo to fight ‘em off so we had to cut and run. Shot a couple of them, though.”

He hummed. “We’ll get ‘em next time, Y/N, don’t worry.”

“I hope so. Jesse here is runnin’ up his tab right now and we barely got enough cash to buy food.” You shook your head with a bitter smile. “Aye, at least we got liquor.”

“We’ll figure it out— we always do.” Billy reminded with a comforting smile.

“Yeah.” You sighed, trying to push the worries away. You downed one last shot before pushing yourself off the bar stool. “Alright, boys, that bath is callin’ my name. See y’all tomorrow.” You turned, heading to the stairs as you heard a string of good nights.

After washing up, you put on a comfortable nightgown, heading to the room that matched the key Jesse had given you.

You carelessly threw the door open, the towel in your hands still wringing out your wet hair. But said towel almost fell from your grip once you saw a shirtless Billy standing in the middle of your room.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” You apologized as soon as his confused gaze landed on yours, backing out of the room. “Thought this was my room,”

He sighed, throwing on the shirt he was changing into before you walked in. “You’re good. Jesse told me downstairs that he ain’t have enough cash to get me a room— Hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather bunk with you than the one of the boys.”

“Oh, yeah, no, you can sleep in here. I don’t mind,” You nodded, walking in and shutting the door, placing your gun-belt down on the nightstand. Your eyes drifted to the small twin bed before you, your gaze going back up to Billy’s nervously.

“I can sleep on the floor, it’s alright.” He immediately tried to come up with a solution, already knowing what you were thinking of.

“Billy, I’m sure your back hurts just as bad as mine— if not more.” You waved him off. “I don’t want you to wake up even more sore tomorrow. It’s fine.. I ain’t scared of sleepin’ in the same bed as you. Unless you’re scared of sharin’ with me,” You lightly teased, laying down onto the bed, opening the covers for him.

A soft smile crept onto his lips. “Now, why would I be afraid of such a pretty lil’ thing like you?” He poked back, his words sending a blush to your cheeks as he got into bed, taking you up on your offer. The bed was quite small, and to ensure Billy wouldn’t fall off you were kinda hanging off the side.

A giggle left your lips. “There’s no way I’m not gon’ roll off this bed in my sleep and face plant onto the floor.”

He laid on his back, one arm thrown behind his head so he could look down at you. His gaze lingered onto yours for a moment— and you could see the gears turning in his brain. “Here,” He flipped onto his side, his hands slowly tugging you into him so your back was to his chest, his arm loosely hung around your waist. “I won’t let you fall,” He whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” You leaned up to blow out the candle lit next to you before snuggling back into his arms, smiling. “G’night, Billy.”

His arms tightened around you, and you could hear a faint chuckle from behind you, the man placing a soft kiss to your head. “G’night, darlin’.”

[tomssexdoll]

Forbidden Allure

PAIRINGS: Tom 2017 x Female reader

CONTENT: SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom was a well known gangster, the leader of his gang and feared by many in town. He was loud, violent and obnoxious around others but around Y/N he was charming, sweet and funny. One day he came into the bar she worked at, his charm finally working after a while, causing her to flee her shift early and going back home with him, despite the constant warnings from her coworkers.

A/N: if you want to be tagged or i accidently missed your tag comment on my pinned masterlist <3

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), eating out, teasing, mentions of gangs and alcohol

Tom was apart of a gang, being the leader of said gang he was always loud, violent and obnoxious, feared by many in the town. He loved to ride his motorcycle down to the pub I worked at, his noisy engine always altering me of his presence and always flashing me a charming smile when he came in.

Although his ego was huge I couldn't help but feel attracted to him, he was hot after all, his muscles always on display when he crossed his arms, his sharp, masculine jawline on display even with his beard. His sharp, piercing eyes that always stared into mine. His plump, soft lips and his large, calloused hands, gripping his whiskey glass. He was quite older, I was 22 and he was 28.

My co-workers always told me to stay as far away as possible as I could from him, reminding me that although he was hot he was also a dangerous asshole who would probably get me killed or break my heart.

One day I was cleaning some glasses to make new drinks when he bursted through the door, his heavy boots thundering on the floor. His crew followed behind him, laughing and joking loudly. He spotted me behind the bar and winked at me, his grin wolfish. He sauntered up to the bar and slammed his hands down on the counter, making me jump a little.

"Welcome Tom..." I sighed, "what would you like today?" I put on a smile, masking my fear. "Same as always sweetheart," he said, his voice low and gruff. He leaned in close to the bar, his eyes never leaving mine, "whiskey, neat." His crew crowded around the bar, placing their orders with the other bartenders, but Tom's focus was solely on me.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off a 20 dollar bill and tossing it on the counter "keep the change," his voice rough. "Way to flex your money," I rolled my eyes playfully, grabbing the bill and putting it in the till (that rhymed omg). He chuckled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "just taking care of my favourite bartender," he leaned back against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, showcasing his muscles as he usually did.

He grabbed his glass of whiskey, taking a long sip, his eyes never leaving mine, "you look real good tonight sweetheart" I smiled and blushed, giggling nervously, "thanks tom..you do too," I answered, my heart pounding in my chest.

His gaze sharpened and he leaned in close, "I do, huh?" he said, his voice a low purr. His hand reached out and grabbed mine, pulling it toward him. "You know," he started, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. I blushed even harder, looking up at him, "yeah..?" I said softly.

"I think about you all the time..." he confessed, "about how soft your skin is.." his thumb tailed up my wrist, making me shiver. "About how sweet your lips look," his gaze dropped to my mouth. "I wonder what it would be like to kiss you.."

My eyes widened, my heart ready to jump out of my throat, "I uh..." I stammered over my words. "I'm just teasing you baby.." he chuckled, loving to see the affect he had on me. But the truth was, he wasn't just teasing me. He's been watching me for months, admiring from afar, he's seen how kind I am and how hard I work. How I light up the room with my smile, but I didn't need to know that, Tom kept it a secret, even from his closest friends and family.

Toms gang members walked over, teasing me and tom, "careful Tom, you're gonna kill the poor girl," one of them commented, he chuckled and put his hands up, "my bad, my bad" he took another long sip of his whiskey.

I focused my attention on other customers, taking their orders and pouring their drinks. He watched as I moved around the bar, my smile never fading. He loved how dedicated I was to my job, how different I was to the others, always being social and friendly with all customers, no matter how scary they looked.

He took one last big gulp, signalling to me for another one. I quickly walked over, pouring him another drink and sliding it to him.

As I cleaned the glasses, he caught my attention, sliding over an 100 dollar bill. "Consider it a tip," Tom said, "for being so damn sexy..." he winked at me, chuckling as my face flushed a colour of red. I nodded and tucked it into my apron, "thanks Tom.." I muttered.

I went on my smoke break, walking outside and lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out into the cold night sky. Tom slipped outside behind me, "leaving so soon?" he chuckled, gently wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his side.

"I guess so," I giggled, "you know you shouldn't smoke, it's bad for you.." he said, his breath hot against my ear, my heart pounded in my chest, the tension building up. "I know.." I mumbled, looking up at him. His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me even loser. His body was warm against the cold night air.

"I can think of better things to do with your mouth than put a cigarette in it," he murmured in my ear, "and your body.." he smirked, taking my earlobe between his teeth and gently nibbling. My hands slightly trembled as I brought the cigarette to my mouth again.

His hand came to cover my mouth, his fingers pressing against my lips to stop me from bringing the cigarette back to my mouth, "no.." he said firmly, turning my chin to face him. "You're so beautiful..." he muttered, his eyes bored into mine, filled with a fierce intensity.

"So delicate..." he smirked, his eyes flickering down to my lips. Slowly he leaned in, his lips parting as they met mine in a soft, gentle kiss. I kissed back, deepening it and slipping my tongue into his mouth. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against his chest as the kiss became more passionate.

His hands roamed over my back, my sides, my hips. When he finally pulled back he placed a soft kiss on my neck, "come back home with me baby.." he whispered against my skin. I nodded and walked over with him to his motorcycle, holding onto him tightly, not caring about the hours left of my shift.

He revved the engine of his motorbike, feeling my arms wrap around his waist, my body pressed against his. Feeling my heartbeat against his back as he held on tight. With a grin, he took off, speeding through the night streets.

We arrived shortly to his home, parking the motorcycle in his garage. He helped me off, taking my hand and leading me into the house. His movements confident and sure. As soon as the door was shut behind me, he was on me again, his hands roaming over my body as he kissed me deeply.

"Bedroom..now.." I whispered against his lips. He growled in approval, his arms tightening around me as he picked me up, carrying me to his bedroom. He quickly dropped me down onto the bed, his eyes never leaving mine as he began to unbuckle his belt. "You're so fucking beautiful.." he murmured, pushing me down and climbed on top of me, shedding my jacket off and throwing it aside.

He began to pepper kisses from my neck to my chest, his hands continuing to roam over my body, eventually unbuttoning my shirt and also tossing it aside, not caring where it ended up.

He took a moment to admire my body, quickly unclipping my bra and groaning at the sight of my bare tits, leaning down to kiss my chest, pushing my tits together and circling his tongue over my sensitive nipples. I could feel his erection pressing against me through his pants, practically begging to be let out.

"So beautiful..oh my god.." he grunted, sucking and licking my tits. "I need to eat you out..now..I need to taste your sweet pussy.." he groaned, frantically sliding down my body and pulling my pants down roughly, his face flushed, his breathing heavy as he finally got them off.

He buried his face between my thighs, his mouth hot through the fabric of my underwear, growling in frustration and ripping the material, exposing me to him. My pussy throbbed at his roughness, biting my lip softly. "Please..." I whined, growing impatient, he sensed it and chuckled, "oh don't worry baby, i'm just getting started," his tongue flicked out, tasting me, his eyes watching as I squirmed beneath him.

"You're so wet.." he groaned, his voice gravelly. He slid a finger inside of me, then another, pumping in and out as his mouth latched onto me. The pleasure heightened with every second he ate me out, loud moans escaping from my lips, my back arching, silently begging for more.

His fingers curved upwards, finding that sweet spot inside of me as he continued to suck on my clit. He could feel my body quivering underneath him and gripped my hips, holding me down as he feasted on me. My cries grew louder, my body bucking against his mouth.

I whined, my moans only growing louder, "keep going, so fucking good!" he smirked and doubled his efforts, his fingers slamming in and out of me, he could feel me getting closer to the edge, "cmon baby...that's it.." he encouraged, his voice muffled against my flesh.

My body was limp and spent but he showed no mercy, his mouth working tirelessly to draw out my orgasm as quick as possible, desperately needing my sweet juices. His fingers kept pumping inside me in a punishing rhythm, never stopping for even one second, my voice hoarse from screaming.

His tongue kept lashing out, flicking against my clit as he drank down my juices, he ate greedily, his stubble chafing my inner thighs deliciously. "Tom, please, it's too much!" I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tightly. The pain turned him on, only egging him on. "Shut up and take it..you know you fucking love it.." he grunted, diving back in and attacking my clit with vigor.

My legs shook violently as my orgasm crashed down, my cries echoing through the room. "That's it baby..." he chuckled, "come for me like the good girl I know you are.." he slurped up all of my ecstasy, moaning in delight.

"Now....time for the main course," he panted, his hands sliding down to his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down his thighs, kicking them off as they reached his strong legs. He pulled me further onto the bed, letting my head rest against the pillows.

"You did so well for me.." he leaned down and kissed me passionately, letting my juices and our saliva mix. He pulled back, only to push down his boxers, his thick, throbbing cock springing out, precum leaking from his red tip.

"Ohhh fuck, look what you've done to me baby.." he chuckled darkly, lining himself up with my entrance and smashing his lips into mine again, letting our tongues dance as he slowly pushed the tip inside.

Toms hands gripped my backside, lifting me up as he slowly pushed inside. He ground his hips against mine, burying himself deeper with each thrust. He could feel me stretching around him, my warmth enveloping him. He swallowed my whimpers with passionate kisses.

He started to quicken his pace, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he pounded into me. His hands gripped my hips tightly, lifting me up to meet his powerful thrusts, slamming me up and down onto his thick cock.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with my loud moans and his low grunts, "look at what you do to me, drive me fucking crazy every time you giggle when you serve me at the bar, you fucking tease" he moved his hand down and smacked my thigh, almost like he was trying to punish me.

My tits bounced wildly with each brutal thrust, his eyes glued to my bouncing breasts, his mouth watering at the sight. He leaned down, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting as he continued to thrust into me, his other hand reaching up, squeezing and kneading my other breast.

I whined and moaned loudly, "oh my fucking god! Tom!" I practically screamed, holding onto him tightly, my back arching off the bed. His fingers dug into my flesh, holding me down as he slammed into me. His hips moved at a punishing pace, moving with a ferocity that left us both breathless. He could feel my walls tightening around him, my release slowly approaching, "so good...fucking take it all baby, take my thick cock," he hissed.

He kept feasting on my tits, absolutely obsessed with them, groaning lowly and destroying my pussy. His mouth moved to my other breast, his tongue swirling around my hardened peak. He lifted his head to watch as he continued to drive into me, his pace frantic, "look at how you take me.." he grunted, grabbing a fistful of my hair and forcing me to look at his cock sliding in and out of me so perfectly.

"Gonna cum!" I whined, feeling a knot form in my stomach, twisting and turning as my climax rapidly approached, he smirked and let go of my hair, reaching down and rubbing my clit furiously, watching as my eyes rolled to the back of my head, my orgasm crashing down, "FUCK!" I squealed, cumming on his cock, my juices spilling down his hard shaft.

His face contorted in pleasure at my tight pussy wrapping around his cock tightly like a snake, my inner walls milking him. He leaned down and buried his face into my neck his breath hot against my skin as he pistoned into me a few more times before stilling, his own release flooding into me.

"Holy fuck..." he said, breathless. His chest heaved deeply as he collapsed onto the bed beside me, collecting me in his arms and holding me close. "Oh you did so good...oh my god.." he panted, peppering kisses onto my forehead.

My head was hazy, I could barely keep my eyes open, he took notice of this and gently chuckled, pulling the covers over us, "get some rest honey...you did so fucking good.." he mumbled, closing his eyes with me and allowing himself to rest.

tags: @ballhair @bills-wife-1 @ella1289

tags: @bkaulitzlover @miyukafujii @billsdolliest

tags: @tomscumdoll @tomkslut @tomsfuckdoll

[marauder-misprint]

Okay, that may be an absurd request. But isn't that what fan fiction is for after all?!

Tom Riddle / Voldemort's daughter!reader and Sirius balck. I need a violent(!) love-hate relationship. (A spoiler for you about my current love life:))

If it's okay for you to write, I'd love to read from you.

And if possible, I would prefer Sirius who graduated from Hogwarts, maybe never sent to Azkaban or just released. It is a pleasure to read a little in adulthood.

Thank you very much in advance 🤍🤍🤍

Hi! I hope your love life is going better (And seriously, if you need someone to talk to about your current situation, I'm here for you)

Idk how violent love-hate this is. I tried to do an enemies to lovers type of thing? Hopefully you enjoy this ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

It's set post-war, James and Lily are dead and Sirius is raising Harry w/ Remus.

Blood is(n't) everything

Sirius Black x Riddle!reader

part 2

4.5k words

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, the tiniest bit of fluff, discussion of war, drinking

You knew from the moment you were born that you had Helga Hufflepuff’s blood running through your veins. Your mother was the niece of Hepzihab Smith, who constantly bragged about being a Hufflepuff descendant. You should have been a shoo-in for Hufflepuff when you arrived at Hogwarts. Imagine everyone’s surprise when you got sorted into Slytherin. 

I guess blood isn’t everything, you mused time and time again. 

You felt very at home in Slytherin. People seemed to get you. Part of you felt slightly bad that you agreed with the ones that said “Better than Slytherin than Hufflepuff if you ask me.” Hufflepuff, despite being family, felt soft and you were anything but. 

Voldemort’s main rise to power occurred while you were in school. You paid attention to who agreed with his beliefs and who didn’t. Knowing where people’s beliefs and loyalties laid, all while keeping yours close to your chest, allowed you to be on good terms with a wide variety of people. 

But as Voldemort gained more and more followers, you grew more curious about him. It took a bit of digging and research. You found out when he might’ve attended Hogwarts and from a meticulously careful conversation with Professor Slughorn, you discovered his real name. A name he stopped going by. Tom Riddle. 

That might not mean anything to any of your peers, but it did to you. Your mother had mentioned your father to you a handful of times, saying how charming he was and how kind he was to visit her aging aunt. Tom Riddle was your father and that made you a descendant of Slytherin, just like he was. 

Maybe blood is everything. 

---

Years passed and your father fell at the hands of James and Lily Potter. The ministry tried rounding up all of the known Death Eaters. Anyone with the mark would be put away. Lucky for you, you never took the mark. Your name was enough. You hadn’t taken part in some of the more heinous activities, but your connection to your father’s followers was obvious. You had worked to convince uncertain witches and wizards that blood status meant everything. 

Now that Voldemort had fallen, you returned to holding your beliefs close to your chest again. You found a job that was able to ignore whatever past you had with the Dark Arts and while some did remember your part in upping Voldemort’s numbers, you were able to move on with your life. For the most part, that is.

“How the hell did trash like you manage to stay out of Azkaban?” Sirius drawled from behind where you sat at the bar. 

You clicked your tongue as you looked over your shoulder. You had hoped for a quiet night. A few drinks at the bar and then off to bed. That was your plan. 

“Black, lovely. Can’t say I know what you mean though.”

“We all know about your connection to your father.”

“Being born isn’t enough to lock someone up.”

“It should be,” he sighed, moving closer to the bar to signal the bartender to pour him a drink. “Although, you did more than be born.”

“No one can prove I did anything to be locked up over.” You took a sip of your drink. “Say, how is the Potter boy? You and that half blood are taking care of him now that his mummy and daddy are in the ground?” 

Sirius’ face immediately burned. He tipped the bottom of your cup upward so your drink spilled all over your lap. You hummed nonchalantly, waving your hand over yourself to dry your clothes. 

“Classy, Black. Real classy.”

“You have no right to talk about the Potters,” he hissed. 

“Another one, sir,” you called to the bartender and then turned your gaze back to the man standing next to you. “Why’s that?”

“You damn well know why.”

“I mean, technically, they killed my father so me and that boy got something in common, don’t we?”

Sirius looked like he was about to punch you. The bartender came to your rescue though, handing you another cocktail and Sirius his shot. He threw it back and immediately asked for another. 

“But speaking of families… How are Regulus and Walburga? Haven’t heard from either recently.”

“Regulus is… he’s dead,” Sirius said firmly. “And Mother, who the hell knows or cares. Why were you in contact with her?”

“Shame about Regulus. I liked ‘im,” you replied, not answering Sirius’ question.

The answer was actually quite innocent. You had wanted to talk to her about being a well-positioned woman in a noble family and Regulus had connected you. 

“Just another casualty to blame on your family,” Sirius grumbled, tossing back the second shot. 

“You seem to have a lot of thoughts on the matter. Care to sit and talk about it?” you asked, your tone mocking.

You really didn’t expect Sirius to sigh and then take the stool next to you. Despite not being vocal about your beliefs in school, you and Sirius never really got along. You were a Slytherin afterall and he hated each and every one in your house, even Regulus. There had been one kiss between the two of you — that game of spin the bottle was the end of your participation in party games. And then after school, you really went your separate ways. So to say that you and Sirius weren’t even really acquaintances would be correct. 

“You helped tear apart families. Innocent people were killed. Over what? Purifying wizardkind?” he snarked before ordering a whiskey.

A sipping drink, you thought, that means he’s going to sit here. 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you said. “Loyalty to family and all.”

“Please, if you really knew my family… You would’ve left too. Actual Slytherin families are far worse than the Hufflepuffs who raised you.”

You shook your head. “For someone who preaches not judging, you are quick to judge.”

“What?”

“Not all Slytherins are the same, which you should know. I’ve heard about Andromeda.” You swirled your drink before taking a slow sip. “But if you think home was all sunshine and roses, especially after my sorting, you’re well mistaken.” 

“S’pose that would’ve been disappointing for your mum.”

You gave a dry laugh. “A bit, yeah. Even after I reminded her that my dad was in Slytherin.”

There’s a few moments of silence between you as you each work on your drink. You are both thinking back to your sortings and the letters from home that followed. Disappointment emanated from each stroke of ink. You weren’t where you were supposed to. You managed to stray from your blood — well, you didn’t stray from your blood but at the time, you thought you did. 

“He wouldn’t have been a loving father, you know,” Sirius said. 

“And you’d know that?”

Sirius nodded. 

“How do you reckon you and your friend are doing?” you asked, beginning with genuine curiosity. Then a twisted part of you continued, “Going to throw him to the streets if he doesn’t get sorted into Gryffindor?”

Sirius let out a long, deep sigh. You assumed he was regretting sitting down. You didn’t need to know Sirius all that well to be able to press his buttons. He was simply that predictable. 

“He has so much crimson and gold in his blood-” Sirius started to say, but you cut him off.

“You’d have me believing that blood doesn’t mean shit, though!”

“Listen here, you little bitch.” His patience was running thin.

“I will if you commit. Does blood mean everything or not? Because if it does, then your boy’s a Gryffindor and I can be damned for being a Riddle but all those little mudbloods taint wizardkind. If it means nothing, then I’m innocent and you can be whoever you want to be.”

“You’re damned because you preached He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s agenda.”

“I’m damned for worse things,” you said with a wicked grin adorning your lips. “You know, those things no one can prove were me.”

Suddenly, Sirius whipped his wand out and had it pressed against your throat under your chin. His eyes bore into yours. You showed no fear, your grin only widened.

“What’re you going to do? Curse me? Hex me? Kill me?”

“I oughta…”

“Oi! Take it outside!” the bartender yelled.

You smirked, placing a few galleons on the counter. 

“On me, Black.” You stood up, Sirius’ wand moving with you. “You heard the man. This is a respectable business. If you have issues with me, we’ll take it outside.”

You turned your back on Sirius and made for the door. You looked back at him. He stood unmoving by the counter where you left him. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, pretty boy. Or do I need to insult you some more?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes in your direction, but he followed you anyway. Once outside, you led him into an alley. 

“I feel like you’re going to murder me back here…” he muttered. 

You kicked over a crate so that it was a good height for you to sit on. Sirius, however, chose to remain standing. He did lean against the grimy wall with a steady grip on his wand. 

“If anyone’s being murdered out here, it’s me. Trust me, you’re not the only one who’d like to see me six feet in the ground.” 

“If you really think I’d kill you, why did you insist I come out here with you?”

“Because I don’t think you’ll do it. You don’t have it in you. Not in cold blood. If we were dueling, then maybe. But if I’m sitting here, looking pretty with my wand tucked away, I’m perfectly safe with you.”

Sirius frowns. He doesn’t retort with anything because he knows you’re right. Yes, you were the daughter of the man who killed two of his best friends. Yes, he knew you did horrid things, but you were right that no one could prove you did anything more than preach the inferiority of muggleborns. He couldn’t justify killing you. 

You tilted your head as you viewed Sirius in the alley’s low lighting.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a waste of pureblood?” That genuine curiosity had returned.

“All the time. Right up there with being told I’m a disappointment and a stain on the Black name. But, do tell, why do you think I’m a waste?”

“You don’t seem to want to settle down and have a family.”

That caught Sirius off-guard. He had more-or-less settled down to raise Harry, but besides the little boy and Remus, he didn’t have any desire for a family. His hadn’t given him that want and he had found that he could live without it. 

“You’re pretty. You have good blood in you, whether you acknowledge it or not. I hear plenty of people actually like you. You’re just like a few moral standards short of being the perfect bachelor.”

“Like you know anything of moral standards…” 

You stood up and walked over to Sirius. You stood right in front of him, close enough to feel his whiskey-scented breath. You dragged the backside of your hand down his cheek. 

“Just because my morals are different than yours doesn’t mean mine don’t exist.”

“Yet you just said mine didn’t-”

“No, I didn’t. I said you were short,” you corrected him, cutting him off again. “You could… raise them. Higher standards are what you need. Then you’d surround yourself with better people.”

Sirius gave your shoulders a push to make you step away from him.

“I’m only surrounded by the lowest of the low when I’m around your kind,” he spat. 

“Those willing to do anything for their families?” 

Sirius didn’t give any warning. He slashed his wand, sending you flying backwards into the crate you had been sitting in earlier.

“You can’t preach doing anything and having morals at the same time, sweetheart,” he snarled, slowly approaching where you laid in the splintered wood.

“I disagree,” you groaned. You reached for your wand and a quick wave had flames shooting out of it.

Sirius jumped out of the way, but it gave you a moment to rise to your feet. 

“Sometimes-” You sent more flames out of your wand, causing Sirius to jump out of the way. “-you have set aside-” More flames and he deflected. “-what some consider good so that you can have a moment-” Flames singed the edges of Sirius’ clothing. “-with your absent father.”

“Fathers aren’t worth it!” He shot a geyser of water in your direction. 

“Then you haven’t properly longed for one.” Enchanted ropes wrapped themselves around Sirius’ feet and he fell to the ground. 

Another wave of your wand had his being ripped from his hands. You caught it with ease.

“Your little Order didn’t teach you to duel all that well, did it?” you cooed as you stood over him. Now with his wand in your hands, the ropes bound his hands as well. “You should really consider your opponent before you engage, Black.” 

Then you sat just out of his reach. You knew better than to sit too close, even with his extremities bound, Sirius could do damage to you.

“You’re sitting?”

You nodded. “I offered to talk inside and you’re the one bringing magic into it all. Figured maybe you do want to talk, but you’re too hot headed to do so civilly.” You paused before adding thoughtfully, “Orion got that way.”

“I’m nothing like my father,” Sirius snarled.

“Oh, don’t say nothing. You two are plenty alike. Just… aligned differently.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“How do I say this in a way that won’t piss you off more?” You clicked your tongue as you thought, taking your time as if to prove to Sirius that this interaction was now on your time. “Your family likes the cosmos, right? Think of it like this: you each have your north star that you follow. Or you’re both looking for the brightest star but you have different hemispheres.” You tilted your head as you tried to study Sirius’ expression. “I’m sure he thought he was raising you the right way in the same way you think you’re raising the Potter boy the right way.”

“My father didn’t care for me or Regulus.”

“Au contraire, Black. You should know that he absolutely adores Regulus. And as stubborn as you were, he loved you until you got sorted into Gryffindor and made a bigger mess than he could clean up.”

“How would you know that?”

“Oh, did you not know I’ve been for tea for Walburga several times? And Orion likes to have a few after, as you should know.” 

“I’m aware… Bit weird you had tea with my mother though…”

You shrugged. “I needed advice.”

“You?” Sirius scoffed. “You needed advice?”

“Never claimed to know it all.”

“You sure act like it.”

“And you act like the most righteous person in the ally, yet you cast the first spell.”

Sirius didn’t respond and you didn’t continue. You twirled your wand in between your fingers. You could feel Sirius watching your dexterity. You wanted him to be the next one to talk. He clearly had more to say to you, but he remained silent. 

After a few minutes of nothing, you sighed and waved your wand to unbind Sirius. He rubbed his wrists immediately after. You were surprised that he didn’t reach for his wand right away. He did after a few moments and adjusted himself so he was sitting across from you.

“Is it lonely for you?” you asked in a soft voice. “Living in the aftermath of the war.”

Sirius blinked slowly. Your words sank in slowly. 

“I… I lost a lot of friends, but I wouldn’t say I’m lonely. The survivors, we make do. We’re there for each other. I have Remus. The Weasleys. Dumbledore when I need him. Mad-Eye Moody is a character. We support each other.” He stared at you. “Are you lonely?”

“Didn’t live my life for friends. And the friends I did have? Dead. Apparently all of them. Or Azkaban.” You chuckled softly. “Bit sad, innit?”

“You chose that life.”

“I chose chasing a family who, I should’ve known this, didn’t want me. And I chose protecting myself. Chasing family and being safe shouldn’t leave me alone.”

“I chased a family and I protected myself,” Sirius said. “It was a chosen family, rather than blood. And I protected others in addition to myself. That’s how you don’t end up alone.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too late for me.” You sighed and then looked at Sirius. “You have your wand. Why don’t you get it over with or leave me alone?”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I disagree with you on so much, but… the life of a disappointing family is something I’m far too familiar with.”

“If you hadn’t put a wand to my throat, I’d say let’s go back inside and get a drink,” you said dryly.

Then Sirius stood up and extended his hand. “There are other bars, Smith. Next one’s on me.”

You found a different bar. The two of you sat, drank and discussed the war and everyone you lost to it. You talked about being disappointed in your father’s reaction to your existence and wanting to be worth something to him. Sirius listened, nodding. He got where you were coming from, even if he sorely disagreed with everything Tom Riddle stood for. Sirius loved pissing his family off, being everything they hated, but he knew that life wasn’t for everything. Some people needed that feeling of acceptance. Hell, even he did and he found that in the Potters. 

When the night came to its end, Sirius said, “You know, you don’t have to be quite so lonely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saturday. Hippogriff’s Nest at eight?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” you asked with a sly smile. You knew he wasn’t.

“Yeah, right,” he said sarcastically. “I’m offering a conversation and some drinks. Between… acquaintances?”

“Yeah, alright.” Your answer wasn’t sarcastic.

Sirius nodded and disapparated. You followed suit after one more drink.

It was the start of a pattern. Every few nights, you’d meet with Sirius to talk about anything and everything. You discussed childhoods and your years at school. Your singular kiss came up briefly, and you’re not sure who wanted to change the subject quicker. Sometimes one of you would go too far with an insult and spells would be exchanged. That was why you rarely visited the same bar twice; you weren’t sure if you’d be let back in. 

Slowly but surely, you felt the acquaintanceship melt into something fonder. You started to consider Sirius as your friend. You personally disliked how you really should’ve considered him your best friend, given that many of your other friends were people you almost never spoke to anymore.

---

“Padfoot, what the bloody hell is this?” Remus demanded as he threw the Daily Prophet down in front of him.

“That’d be the newspaper, Moony,” Sirius said casually. 

“What’s in the paper?”

Sirius glanced down momentarily. “You got it open to Skeeter’s gossip section. That’s rubbish and you know it.”

“Read it,” Remus hissed.

With a roll of his eyes, Sirius looked down at the paper again. This time reading the headline, “FAMILY TIES?”, and seeing the picture of you and him, both of you looking at each other and moving with an air of affection. Sirius turned bright red and couldn’t look at Remus. He hadn’t told his cohabitor that he had been meeting with you.

“You know I wouldn’t normally believe anything she writes, but that?” Remus pointed to the picture. “That is pretty damning, Pads. You know who she is.”

“I do,” Sirius muttered.

“Then tell me what the fuck this is? How do you explain this?” 

“It’s a drink. People tend to get them at bars.”

“And the picture? You talked to her? At least help some kind of conversation with her? How were they able to get this picture?”

Remus sounded exasperated. As he should, Sirius thought. 

“Sit down, Remus,” he said, trying to maintain his own composure. He wasn’t ready to explain everything to his best friend just yet. When Remus took a seat, Sirius continued, “I’m giving her a second chance.”

“She doesn’t deserve one.”

“Remus, listen. We’ve been talking-” 

“Ugh!” 

“I knew you’d react this way. That’s why I didn’t tell you! I know what she’s done, what she’s supported-”

“Who she’s related to!” Remus exclaimed bitterly.

“Who she’s related to. But you know she can choose her blood as much as I can.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending the Dark Lord’s daughter. Imagine what James would say!”

“He would question me. He’d be on your side. He’d be bloody furious at me. I have every reason to hex her into next millenia. And yet, I can’t help it. I’m giving her a second chance and she has yet to blow it.”

“When she blows it, she’ll take you down with her.”

“It’s not a when, Moony. It’s an if and I don’t think she will.” 

“It’s your own damn funeral.”

“I know.”

Remus held his head in his hands for a minute, too upset and frustrated to even look at Sirius. 

“How long have you been seeing her?” Remus asked the table.  

“We’ve been getting drinks for a few months now, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Months? Padfoot!”

“Like I said, she hasn’t burned me yet.” He paused and chuckled to himself. “Well, she’s burned my clothes.”

Remus’ head snapped up. “What?”

“We’ve dueled. Several times. She’s a big fan of fire curses.”

“Merlin’s fucking beard. You’re drinking with someone who’s trying to literally burn you?”

“She tries to burn me, I try to bleed her out,” Sirius said with a shrug. 

Remus was infuriated with how casual he was acting about it.

“She’s the bloody daughter of the Dark Lord and you’re… you’re… you’re…”

“Helping her move on from her past.”

“I can’t… I can’t with you right now.” 

Remus got up from the table and walked away. Sirius remained in the kitchen and read the column about you and Sirius. He knew so much of it was exaggerated and misinterpreted. He was certain that you had never leaned in close enough to kiss him that entire night. He rolled his eyes at the article. But he kept looking back at the photo. The photo’s version of him was looking at you with an inexplicably fond gaze. And you were returning it. 

Had he been looking at you like that? Had you been looking at him like that? Why did he feel like he needed to know?

It gave Sirius something to think about before he saw you again a few days later. 

You met at the bar, like you usually did. You ordered your drinks. You told him about your day at work. He told you about Harry’s latest neighborhood adventures. It was a normal conversation. 

Then Sirius cleared his throat.

“Did you see Rita Skeeter’s article?” he asked tentatively.

You shook your head with a frown. “With a family like mine? No, I tend to avoid the gossip section. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“Oh, I usually avoid it. Erm, Remus pointed out an interesting article to me. It’s all gossip, but still… interesting.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tilted your head. “Interesting how?”

“Just… eye-opening, I guess,” Sirius said.

He put some coins on the counter and took your hand. “Come with me.” 

You didn’t protest despite your confusion. You let Sirius lead you out of the bar and into the alley.

“Decided to finally kill after all?” you teased, thinking back to when Sirius first ran into you.

Instead of answering your question, Sirius slammed you into the wall. It was rougher than he intended, knocking the wind out of you. You tried to reach for your wand, but Sirius grabbed your wrist and pinned it to the wall next to your shoulder.

“I need to try something,” he whispered. 

He stared into your eyes for a second. Then he brought his lips to yours, barely brushing against them. You could feel him take a shaky breath. His lips pressed against yours with more force. Your body responded before you could get over your shock. You were kissing Sirius with more fervor than he was kissing you. His hand that wasn’t holding your wrist gripped your waist and your free hand made its way to his hair. 

When he pulled back, you made a desperate attempt to recapture his lips, but he moved away from you with his whole body. You stood against the wall as he stepped into the middle of the alley. He ran one hand through his hair and the other down his face.

“Fuck…” he whispered to himself. 

You watched him, confused. First he pulled you out of the bar and into the alley to kiss you and now he was acting like he just messed something up.

“What, Black?” you asked, your voice cutting through the darkness. “You got to talk to me. This ain’t Hogwarts.”

“Fuck…” he swore again, mostly to himself before turning to you. “It was better than the one at Hogwarts.”

You didn’t respond. You were unsure if you should say anything, because what Sirius just said didn’t really answer your question. Why was he so upset? 

“The article. Skeeter’s gossip. It was about us. And the article was utter bullshit. But the picture… the fucking picture…”  

“The picture made you want to kiss me?” you asked, disbelieving.

“The way I looked at you in the picture,” he corrected, his voice dropping lower. “I shouldn’t look at you like that, but…”

“But you do?” you asked softly. 

“Yeah, I fucking do. And I shouldn’t. Everything says I shouldn’t.”

“Right,” you said. You sounded hurt and a bit bitter. Which you had every right to sound. After everything you talked about and how much time you were spending together, you thought Sirius had moved on from some stuff. Apparently not. “So you look at me. And you kiss me. Yet you want nothing to do with me. I get it, Black, I do. I got Riddle blood and that’s an end all.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You just disapparated on the spot to your flat. Sirius stared at where you had been standing. He wasn’t done talking to you. He wasn’t done processing what he was feeling. And now you were gone. 

He can’t even follow you as he doesn’t know where you live. He figures that maybe he could send you an owl. Those birds can find anyone. 

Sirius disapparated himself, appearing in his kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and decided to drink the whole thing in the solitary of his room. All he wanted was to forget the look of hurt on your face when you said “I get it, Black, I do.” It took him no time at all to finish the bottle and pass out in his bed. His thoughts were plagued with your hurt expression and that bled into nightmares. As it turned out, Sirius cared for you more than he wanted to admit to himself and now he had to somehow undo the damage he did to you. 

Blood isn’t everything. And Sirius knows that more than anyone. Now, he needed to remind you of that. 

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.2

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: All the time Callum and Y/n were together in a movie.

Warning: Allusion to sex/ swearing/ kissing/ mention of being naked

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: The movies I selected are not starring Callum (except the only boy living in New York), and the other movies do not have the same actress, so use ✨️imagination✨️

The first time they were in a movie together was in The Only Boy Living in New York, she was playing Tomas’s best friend, and they needed to kiss multiple times. They had chemistry. That was one of the first things the directors told them. It was said in multiple interviews. After the movie came out, they stayed friends, talking to the other, telling each other what they were in. When they got cast in another movie together, as love interest, they were over the moon. Y/n had got the first role, and Callum got the sexy bartender role. The movie was called Burlesque, Y/n had to sing, and Callum thought she was amazing. The interviews that followed the movie were filled with teasing and flirting.

-

‘’Now, you guys already played love interest in the only boy living in New York, what was your reaction when you learned that you got to do that again?’’ the reporter asked. ‘’For me, I laughed. I was happy that it was him. This movie took me out of my comfort zone and to know that my co-star is one of my best friends was really soothing and yeah, and he’s good looking, so I couldn’t complain’’ she joked. Callum laughed. ‘’It was really fun, she was amazing, her singing was amazing. But yeah, we come as a package now, you want me, you get Y/n’’ he said, laughing. ‘’2 for the price of 1’’ she added to the joke.

-

The first time she was cast in something that Callum wasn’t in was in the remake of Footloose, she played Ariel. She was confident for this role, but without Callum, it was going to be weird. But the director had a surprise for her.

-

‘’Uh, sorry why does it say Callum beside the name of Bobby?’’ she asked. Bobby was supposed to be Ariel’s dead brother, but it had flash back scenes. As she said that, Callum entered the room. ‘’Holy shit!’’ she screamed in joy as she got off her chair to run in his arms. ‘’You two come as a package, I couldn’t separate you guys’’ the director said, laughing. ‘’It’s not a lot of scenes, but I thought this might be fun’’ he added. ‘’Thank you so much’’ Y/n chuckled.

-

Then, Callum and Y/n were cast as voice actors for a movie. The movie was Inside out, Y/n played Disgust and Callum played Fear. They had fun doing their voices, it was something new for the both of them. But the real surprise was when they both got cast in Master of the Air.

-

‘’Now, guys, ready to meet Callum’s love interest?’’ Tom Hanks asked the actors. They nodded and Y/n entered the room. At first, she was confused, but when she saw Callum, she started to laugh. ‘’No fucking way!’’ she laughed. ‘’The pair strikes again!’’ Austin Butler says, laughing. ‘’Who’s the pair?’’ Anthony Boyle asks. ‘’Them, they’re like the new Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter’’ Bary says. Y/n walked up to Callum to hug him, they were both giggling and blushing. ‘’We’re happy to say, that the cast is now complete! Welcome to the madness, Y/n’’ Steven Spielberg said. When they were shooting their scene, it was always amazing. They almost never had to do more than five takes. The only time they had to do more than five takes was their love scene.

-

‘’Action!’’ yelled the director. She was in a white dress, so when she would step underwater, it would become transparent. ‘’Rose, what are you doing here?’’ Callum said, in an American accent. Her turned around to look at her, he was in the shower. She entered the shower, still maintaining eye contact. ‘’John, I can’t keep acting like ahhhh’’ she yelled as she slipped in the shower, almost falling, but Callum catches her before she fell on the ground. They both started to laugh as the director yelled cut. ‘’Y/n are you okay?’’ She nodded as they continued laughing. ‘’Yeah, I’m okay, I’m sorry!’’ she said, calming down. They calmed down and put themselves in their characters again. It was their fifth take, they had to get it right. ‘’Action’’ They redid the scene they did before Y/n almost fell. Now, she was in the shower, soaking wet. In a now completely transparent dress. ‘’Are you going to kiss me, Major?’’ she said, with a flirting voice. ‘’I’m going to do more than kiss you’’ Callum said, with the American accent. Y/n slightly opened her mouth, but it was enough for a drop of water to go straight in her throat, making her chock on it. She started to cough really hard. ‘’I’m (cough) so sorry (cough)’’ she apologized. She felt bad for ruining the scene, but she was literally choking on water. ‘’Do we need a medic?’’ Tom Hanks asked. Callum started to gently tap her back, to help her cough. ‘’She’s still breathing, she might need a minute’’ he said. ‘’I’m (cough) choking on water (cough) it’s ridiculous. (cough)’’ she said. ‘’Stop talking, try to get the water out’’ Callum laughed.

-

The bloopers of Master of the Air got out and the moment where Y/n chocked made people laugh. So, when the were interviewed, people wanted to know more about it and what happened.

-

‘’Julie wanted to know, what was the hardest scene to shoot?’’ Josh asked. The cast started to laugh. ‘’For me, it was the shower sex scene. I mean, people have seen the bloopers. And the take before that I almost fell because it was slippery. And before Callum kissed me, I started to choke on water. So, I was like’’ she got up her chair, putted her hands on her knees, like she was out of breath. ‘’I’m okay (fake cough). I’m sorry (fake cough) I’m okay (fake cough). And Callum was tapping my back like: No she’s not!’’ she said with a fake British accent at the end. Callum started laughing even more, and so did Anthony Boyle. ‘’I was watching them, and Tom Hanks said to me: Do you really think she’ll survive this?’’ he laughed. Y/n came back in her seat and laughed more. ‘’We never had a boring day on set with those two. It was always fun’’ Austin said. ‘’At first, when she started choking, I thought, is it my fault? But when she said she was choking on water, I started to laugh, but I didn’t want to because she was coughing and it was serious, but she was so funny’’ Callum said. ‘’And I was almost naked! Cause I was wearing a white blouse that was supposed to become transparent, so I was coughing and trying to hide my tits. It was a really funny day on set’’ she added. The crowd was laughing and screaming. ‘’And you specify the place of the sex scene, is it that you guys have multiple sex scenes?’’ Josh asked. Callum and Y/n looked at each other, and they laughed. ‘’Well, maybe we don’t want to spoil the fans!’’ Callum exclaimed. Y/n hid her head in her hands and laughed again. Then she brought the mic next to her mouth. ‘’We saw in the trailer that we had, I think we have in total like 5 sex scenes’’ she admitted. The fans yelled and expressed their happiness. ‘’Next’’ Y/n said, red as a tomato.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by the wonderful @chennqingg <3

One Last Chance [EoH]

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: Can you give Daryl one last chance and let him back into your life? After all, he never left our heart...

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol, swear words, angst? fluff-ish ending

Pre-Apocalypse Era!

Word Count: 2k

a/n: I dunno why, but I truly love this story. It's a very important part of the EoH universe. I hope you enjoy it, too! ☺️

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

And I was there standing outside your door

Waiting for you to show me how to stay

~ 'Ready to Fight' by Roby Fayer & Tom Gefen

"Go home, Dixon," spoke the bartender with dreadlocks, tattooed arms and lip piercings, while she was polishing one of the glasses. Daryl sat on the other side of the bar; fifth glass of Whiskey in hands. "You've had enough, don't ya think?"

The younger Dixon brother shook his head and snuffled. "Nah. Ain't enough. Still gotta numb the pain." Chrissie - the bartender - snorted out an almost sarcastic laugh, before shaking her head as well. "Alcohol won't solve yer problem. Whatever it is."

Now Daryl was the one laughing sarcastically. "Yeah? Well, I learned it from ma old man. Didn't fail ta help him." Chrissie rolled her eyes. "You're not yer father, ya know? Try to be better than him."

Daryl answered nothing for a moment; let her words sink in. The noises around him were so loud... Clinking glasses, loud voices and 'Every Breath You Take' by 'The Police' blaring from the old jukebox in the corner - and yet all he could hear were his own thoughts and Chrissie's words.

He took another sip; swallowing hard. "'S about a girl."

The hint of a smile could be seen on the bartender's face. "Thought so." Her words caused Daryl to frown. "Why?" She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. "'Cause it mostly is. Yer not the first man sittin' here with lovesickness and a broken heart."

Once again, Daryl said nothing and just stared at his glass of Whiskey.

"What am I gonna do?"

Chrissie shrugged her shoulders. "Look, I dunno what the problem is, but I can tell ya this..." She threw the rug over her shoulder, leaned in closer to Daryl, "Go talk to 'er. 'S better than drowning yerself in alcohol." and took his almost empty glass away. The redneck shook his head. "Ain't workin'. Already tried. She ain't believin' me." Once more shrugged Chrissie her shoulders. "Then give her a reason to believe ya."

Those words struck Daryl to the core. Give her a reason to believe ya.

He lifted his gaze to meet the bartender's. "Fuckin' hell, yer right..." Chrissie winked at him. "I know. 'M usually right." Daryl stood up from the bar stool, "'S what 'm goin' to do." threw some money on the bar and immediately turned his back to leave for the door. Chrissie smiled; eyes following his figure vanishing in the crowd.

The redneck quickly made his way home. Well, as quick as possible with being definitely tipsy.

He staggered down the few steps, which led to his and his brother Merle's old, shabby basement apartment - if you could even call it an apartment. It was one room with an even tinier room attached, which served as a bathroom.

Daryl closed the door quietly behind him, but almost stumbled over a sleeping Merle, his empty beer bottles and stacks of Playboy and motorbike magazines with hot chicks on the covers. Merle grumbled and grunted in his sleep, but luckily didn't wake up. Daryl hadn't the nerve to argue with him now.

Reaching his little corner of the room, he rummaged through a pile of magazines, bills and other paperwork, until he found what he was looking for. With a victorious smile, he took the slightly crinkled envelope and made his way to the main door again. Why didn't he think of this right away? The possible solution to the situation he was in and the cure to his heartache was right in front of his eyes for days - maybe even weeks! He just had to grab it. And that's what he did now.

Fifteen minutes later, he sat in a train; heading for Toccoa - your hometown. It took Daryl less than an hour to get to your parental home. He swallowed hard as he set foot on the porch; not exactly great memories flooding his mind.

Running his hand over his face, he took a deep breath and rang the doorbell; praying that you'd open the door and not your mom. Or, if Daryl was very unlucky and your dad would open the door, he was pretty much fucked.

Nervously chewing on his thumbnail, he heard footsteps approaching the door, before it swung open.

Life truly hated him.

Fuck, the redneck thought; fighting the urge to close his eyes.

As soon as your father's eyes met his, the older man's expression hardened. "What are you doing here?" The grey haired man spoke in a harsh voice; crossing his arms over his chest. "I told ya that I never wanted to see your fucked up ass on my yard again - and yet here you are..."

Well, let's put it that way... Your father didn't exactly like Daryl. Neither did your mother. They were convinced that he was nothing but a lost cause. A loser. An alcoholic - like his father. A junkie - and certainly very bad company.

In your mom's opinion he was too old for you and your dad said that he'd rather see you die as a single woman than being together with a man like Daryl.

The chestnut brown haired man clenched his jaw; tried to keep himself together.

"I wanna talk to Y/N. She here?" "Yeah, she is - but I won't let ya talk to her. Never again. Now get lost, before I do something I might regret."

Daryl snorted out his breath. "I ain't lettin' ya forbid me to talk to 'er. She's a grown woman. Ain't a lil' girl anymore. You can't tell her what to do!" Now your dad was laughing out loud, "What do you want to do, huh? Break into the house? Strike me down? Or even kill me right away?" before he gestured around. "Please... Do so. The cops are here faster than you can run - or wait... Are you even able to run? I'm sure you've taken a ship loads of drugs since I lastly saw your sorry ass."

Anger started to boil in the redneck's veins - and he had a really hard time controlling it. But, he also knew, that he could not fuck this up now. He was here to fix things... Not to break them even more.

"You ain't know shit 'bout me or what I do. None of yer business anyways." Your father took a threatening step closer to Daryl. "Oh, I know enough, Dixon. And since you try to get your dirty hands on my daughter, it is my business what you do," the older man snarled; raising his voice.

Daryl also took a threatening step closer; causing the both men to stand mere inches away from each other. The tension was literally cuttable with a knife - but not in the good kind of way...

"Oh yeah?! Well, lemme tell ya this then. I-"

Daryl got cut off by a voice which didn't belong to the man standing opposite him. It was your voice.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here?!" You literally stormed through the door, seeing your (boy)friend and father almost being at each other's throat. "Well, I'm tryin' to tell your junkie ex-lover to move his ass from our property." "I ain't a junkie, you-" "I am a what, huh?! C'mon, say what ya have to say!" Your father immediately cut off Daryl. In return he planted himself straight in front of your dad threateningly; chest puffing.

That was the moment you knew you had to intervene, before something bad would most likely happen. "Stop! Both of you! That's enough!" You yelled and got in between them; pushing Daryl a few steps back - and he let you. Unbeknownst to you, took your sudden touch almost his breath away.

"For fucks sake, we are all adults here! Can we please behave like such, please?!"

Daryl immediately threw you a sorrowful look; while your dad still held his distrustful gaze. You looked both men dead in the eye, "Thanks." before you directed your attention fully on Daryl. "Why are you here, Daryl?"

The redneck swallowed hard. "'M here ta talk. Please." You took a deep breath, but nodded; "Alright." then turned to face your father. "Just a few minutes, okay?" He eyed you critically. "Please, dad?" You added; hoping to get through to him.

Silent second after silent second ticked by until he finally nodded. "Alright. But if he's not gone in ten minutes, 'm calling the cops. Are we clear?" Now you were the one nodding and agreeing to your dad's 'terms'.

With a last threatening look thrown at Daryl, the older man returned inside the house.

Once more, you met the beautiful blue-greyish eyes of the man who had undoubtedly captured your heart. For quite a few moments the both of you just stared at each other, until you cleared your throat. "What do ya want to talk about?" Daryl swallowed hard again; Adam's apple bobbing. "I miss ya..." The man whispered; causing you to immediately inhale deeply. "Daryl..." "No, please... Hear me out." You shook your head; crossing your arms over your chest. "We've had this conversation about a trillion times already..." "I-I know, but..." Daryl stepped closer to you. "Please. This time, 's different." "You say that every time, Daryl. And every time I gave you another chance and every time you fuck it up again," you paused for a moment; already trying to suppress the tears, before you continued. "Look, I really want to choose you, but... You're makin' it difficult."

The chestnut brown haired man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment; feeling the chilly evening breeze brush his bare arms and slip through the holes in his jeans. Chewing on his bottom lip, he nodded. "I know. Shit, I sure know I did. And I also know that I don deserve another chance. Problem is, that I fuckin' love ya, Y/N. 'M life's shit - but it's worse without ya, so please... One more chance. 'M beggin' you."

By now you were really fighting the tears. Still did his words cut deeper than a knife - because you felt the same. "I-I miss you too and you know that I love you more than I can say, but... I don't know how long I can play this game... I don't know if I can trust you over and over again, only for you to break it."

Daryl started to shake his head and took another step closer. "Nah, ain't fuckin' it up this time." He handed you the envelope, which was stowed away in his back pocket. You took it with a frown, "Open it." but did what Daryl told you.

Unfolding the piece of paper, your eyes widened. You certainly didn't expect that. "You... You've got an invitation for a job interview?" He nodded; hope sparkling in his eyes. "I-I- Wow... Didn't expect that, but... It's great for you." The redneck shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly; "Tried ma best, I suppose." giving you the hint of a smile.

"Whatcha sayin', sunshine? One last chance?" You took another deep breath; trying to thoroughly think this through. "I ain't goin' to fuck it up... Please."

What your heart wanted was clear. There was no mistaking, but... Was it the right thing to do?

You closed your eyes for a moment; knowing already that your wit had lost the game. Your heart was stronger. "Alright," you started and reached out your hand to subtly take his in yours. Daryl shuddered at your touch; goosebumps forming on his skin. "One last chance, Mr. Dixon."

Utter relief flooded the man's face - you could tell. He smiled that sweet, crocked smile you loved so much. "Thank ya. I won't disappoint ya. I promise." You lifted your free hand and cupped his cheek; feeling his stubble on your skin. "This was never about disappointment, Daryl..."

Daryl leaned into your touch and moved even closer; his intention clear - but you pulled back. "Not now. Not here. If my dad sees..." You swallowed hard. "We should keep that - us a secret for a while. I dunno what happens if we don't do that..." The redneck took a step back; nodding and lowering his head. "Yeah... Yer right."

You gave his hand a squeeze. "You should go now... Not that my dad really calls the cops. I wouldn't want that."

Daryl knew you were right, so he dropped your hand and walked down the steps leading to your porch. "I'll see ya?" He asked you; voice filled with hope. You smiled; nodding. "Yeah."

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @bigbaldheadname @stitchintimefan @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @mikaela-granger @sweetz1919 @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @stiveroon @cakesandtom @dixons-sunshine @mayday2007

[miss-cincaide]

Pretty Broken Things

Summary: Toji Fushiguro was a cruel, possessive man who didn’t like it when someone played with his toys. He was especially unhappy when someone touched his favourite toy. The last straw was when you decided to not do as told. it was just jealousy, pure and simple.. Or was it?

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Toji Fushuguro  Kinktober prompt 5: Jealousy sex:  WC: 3.7 K Warnings: Dark Content, Minors DNI!This fic contains: toxic relationship, Toji is a huge red flag & yandere, dirty talk, object play in mouth and v (weapon), hj, dub-con, yandere behaviour, dirty talk, alcohol and cursing, mystery and murder (side char) Author note: Am I ever gonna write a healthy, green flag Toji? Honestly, not sure.. But what I am sure about is that, that day is not today!  Enjoy

Toji had the emotional maturity of a pre-schooler!

The spoiled brat kind with a ton of games and toys always cried for new ones, yet once he got them, he’d play with them for a week before discarding them in the back of the closet, never to be touched again. At least until someone paid attention, or, god forbid, played with them. In that instant, Toji would have a change of heart, and those unused things he hadn’t touched in months became the very best things in existence. 

Except toys weren’t toys, but human beings and unused things were the countless women he seduced with his bad-boy persona. All those poor bitches who thought they’d be able to change Toji. To melt his jackass persona, to claw their way into his heart and nest there for life while he burned the world that wronged them. Be special to him, his ‘one and only princess’.

Fucking idiots. Including yourself. 

Still, you knew that no matter how many women he eye-fucked on the dance floor, how many women he had in his lap at the drinking booth or how many throats he shoved his tongue down, the second someone showed interest in you, you would have his full and undivided attention. You were his ‘favourite’ for a reason, after all. 

So you knew exactly what you were doing when you sat at the half-empty bar beside a suit-clad man instead of joining the other fawning girls at Toji’s booth. Before you even managed to get comfortable, the man turned to face you, flashed you a smile and leaned just a little too close for comfort. “Hey, pretty, you alone?” 

You saw his eyes trail down your cleavage, which moderately showed through the little black dress you picked for the evening. The dress was moderately modest and stopped a few inches above your knees, but it hicked up deliciously up your leg as you crossed your legs in your seat. The man’s eyes dropped instantly to your bare thigh, then back up to your face. The lewd grin on his face clearly said he appreciated your beauty. 

You, in turn, resisted the urge to slap that smirk and wiggling eyebrows right off his face. If the bastard thought he could pull off Toji’s signature move, he had another thing coming. Instead, you just gave him an awkward smile that looked a lot more like a grimace. That didn’t deter him; if anything, the man seemed to relish in your smile- the lack of an immediate rejection was taken as an invitation to continue. “Tell you what? Let me buy you a drink, and we will get to know each other a little better.” 

The hell no died on your lips the second you felt Toji’s menacing stare in your back. The scalding glare made you shudder. You knew he disapproved without turning around and seeing his frowning expression. You straightened your back a little and turned your entire body to face the stranger. Then you leaned against the bar and rested your head on your propped-up arm as you looked him up and down with a slightly more pleasant smile. “In that case, an old-fashioned, on the rocks.” 

The man whistled lowly, “A woman with character, I like that; I’m Tom, by the way” he motioned for the bartender to fix you your drink and put it on his tab, completely oblivious to the approaching threat, aka Toji, who abandoned is booth and made his way towards the bar. His baritone voice and the girl giggling on his arm enough on an announcement to draw heads, either in jealousy or frustration at his shameless loud behaviour. You heard him and the girl settle a few chairs away from you and order drinks of their own. 

You saw Toji from the corner of your eye, the unmistakable tension in his jaw and the warning stare that so obviously ordered you to quit playing about. Flipp the wus you were with and come over to him like a good girl. Be good. Be obedient. 

You turned your back more to him, avoided his stare and focused on the man in front of you. But you knew precisely what you were doing as you reached forward and accepted the drink. And then another one and a third. With each promile of alcohol, you became more and more relaxed, your smile less forced, and you even genuinely laughed at Tom’s awful jokes. 

You were entertained, far from happy, but at least you weren’t wasting away another day attention-less and pitiful, waiting for the off chance that Toji decided he was done whoring around and came back to you. 

You snorted at the thought, at your own damn foolishness, and masked by the half-quiet music of the bar and the clang of ice in your glass as you finished yet another drink. You turned expectedly back to your companion. Rather than refill your glass, he flashed you a toothy smile, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “How about we take this somewhere private?” 

You gaped. You also heard Toji snort into his drink. That was all the motivation you needed to agree. You let Tom help you off your barstool, then trail behind him towards the back exit of the bar. You doubted the two of you would make it very far from there. As you passed Toji, he froze you with his mere sideway glare.

“You’ve had your fun, doll” Toji growled, his dark blue eyes almost rage-black. “Behave.” 

You stepped in Toji’s direction, and his interest returned to the drink and the older woman that clung to him like a school girl. If you were pathetic for being hung up on Toji; this woman was just pitiful.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, noticed you didn’t follow him and stopped walking. An awkward look on his face, his hand in his hair as his eyes flickered from you, to the woman and then Toji. “Do you know this man?” 

You tore your eyes away from your competition to the stranger, then to Toji’s smug expression as if he expected you to settle on his other arm or replace the old hag he got bored of. Maybe, if you did it cleanly and with a good cat-fight, he’d even get you a drink as a reward. You glanced away from Toji, unable to look at that condescending look that clearly stated you weren’t going anywhere without him. You were His doll, his property through and through. 

 “No clue who that is.” 

You didn’t look at Toji, didn’t spare him a second glance, or even acknowledge the hackling woman on his arm who loudly made comments about you. Clearly, she was familiar with Toji’s favourite routine and intended to provoke you into a catfight. To secure her place beside him for a few more hours. To feel mighty that she could beat someone clearly 20 years younger than her, and to feel better about her own shitty self. 

You followed Tom outside the bar. You tried to look calm, but inside you were freaking out. What the fuck did you just do? God, you just knew Toji was going to make you regret it. Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that. You should not have said that. Maybe there was still time to go back and apologize? 

You realized you were fucked.

The stranger pulled open the flimsy metal back door. It gave away with a squeak and your numb legs carried you into the cold outside. You felt sick to your stomach; anxiety spiked to unimaginable levels. You wobbled, stumbled, caught yourself last second without making it far from the damned bar. Tom came to stand in front of you; his hand on your arm steadied you.  “Hey there, you’re looking kinda–” Pang

You didn’t have time to react before hot blood sprayed over your hair and face, some of it dropped on your clothes. Your ears rang, the sound from the gunshot behind you deafening. For a second, everything was still, and your mind could not comprehend what had happened. You just stared at Tom’s face—how the concern look morphed into shock. His mouth opened and closed, a gurgling sound was all that came out. His hand tightened on your arm, then let go, and his body collapsed backwards onto the concrete floor with a ‘duns’. 

The reality came back. Your panic was unmistakable and unmanageable anymore.“Ahh-” 

“Shut up, whore!” Toji’s authoritative tone came from behind you, inside the bar, instantly silenced you. You glanced over your shoulder through the open door. The sight of him with his gun raised will forever be embedded in your memory. You swore it was still smoking, the comic-like white smoke poofing off the nuzzle, but it couldn’t be; that’s not how guns worked… did they? 

Toji stepped towards you, and that small act snapped you out of your trance. He was gonna kill you too; you were sure of it. Your legs moved towards the exit without registering it. No, you weren’t ready to die, you weren’t— 

Slam 

Your back slammed against the wall as Toji pounced on you; his entire weight restrained you with ease. Like a rag doll, he could manoeuvre you how he wanted to with practiced ease. “Owi-” Your whine was cut off as you caught sight of the gun, fliched as he brought it to your face. You could feel its heat and weight on your lower lip, the barrow aimed at you, angled at an awkward angle up. Would he shoot you in the face too? Shoot off your face? 

You froze, too afraid to move. To stunned to make a pip. 

“What don’t you fucking understand, whore? I said Shut. It.” Toji was furious; his eyebrows frowned, and a storm brewed in his expression. Such fucking jealous fury that you could have thought you had pissed in his cornflakes and then hand-fed it to him. A fury not warranted of you leaving a bar with another man. 

“ I decide what’s warranted you brat.” Toji snapped, having easily read your thoughts. “And I told you ‘behave’, loud and fucking clear, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?!” 

“ Yes”, you breathed, your eyes flickered to the side, your gaze landed on Tom’s lifeless body.  Your stomach turned, and bile rose in your mouth until Toji pulled back an inch and then slammed your body against the wall again. Stars danced in your vision, the need to be sick faded as your eyes landed back on his face. Another pained moan fell from your lips. 

Toji used that opportunity to push the gun barrel in your mouth. 

“ You look at me when I’m talking,” he growled, pushing the gun as far in as it would go. “The heck I’m supposed to do with you? Tsk. I turn my fucking head for a minute, and you’re whoring yourself out to some slimeball. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” 

You couldn’t tell what made Toji more furious; the fact that you were ‘whoring yourself out’ or the man you had picked for the occasion. Why the latter would matter you had no clue but you weren’t about to question him when he was in that mood. 

Seconds ticked by, yet to you they felt like agonizing years.

You swallowed thickly, the only movement you dared to do. Toji’s eyes flickered to your throat, then back to your face. The furious expression shifted into a toothy grin. “What are you waiting for? Special fucking invitation? You wanna slut around, then go on, suck this fucking gun like it were that filth dick.” 

“W-what?” You gasped; the words came out muffled. Surely he didn’t just-

“Suck it!” 

He did.  Fuck. How did you even..? Okay, no choice, you had to pretend it was a dick. Or a dildo. Yeah, that could work. It wouldn’t be the first time you sucked off an inanimate object. You just need to get your head in the game, focus, make it look sexy. Believe it. Or you’re done for. 

You took a deep breath through your nose, forced yourself to think of the last time you gave a blowjob, then shifted your head back just a little to give yourself more room to work with. Just a dildo, you told yourself before you started. You bobbed your head back, stuck your tongue out and ran it over the warm metal. Wiggled it over the barrel, lingered on the opening, and then took it back in your mouth as you could. Your eyes water,  lips brushed against Toji’s calloused fingers, then moved back as they twitched. 

You repeated the movement until the anger in his face melted into something carnal. Until you felt his bulge pressed against your thigh. You shivered despite yourself. Fuck he was getting off on this, wasn’t he? You glanced up at his face, and Tojil looked ready to fuck your brains out. 

 “Mmm, good little bitch. Rock that mouth. You look like such a slut sucking on my handgun.”Toji hummed; his eyes never left your. His gaze flickered between your eyes, your lips and the drool running down your chin“God, your mouth is the best thing bout you, isn’t it? Can’t wait to have it on me.”

You flushed, your hand moved from your side to him. You wrapped your fingers around his cock through his sweatpants, the material loose enough for you to grasp him firmly. You could tell he wasn’t fully there yet but fuck he wasn’t soft either. You moaned; Toji bucked into your hand, and you twisted your wrist in time with his thrusts. Your breathing grew laboured, closer to his. He slapped your hand away from himself before he could cum in his pants like a teenager. “Not gonna ah happen.” he rasped, punching the wall beside your head to clear his mind. 

You jumped, flinched off the gun, a string of saliva between you and the barrel. “You say that but...” 

“ Take it back; I like you quiet,” Toji trailed off, readjusting the grip on the gun. His fingers of his other hand over the barrel of the gun gathered some saliva from the corner of your lips and rolled it between his thumb and finger. His eyes ran you up and down before he kicked your legs open. Those coated fingers went straight under your dress, rolling the damp digits over panties, then under in slow, steady circles right over your clit until you threw your head back, moaning.  “Such a nasty slut, I own” 

“Hmmm” you groaned, cracking an eye open as he pressed a kiss to your puffy lips, pushed his tongue it, swirled it in that breath-taking way that only Toji could. You broke the kiss first, panting pitifully. “L-lets go home, baby?” 

“mmmpgh. Nasty sluts don’t need privacy.” Toji sneered; although he was smiling, his eyes still showed nothing but pure jealous fury. “You were gonna fuck that bastard in this very alley, no need to get shy now” He pulled his hand back, gripped the fabric of your panties, then tore them open. “Dumb sluts will fuck anything and everything, won’t they, Y/N?” 

You gasped, whined shook your head; your eyes grew to the sizes of saucers as Toji grabbed your free hand and forced it around the momentarily forgotten gun. The hilt felt warm and clammy, sticky and much heavier than you imagined.

 “T-toji What?” you gasped, shuddering as he trailed your finger over the trigger. 

“Press here, bunny, and you’ll blow yourself a fourth hole, got it?” You didn’t manage to react as Toji lowered the gun between your legs and pushed it in. 

“Toji!” You screamed, bucking away from the metal. His hand, with yours in it, followed your movement.    

“Shh, shh shh like that doll, just like that” The gun pushed deeper into you, coming to a stop at the hilt. He leaned back and took a look at your, your petrified expression, the gun in your pussy and cursed. “That’s it, doll, Treat it like a small dildo, c’mon no need to look so scared, you’ve handled bigger.” His hand let you go and you almost dropped the gun, but Toji caught it and pushed it back into your hand.

 “You drop it- you’ll shoot us both.” Toji growled, waited until you nodded before he removed his hand from the hilt. Your hand remained frozen, unmoving. Toji didn’t care. His fingers went straight back to your clit, rubbing quick circles on it until you arched your back and clenched, then lowered yourself, seeking release on the metal. 

“Ahh y-you’re a monster Toji.” You twisted your face away from him. Toji chuckled and dropped his head on your shoulder, biting at the exposed flesh. 

“ The worst one.” He agreed his fingers picked up speed, so did your hips. Your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around the gun, hand trembled. A little more, a little– “N-nnooah” you threw your head back; despite your protest, your pussy did the opposite, gushing around the gun. Gushing turned to squirting as Toji’s fingers kept going; his other hand dropped down to your hand and the gun and thrust it in and out of you.

 You screamed, and dug your nails into his forearm, the only thing that kept you upright. 

“Fucking nasty” Toji bit your earlobe until you listened. “ You think some random stranger can get you off like this? Match your freak, babydoll? Squirting on my loaded gun in your pussy.” Toji chuckled. “Will you start creaming if I take the safety off too?” 

You mewed, then heard the harrowing click you hadn’t realized was on. Knowing it was off, however, was a completely different story. Your eyes widened, pleasure replaced by panic. He was still jealous? Still not done?!

Fuckfuckfuck. 

“I get it, I am sorry Toji, Please, please forgive me!” you sobbed, your thighs shaking as much as your hand on his arm. 

He was gonna kill you. He was gonna fuck you then kill you. Humiliate you, then pull that fucking trigger straight in your pussy.

FuckingFuckFucktown.

You didn’t want to die; you weren’t ready to die. And you most certainly didn’t want him to pull the trigger inside you. “I’ll do anything just.. Just give me another chance. Please baby, To-bear” 

Toji hummed, his teeth left your skin and his head dropped on your shoulder with a heavy sigh. “Hmm you’re lucky I like you.” He whispered, waited, then twisted the gun a little inside you. 

“I love you, I love you too Toji!” you squealed. 

“ Good. Now then out of love here’s what we’re gonna do, doll” Toji pulled the gun out of your pussy, and stared at the slick dripping thing before he returned it to its holster on his hip. “We’re gonna walk back to m’car, take a trip, and you’ll show me just how sorry you are. And if this happens again-” 

“ It won’t, I promise!” you stared up at Toji with earnest eyes, ready to beg and plead you case as many times as it took for him to go from this to the less manic usual. 

Silence passed until he chuckled, took half a step back, and pulled you to his side. His arm around your shoulder and your face buried in his side, almost as if he tried to shield you from the corpse behind you. “That’s a good doll, don’ make me regret it, cuz if you do…” 

Toji didn’t need to finish that sentence. He didn’t need to. You knew that if you disappointed him again you and the left-behind body would have a lot in common..

— 

The last of the warm sun rays set and were replaced by barely-there moonlight before anything changed in the small behind-the-bar alley. The metal door to the significantly livelier bar creaked opened, and a pair of heel-clad feet stepped out and then shut the door behind them. 

The owner of the feet stood still for a moment, sighed, and then moved closer to the chilled body. As she drew closer, she raised her shoe and kicked the man hard on the fancy dress shoe.

“Oj how long are you gonna waste time laying in the middle of the shitty alley?” A female voice carried through, shortly followed by the light of a cigarette. She made a few more steps, came to a stop in front of her face, and stared down at the man with a bullet wound in his head. She took a deep drag of her cigarette before  she flickered some ash sight onto his chest “And what kind of cover name is ‘Tom’ anyway?” 

“Hey, don’t disrespect the dead, Shoko,” ‘Tom’ cracked an eye open with a lazy grin. He stretched his limbs as though he had just taken a long nap before he slowly sat up, each bone and muscle groaning in protest from laying on the hard pavement god knows how long. Reaching up, he wiped the blood and gunk off his face onto the back of his fancy suit sleeve “- And what’s wrong with ‘Tom’ anyway?” 

“ I’d respect you if you were actually dead. ‘Tom’ sounds like you’re over compensating for your lack of personality with a foreign name. ‘Toru would have worked just fine”, Shoko replied, ignoring his silent request to help pull him up. Satoru whined in response. “Now, let's go before someone actually calls the police on a ‘deadbody’. Last thing I need is to type up another death certificate for you-” 

“-Please do! Then I catch a break from the higher-ups-” 

Shoko kicked his leg, making sure to dive the heel into his thigh until he yelped and shut up. “-Shut it and lets go. Jesus, Toji is a horrid influence on your already awful personality.” Shoko grew tired of waiting for Satoru to pick himself off the ground and turned to leave, not waiting to see if he’d follow.

“ Aww, love you too Shoko, Owie, ow ow ow everything hurts.. huh-hey! Wait for me!” 

Author note: Well this is my attempt at two things at once, Dark dark content and Mystery. Well what do you think? Why was Satoru under cover (Tom?) and was Toji really 'just jealous'?

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[dragoneye01]

Drum All Night Long Part 1 of 2 (Remmick x Reader Smut)

Word Count: 2,411

Summary: Remmick finds himself drawn into a dingy bar by the amazing drumming of a mysterious person. He soon realizes that he needs to meet them. Needs them no matter what.

Remmick had been following you for some months now, taking a keen interest in your musical career. It started when he had walked into a bar on a drizzly night, trying to get out of the wet. He ordered a drink, knowing he’d never drink it, but bartenders didn’t like the look of someone just hanging around without paying for something. He was always cold, but he was trying to dry himself off when he heard the music. It was okay, nothing too special. The lead singer’s voice would crack and every now and then the guitarist wouldn’t keep up with the tempo, but the drummer was what caught his attention. 

The way you kept the tempo, the way you created a beat to the music was amazing. You’d do little flourishes on the cymbals and hit the toms just right, even going so far to spin your drumsticks in between hits. Remmick was enamored, he was smitten, even. The way you beat those drums was like the beat of a heart he no longer had. Your addition to the music made him feel something deep within himself. 

After the music was over, he wanted to find you, to talk to you, to lure you in. Drummers, with all their equipment, usually took the longest to pack their things up, so Remmick knew he had time. Tonight, what stood in his way was the bouncer of the green room. He was sent away, knowing there was no way to get in unless he killed the bouncer, but that would bring him too much attention.

So, instead, he came back the next night, and the next night. You sometimes played with different groups, but the drumming was the same, beautiful heartbeat of each song. Remmick was disappointed whenever he’d come by and you weren’t there. But after a couple months, his luck began to change.

On an especially good night, you on the drums, playing with your whole soul, and playing with a group who harmonized so well, Remmick felt himself elevated by the music. This was exactly what he needed, what he wanted more than anything else. After the set, another band came on, but something was different. You didn’t race off to the green room, you didn’t disappear. He watched as you put your sticks in a bag and went over to the bar for a drink. This was his moment, and he had to act.

You sat at the bar, quietly sipping from your glass and rummaging in your bag. The click of the sticks caught Remmick’s attention and he slid into the seat next to you, but made sure not to sit uncomfortably close, even though he wanted to.

“You the drummer?” He asked as nonchalantly as he could. You looked up from your drink in confusion, but your gaze softened at his earnest look.

“Yeah, I drum,” you gestured to the sticks in your bag. “Are you just hanging out or are you a musician, too?”

“I’m just a travelin’ musician, trying to make a dime or two.” Remmick said humbly. You leaned back and noticed the banjo hanging off his back.

“A banjo? I haven’t heard music like that in such a long time.” You sighed in content. Remmick gulped, looking at how your pulse picked up.

“Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and me go outside and you can show me some tunes. I can tap a beat if you want.” The grin on your face would’ve made Remmick’s heart flutter if he was anywhere near alive. He had to keep his composure, though.

“That sounds mighty fine.” He agreed, leaving his drink on the counter and walking out with you. This night was not rainy, but the air was cool and pure, a perfect night. The moon was even a waxing gibbous right now, shining a little light down.

“You start.” Remmick said, pulling his banjo into his arms, cradling it in preparation. You sat on the sidewalk, a couple people walking by. The night was still young. You started rat-a-tat-tatting on the pavement, solid and steady. Remmick’s fingers picked up a tune that matched the beat of your sticks. Something simple, not too fancy. You nodded your head to the rhythm, adding a few harder hits to the walk. Before he knew what he was doing, Remmick started to sing an old folk song he remembered from the good old days. Once his voice started, you looked up in awe, a smile spreading on your face. You continued to beat your sticks, and listen to the honey-covered words and sway. Remmick watched, loving your love for music. He strummed away until the very end, when you both finished the song at the same time. It was magnificent, beautiful, harmony in heaven.

Remmick looked at you and knew he couldn’t let you go. Not now, not ever.

“Wow, you didn’t say you could sing, too!” You exclaimed, putting your sticks away and getting ready to stand. Remmick offered you his hand and you took it as he pulled you up to your feet. He was strong and you stumbled into him, not all an accident on either part.

“Darlin’ I can do a lot more than just sing.” He said and you could feel his breath fan over your face.

“You said you travel, right? Are you staying in a hotel?” You asked coyly. Remmick didn’t know how to answer that he slept in abandoned cars and buildings.

“Nah, I’m…” He trailed off.

“It’s ok, I get it.” You interrupted. “Would you wanna come by my place? It’s not that far from here, we could walk. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know we just met and-“ you started to rambled.

“I’d really like that.” Remmick inserted, making you smile a bit. You both started walking, Remmick following your stride up and down the streets.

“I have a couple roommates, but they’re out of town, playing a gig a couple states over. So the place has been so quiet lately.”

“Do you like the quiet?” Remmick asked.

“I don’t not like the quiet. I just always play music or something to keep me steady. It’s like a force of habit.

“I can relate.”

“It’s right up here. I’m on the third floor.” The apartment complex was run-down with bars over the first floor windows. You started walking up a pair of wooden steps on the side of the building, leading Remmick up to the third floor. Unlocking the door, the apartment was dark except for the moonlight coming in.

“Ya know, I don’t even know your name.” Remmick said, standing on the threshold of your home, knowing he’d have to be invited in.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, sorry. My name is (Y/n). What’s yours?”

“Remmick.”

“Well, Remmick, come in.” You said, not realizing just how much power you were giving in. Remmick stepped into your home, kindly taking off his boots. You pulled off your shoes and walked in, going over to the light switch.

“Wait,” Remmick whispered, and you realized he was right behind you. You could feel his chest as he breathed.

“No lights?” You asked, a little breathless.

“Moon’s bright enough.”

You bit your lip when you felt his hands run over your shoulders and down your arms. You ended up leaning back, your spine against his chest.

“Tell me to stop if I’m-“

“Don’t stop.” You murmured, feeling his hands over yours. “Are your hands as good with people as they are with that banjo?”

Remmick rested his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder, placing a kiss on your throat. “Wanna find out?”

“Fuck, yes.” You breathed. Before you could say anything else, Remmick spun you around in his arms, trapping you against the wall. You could’ve sworn his eyes were glowing red the way he looked at you. You didn’t have time to overthink it, though, because his lips were on yours and you weren’t about to roll over. He relished in the way you pushed against him, the way you pushed your tongue into his mouth, the way you were suddenly against him, fingers pulling his hair. He moaned softly into the kiss, loving that you were a bit rough with him.

“You like that?” You asked, pulling away for a moment. Remmick nodded, hungrily. You pushed him back, your hands pulling at his shirt. He was quick to catch your drift and pulled it over his head, letting you lead him to the couch. You bit his lip with your teeth and he thought he was in heaven right now after years in hell. He looped his fingers into the belt loops on your jeans, pulling your hips against his own. You both fell back on the couch, the thing creaking a bit at the added weight.

His hand was down your pants, feeling your pussy through your underwear and you sighed in content. When he started to trace his thumb over your clit, you were quick to lose the pants. His cold hands ran under your shirt, cupping your breasts and grinning into the kiss when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra.

“God, I want you on top of me.” You said, rutting your hips against his and feeling his cold hands over your nipples.

“Now, I can do that for ya.” He murmured, pulling you from your position on top, to lying back on the couch. He hovered over you, lifting your shirt over your head, and he started to pull his pants off. Your eyes caught a glint of gold as you noticed the chain around his neck. Biting your lip, you yanked on it a bit, pulling him closer to kiss you. Remmick was afire at this, loving the way the metal bit into his skin and how you wanted him so badly. This was better than he could’ve ever hoped.

“Hold on.” He whispered in your ear, licking the shell of it before one of his hands pulled your underwear aside and started to test the waters of your opening. You spread your legs farther as he fingered you, curling and swirling inside you. To keep your moans down, you bit his shoulder, nails scratching at his arms. Remmick’s eyes rolled back, wanting to fuck you senseless right there, right now with the way you bit him.

“Shit you’re just so… perfect for me.” He said, fingers knuckle deep.

“You gonna fuck me stupid or do I have to do that for you?” You teased. Remmick felt like he met his match and he didn’t want to let you go. Pulling his underwear down, his dick sprung out, leaking with pre-cum.

“Wait, wait, condom.” You said, reaching into the side table and pulling one out. Remmick was unperturbed since being a vampire meant he couldn’t reproduce that way, but he wanted to humor your caution. He leaned back and rolled the condom onto his cock, watching as you eyed him hungrily. He yanked your hips forward, letting his tip enter you. The look on your face was priceless. The way you shut your eyes and opened your mouth to sigh in pleasure. That look would be forever singed into Remmick’s mind.

“You ready for this? You ready for me to fuck you within an inch of your life, darlin’?” He asked, gripping your hips and pushing them down into the couch. You quickly nodded your head.

“Actions speak louder than pretty words.” You teased, but you barely got the sentence out before he was inside you. A gasp left your mouth and you lifted your hips to meet his. Remmick growled, fucking you relentlessly. He lifted your legs up, wrapping them around his waist to angle himself better. The way your walls milked his cock, taking him like this, and just fitting him so well. He felt your skin against his own and shuddered in pleasure, in love with how you gripped him so tightly. Your legs were locked around his hips like a vice.

“Fuck me harder, Remmick.” You panted in his ear, one of your hands yanking his hair. He groaned, twitching inside of you. His hips snapped forward, the lewd sound of skin slapping skin filling the apartment.

“Harder?” He asked, nibbling your ear.

“Hard as you can.” You begged. Your wish was his command as he pounded into you, feeling the warmth of friction and how your body reacted to his. He noticed your legs shaking, your chest heaving, your tits bouncing with each thrust, and how you tilted your head back in pleasure. It was so hard to stay human-like. He wanted so badly to let his claws sink into your skin, to let his teeth out, to fuck you like the creature he was. Remmick bit your neck with his all too human teeth and shuddered when he felt you clench around him. You let out a gasp and a breathy moan as you came, your pussy squeezing his cock. Remmick let go of his grip on your neck and leaned back a bit, his necklace, leaving an indent on your collarbone from how tightly he had gripped you. He kept thrusting as hard as he could and noticed how your legs still gripped him until he finally came. He let out a guttural moan, his cock slapping inside you. When he felt himself finish, he pulled back just a bit to look at how fucked out you were. He grinned at the hickey forming on your neck and how his nails had left a few red lines on your hips. He fell forward, laying on top of you for a moment, both your breaths mixing with each other. He stayed this way until you were both breathing in tune with one another, chests rising and falling in rhythm.

“I so need a shower.” You said after a long while. Remmick slowly pulled himself off of you, allowing you to sit up.

“A shower don’t sound too bad.” He eyed you, a little smirk on his face.

“Fuck, c’mon, then.” You laughed, slowly standing from the couch. Your legs were so shaky that you leaned into Remmick, leading him over to where the bathroom was, the shower awaiting. Remmick knew in that moment, as the hot water hit his back and as you leaned into his arms, that he was not leaving this town without you.