#they come with a serving of whatever tom's doing

[caelichythcat]

aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh

[sugudoe]

☕️⌇ ◜ OFFICE HOURS ◞ ⠀⠀⠀

╰⠀boss!nanami x secretary!reader where . . . nanami kento can’t let people know the reality that he, under no circumstances, belongs to them. in fact, is quite the contrarie. everyone in this job is a puppet willingly letting him pull the strings. you more than anyone. after committing the bizarre mistake of telling nanami your true intentions with him, your boss is more than eager to comply your desires and just maybe, forget he first input of no belongings.

cw. too much swearing, fingering with others present (not caught), fem!reader, reader keeps daydreaming w. nanami, slightly age gap but non-important all legal, public sex, overstimulation, they both keep failing to hide, possessiveness, love bites, he slap her thigh once, bit of blood because of self lip biting 4.9k words, english is not my first language.

an. hi, hello, i want everyone to know i’m this man wife. this is, in fact, our love story, i used to serve his coffee, now i’m serving my puss— anyways, enjoy it. FYI nanami smells like either tom ford tobacco vanille or byredo bibliothèque.

There are certain events in the workplace ── a sequence, if you may ── that serves as a warning to everyone that Mr. Nanami Kento has arrived.

Not many months ago, you were clueless to the symphony of presentation he had, even before stepping into the room. Now, though, it’s engraved in your mind. Much like he is. It is, also, a dirty secret to have that you eagerly wait for it, everyday.

Halting the tack-tack of your fingers on the keyboard, your ears pick the first signal ── rushed footsteps. All opening space so he can pass without the need to raise his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, from his cellphone. The second is the whispers and swooning. Some, more brave than others, compliment him out loud. Always about his peculiar ties, and always he smiles back. Lastly, when Nanami is in your sight of view, he is accompanied by his signature scent that greets you before he even does.

The most raw way to describe his smell is by saying that you wish you could crack him open, and lay inside of him forever. It’s comfortable and addicting and it makes you want to kiss him until it can permanently fixates on you.

In more proper synonyms, Nanami Kento smells like caramel, wood and a bit smokey. He is hot to the touch, one can admit. You don’t fall far from these thoughts, but sometimes, when you are not eye-fucking your boss, you think he smells like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Perfect place to fuck him, though.

Is easy to imagine such a thing. You can picture him with thick sweat covering his body, like a second layer, as he comes inside with a hatchet and wood for the fireplace. And you can, also easily, imagine yourself on your knees sucking him so good, as way to thank him for keeping you warm.

It’s a Kento effect. Everywhere he passes, people tend to have a heat stroke. You are no better than the others. Probably worse. He, however, does not need to know that. Nanami’s plate is already filled to the brims with people gazing him as a snack, he doesn’t need his personal assistant to do the same.

Not in front of him, anyways.

So, when he comes near your table, and stop to take whatever you have for him (work related, honey, even when you wish it was your pussy), you present the calls he need to answer with a compliment for his shoes and a black coffee with pretzels.

He adores you.

You want to fuck him senseless.

A perfect imperfect balance of clashing feelings. His are professional, yours are not even close. He only steps over the boundaries when it’s to call you “Darling” and you only do so in your head, when you think of laying on his table and letting him feast on your dripping cunt.

He is gentle and caring.

You wouldn’t mind chanting his name loud enough for everyone to understand what’s happening.

He departs ways and you share a trembling sigh with your inner turmoil of emotions. He makes you have a constant fever. In fact, with him, everything is constant. You want to fuck him everyday, you touch yourself with his voice in your mind guiding you. He gets pretty out of character in your alone mind, though.

Real Nanami is a sweetheart. Your Nanami would make you cry while on his cock.

“── and the meeting room needs to be ready by eleven, you can do all that, darling?” He asks. He asks! He is talking with you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kento,” You stutter before shifting your attention from your computer screen to his charming understandable smile. “could you repeat, please?”

“Sure, darling.”

You need to put extra neurons to work when eyeing his pink lips moving gracefully. Is it the same shade as his cock? Oh, you hoped so. That would be your favorite color, would paint your nails, your hair, anything.

“Got it now?” Nanami curls his lips as he question you. You can’t lie to him, so you sign that No, you did not payed attention. He chuckles and comes closer, resting both hands in fist on your table, letting himself down so he can be face to face with you. “I need you to order mine, yours and the lunch for the usual gentleman I talk about the finances, ── you have that noted, right?” You nod, and he proceeds. “Then, I want you to decorate the meeting room, the way you always do.” You nod again, and he moves back. You want to whine. “Good girl.”

Pause.

That’s new. It’s like achieving a new item in a game. A new level. That’s a prize, the greatest form of enlightenment one could have. You feel warm in your chest and cheeks, but dare not to sway your eyes from his twinkling ones. You wonder if he knows what you are thinking, or if he knows the power he has over you ── over everyone.

That’s Nanami Kento. The man with a dazzling aura, it touches all in proximity, no one survives him. If he wants, you are his. Hooked like a worm, willingly ready to be devoured by a fish, and the thing is no one knows if Nanami is said fish or the fisherman.

The secret about his success is not only the sweet talk he does, but the way he can easily take it away. And no one wants to be away from his warmth. You’ve seen it before, how he controls people ── some more powerful than your mind can comprehend, they all are puppets for him to pull the strings. He touches and praises them when they do what he wants, but Nanami grows cold and absent when they don’t.

Everyone wants to be loved by him, so everything this enterprise does, it revolves around Nanami.

He can be a scary man when he wants, and you’ve heard the tales, from time to time. With you, fortunately, he is just your nice boss. And a part of you wish he would cradle you into his arms and play with you like a marionete. His doll. Yeah, you want to be his fucking doll.

Tempted to ruin this lunch and be ravished by his famine, you shake your deranged thoughts and focus on ordering the food. Also asking for red velvet cookies for you and Mr. Gojo, the owner of this whole enterprise.

A cocky young man, that likes to devour your physique whenever you come inside the room. He is rich and beautiful and his name is always on the newspaper with gossip mostly involved. You could fall for him, could fuck him, but he is not Nanami.

He doesn’t boss you around gently, nor he makes you crave his scent on lonely nights. He makes you shy, but not timid and horny. In fact, you don’t even think about Satoru Gojo unless you are balancing his persona with Nanami’s. That’s sad for him.

You keep doing that ── the thoughts, the sexual dreams ── while preparing the meeting room with a charming decoration. Black glasses, black plates, all with golden details. Satoru Gojo himself payed for it, not that he knows or care. You commented once, Nanami liked, and moved his toys in favor of buying the expensive kitchen utensils you wanted. He even made sure to get some for your own house.

The last part is closing the thick black curtains around the room, for privacy. Someone comes inside the second you step back from the last tapestry, and when you turn, Nanami is there.

“How’s everything?” His fingers press on the table, moving swiftly with him, closer to you. “You’ve got cookies?” There is amusement in his question.

“Mr. Gojo’s secretary, Suguru, told me he was craving something sweet.” You turn back to the table behind you, stacking the sweet in a small mountain. “He always gets fussy if he doesn’t get his daily large intake of sugar.”

You grabbed one, knowing that half of it was rightfully yours, and twisted on your heels. Nanami scared you in two sequential situations after that. The first being his looming presence right in front of you, piercing gaze on you, shifting between your eyes. He was searching for something in it, so, you tried the hardest you could to give him something back. Eyes that said “please, fuck me.”

Maybe it worked. The next thing he did, that scared you, was bending down and biting your cookie. Eyes never leaving yours. You gulped, he smirked.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chocked.

See, your eyes were supposed to be the one speaking for you, but Nanami also has this super power that no one can lie to him. He wants something, he gets it delivered in a silver plate. He knows everyone’s secret, and yours were never safe, just happened to be hidden in a line of things that weren’t priority for him. Not until now, at least. He wanted to know what you were hiding, and you gave it to him.

“I ──” The words are struck behind your teeth. Nanami eagerly waits for them. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, you leave him.

In a perfect world, he would have grabbed you by the wrists and fucked you against Satoru’s side of the table. But it’s not, because he lets you go. He has to let you go, even if you know that’s not the end of it. He will get you later, and like a little kid in science class, he will dissect everything you said. Therefore, during the thirty minutes of freedom you are granted in the bathroom, before the meeting starts, you try and fail and try and fail to conceal your thoughts into a perfect lie.

It doesn’t work. Not even a bit. Because Nanami knows you like the back of his hand, as much as he knows everyone that works with him. He knows when you lie and when you are truthful, and thanks to that, your work relationship had always been good ── you’ve never lied to him to stroke his ego. You were too busy wanting to stroke something else. Nanami let you slide your nasty comments about others, and he would share them, granting you some of their secrets.

He was a gossiper. He knew everything. You knew right there that lying would never work with him, so you just avoided to let him reach that horny part of yours that burned for him. Give him something else to sink his attention into. Your neck, you wanted, but rather you would feed him with gossips from your college classes, or what you got from Suguru Geto, your friend and Satoru’s assistant.

Now, you had already run out of distractions. Maybe that was his plan all along. If the world is correct, and it all falls down to Nanami’s desires, then maybe he was just waiting for you to crumble and admit. You had never been subtle with your eyes, anyway. That’s why he had been so fascinated about it, staring from time to time, trying to catch a glimpse of your true self, like a wishing star in a starry night.

The stars have gone dark, burned and busted away, when you come back to the meeting room and sit down on your designed chair, by his side. Nanami is focusing at you, again, like he needs more of your secrets at this moment. You have never gave him something so largue before, he is addicted.

But you, stubborn, appalled, stoic and all, think your plate of pasta is the most interesting thing in this whole world. You don’t eat much, because your throat is filled with all the words and screams you want to let out. You fear if you so much breathe loud, it will all come flooding this room.

“Are you annotating all of this in your head?” Nanami whispers in your ear, referring to the meeting now in progress. You sign no, and he sighs. “Your mind is far away, today.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I do with you?”

Someone coughs. An old man, standing by the edge of the table. He wants Nanami’s eyes on him, the praise, the goodness. Kento grants him half a smile, and that is not enough. Never will be. Everyone always wants more.

The lights are turned off when the projector is brought by Suguru, he comes and goes quickly, not before stealing a cookie from Satoru. That’s the first smile you present since the incident, and Nanami is back at staring at you with an intensity your heart fears but your pussy drips for. Are you scared? Petrified. And still, you are fucking horny.

He knows your secret, he is devoting his eyes to you, no matter what anyone else wants. He, in this moment, wants you. It might be because he needs to know what you meant, it might be because you are stroking his ego, finally. Or, you dare wonder, he is debating throwing you on that table and fucking you. Old men and Satoru aside, you wouldn’t mind. At all.

You take courage to look at him, and instantly you stare at his lips first, before his eyes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You go back at eyeing the projector. He does the same a long beat later. An even longer one, he slowly puts his hand on your exposed thigh, skirt raised since you set down.

You try to not fail in your stoic face, but you do so anyway. Because, for fuck’s sake, Nanami Kento has his hands on your thigh, his thumb in circular movements. Your lips instinctively curl up, he snorts by your side before going back to his serious demeanor.

You thought he would just keep his hands there, as if testing the water but deciding to stay near the shore. That’s not his case, though. Nanami loves to go to the beach, to swim far away beyond the waves, he likes to get damped. His hand move closer, and you open your legs absentmindedly. He wants, you give. As much as you have wanted, and now he is giving you.

When his hands are pressing against your lacy underwear, you hear a little “Fuck” coming from his mouth. You’re soaking wet.

It’s hard to keep your breathing pattern steady when he is near you. Even more harder when he has one finger slowly penetrating you. For the outsider viewer, everything is normal, and the two of you are just concentrated on the projector screen. The truth is you have no idea what’s going on, and maybe neither does him. You want to moan, and tug his hair until he groans. And you want him to replace his finger with his cock. You stare at the annotation book, empty of your handwriting, and use the opportunity of your head down to hang your mouth open and close your eyes.

Nanami shifts his eyes to you, and he drowns himself into your fucked gaze, even more so when he puts another finger. He can’t linger much, or others will notice, so he decides to keep his movements fluid and calm, and to stare at you from time to time.

He can multitask. Of-fucking-course. He asks questions, answers, he acts as if he is one hundred percent into whatever is going on. The reality is different. The truth is all about his curling fingers pressing themselves in a place inside you that will forever mark his presence there. Like a secret plaything only for him, no one, not even you, will ever reach that. It’s like he is signing it with either his name only or a “Nanami was here.”

You want him to stay, forever. Stay inside you, slow pacing, curling, sensitive.

He can’t, because what feels like hours later, turns into minutes. Everyone is raising up to leave, and he moves out of you so fast, you clench around nothing ── had you been quicker, grabbed his fingers, they all would know. You don’t give a fuck, you want them too know.

“Go to my office.” He whispers before going the opposite direction of the exit, and staying back to talk with the others. You walk without a goodbye, creating an excuse when Satoru wants some of your time.

Inside his office, you feel like breathing for the first time. It’s confusing, like your lungs are new and not fully connected to your esophagus, so it comes up weird ── in a mixture of laugh and relief, salted with a “what the actual fuck”.

You want to stop and think of what’s happening or what’s to happen, but you never had the chance. It’s a second later, and you are being pressed against his, now, locked door. His arms holding your hips, his head resting on your neck, sulking your scent much like you do with his.

“You meant it, right?” He asks, bringing his face up to yours. “You want me to fuck you. Please, darling, say you do, because I need to fuck you now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Yes, please, please.” Midway through your desperate nod, Nanami lunged at you, catching your lips in his and conducting the rhythm, the strength.

He was so, so good. In all ways. His slow fingers had your legs shaking and his eager kiss has your mind fogged. All that he does seems to be professional, but you know deep down, this effect is all because is made by him. Just his presence alone could have you hot and bothered, but to actually be touched by him, it’s like adding the fire to your gasoline self.

You had always been meant to be burned by Nanami.

He hoist you up against the door, for a quick second his hands kept clawing your thighs, until he walked you both to his desk. He let you down on it, and at the same time, his kisses moved to your neck and shoulder. You could feel the scrape of his teeth, tempted to mark you with a significant bite ── tell them I’m yours, you thought.

He groaned against your flustered skin, because he knew he couldn’t do that. Mark you, that’s it. Fuck you? Oh, that he can, that he will do.

“I need you to be really quiet for me.” His hands are quick on his belt, dropping it with a thud against the floor. He raises your skirt to your waist, Nanami grumbled under his breath with the sight of your underwear. He had touched the elaborate details earlier, but to see it was another story. White, see through, a pink ribbon on the top. “I’m going to rip it.”

“No, you’re not!” Raising your leg, you pushed him away. Eyes still hypnotized by your clothed cunt. You removed the piece with a satisfied smirk. It had been months since you started to wear those type of under-wears, hoping one day this situation would come.

No one wants to fuck their sexy boss with granny’s pants.

The cold table coming in contact with your intimacy made you moan a bit, and Nanami’s attention was back on you. There you were, beautifully waiting for him. Fuck-me eyes, pleading mouth, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You were at his mercy, had been for a while now. And he? Well, Nanami was yours now, that’s what matter.

One of his fingers, the same one he had penetrated you earlier, came back inside you. Smearing itself with your wetness. His other hand gripped your hips, bringing you closer, and making him go deeper. There, right fucking there. He curled, and thrusted, and another two more out of nowhere.

Cruelty was not on the way he was ravishing your cunt, but the biting of your teeth on your hand. You have to be quiet, follow his orders, but Nanami seemed to want to make you scream. Let everyone know that he is fucking you. Nearly fucking you.

Combining this movements with the ones of earlier, you feel your insides getting tighter. He senses as well, and raises his peace once more. But, again, your legs push him away. Nanami doesn’t like that, he comes back quick, wet fingers anxious to reclaim their place inside you, but you sign no, and he halts. That’s it. The man that controls everyone, and he is at your mercy.

“I want to cum on your cock.” Maybe is the sweet and diabolical way you say, or the tilting of your head with a charming smile. What matters is, he complies right away. His pants fall, he takes off his blazer, and not a second later you are presented with what you’ve been craving for months.

Like a pregnant lady, you almost cry and fall on your knees, finally having your desire attended. He doesn’t want that either, instead Nanami takes a condom from his wallet. Before he puts it, his waiting fingers touch your cunt again, grabbing a bit of your liquid and smearing it on himself. You nearly ask him to throw the condom away.

Is a sinful sight. All of this. You on the desk, legs wide open. He in front of you, adjusting himself on the condom. Both groaning when he, fucking finally, align with your entrance, and slowly gets in. He is largue, and thick, and preparation might have been necessary had you not been daydreaming of this moments months ago.

Had he not been himself, that man that makes you drip with just a “good morning”, this might have hurt. Instead, it’s exhilarating to be parted by his cock. The condom does not stop you from feeling his veins tickling your walls, or his tip finally setting near your cervix. That was fucking new. Pleasant and scary, and fucking welcome as well.

“Say it again,” He asks, hands on both your hips and eyes looking over yours. Waiting for the stars to fall over the two of you. “tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck m──” He doesn’t wait for you to end before he removes himself, and going back with a gushing sound. You nearly scream out of pleasure, but in the last second, you bite your lips strong enough to draw some blood. “Mmh, you fucking a-asshole.” He snorts at that, before slapping your thigh.

Seems that Nanami can do all the noises he wants. He groans against your skin, head hanging low to stare at the way you pussy suck his dick in and out. You have always been a good girl ── his good girl. Taking all the he gave you. Mostly work related, and now his cock. You truly were made just for him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” A moan scapes your hands, and he doesn’t bother spanking your leg again. He called you baby, and you’re strangling his dick perfectly. You can shout at this point, he is pussy fucked.

Removing your hands from your mouth, you decide to do something much better than guarding your pleasure. Instead, you open his button-up blue shirt. A dream come through, is what this day will be remembered as. Specially now, where he lets you do as you pleases, and you have the sight of his pecks ── bronzed from a beach trip he took last week, and glistening with sweat for your recent activities. You moaned again, before going for it, and marking him.

Nanami allowed you to do so. He only cared about holding your hips and raise your lower body, so he could make you meet his thrusts halfway. He didn’t hold a care in the world about his groaning getting louder, or the burning on his neck and chest caused by your eager mouth and teeth. Fuck that. Fuck everyone. The only thing he truly wanted was to be inside of you forever. To be planted in this moment of his life, on loop, being marked by you, having his cock milked out by your dripping cunt. That’s what his life was made for.

Nanami Kento had this aura that made everyone scramble for him and his left-overs, as a way to keep close. To say they have something that once was his. Because everyone knew that Nanami was no one’s property. This moment, this fuck, this pussy proved that statement to be contraire ── he was yours. From the first day he saw you and specially one hour ago, when he had eaten your cookie and you told him to fuck you. He knew right then that he would shift the whole balance of the world to give you what you want.

And if that’s his aching cock, fucking be it. It’s yours. You’re taking it so good, and barely paying attention to it. He keeps bruising your cervix, and you respond with little whimpers and more bites. He quicken his peace, you close your legs around his waist, as if giving him more opening.

A perfect synchrony.

“Wan’ to cum.” You mumble just right after he senses your wall get tight.

“C’mon, baby, ugh, cum f’me.”

“Mmh, fuck, ngha.”

You do right after, going limp on his arms, he slow his thrusting with a snort and laying you down on the desk. He shuffles something by your dazed-self side, before he brings a black sharpie near your cleavage. He kisses and licks and sucks on it, before opening the pen with his mouth, and signing a straight line.

“How many more can you give me, pretty?” You don’t answer in words, but with more quiet whimpers, when his thrusts go back to pounding you in a maniac pace. He holds your neck down, leaning to kiss you through your beautiful moans.

You’re sensitive, he knows. Because you keep closing more and more around his length, trying to make him cum, unknown to you that it only makes you closer to coming again. You hit your head on the desk when trying to follow his departed lips, Nanami has your neck again on his mouth, tasting your sweat and lotion, and all you can give him. It’s only when he bites it slightly, you release yourself once more.

“Mmph, fuck, fuck, argh.”

Nanami keeps jerking his hips onto yours, not even having cum once. He takes pleasure in yours, you can see. With a proud smirk, he grabs the sharpie once more, but this time, he makes a diagonal line that touches the top of the first.

“Mhm──!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. Just a bit more.” He cooed at you, sweet tone diverging from his animalistic movements.

You’re not complaining, not even regretting. So you keep yourself down and let Nanami control both of yours fun. He is ruthless in his pace and fantastic with his kisses, he doesn’t mind your moaning anymore, or the fact that everyone on your floor already knows. What can they do? Stop you? Nanami will rip everyone apart and just return to your pussy. Threaten him? No one would dare. He is still their sweetheart, their most sacred prize, beautiful and shinning to look at. Never to have.

“I’m, ugh, I’m yours.” He grunts.

This time, you sense a shift in his thrusts. So methodical now sloppy, and his cock kept twitching inside of you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. Yes, fucking finally, he was near.

“All fucking m──mine.” You agreed with his words, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming your lips together. “I’m yours, always had been.”

Nanami can’t even control himself anymore. He groans and pants as he releases himself inside you. With a mist of swearing and praises you could barely decipher. After all, his own release had triggered yours.

When you both had come back from the high, Nanami raised himself from your chest, and kissed you, tongues intertwining, teeth clashing and biting. When he parted, leaving you breathless, he had then pen in his hand again. It touched your skin, once more, connecting from the bottom of his last line, going up straight.

It’s a “N”.

“You think we can spell my name?” He asks, leaving your inside to throw his condom out. He opens a drawer, where a box with more is presented.

“That would be more 17 fucks.” You support your weight on your elbows while counting.

“It’s that a no?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, before beckoning him closer. He does right away, kissing you hungrily once more. As if he is trying to record forever the taste of your mouth. He has your hair in his fists, pushing it back so he can go back to your, now, heavily marked neck.

“Let’s see how far can we go.” You indulge into his crazy erotic idea.

Nanami smiles triumphantly. He removes himself from your body, but doesn’t put condoms, instead, he falls on his knees, diving straight for your pussy.

Hours later, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, you leave his locked office with a smug smirk and timid eyes. Both accompanied by messy hair, flushed cheeks, marked neck and… “Nana” written on your chest.

“We’ll finish this later.” He comes behind you, closing his shirt, but letting the top buttons opened enough to catch a glimpse of your love marks on his chest. Specially the one with “Mine” marked in it.

[moonstruckme]

absolutely live for ur roommate!james could you maybe write one on him meeting some of readers friends for the first time or calling james to pick u up after a girls night 😇would love to see him finally feel “included” in our life like we are in his

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: alcohol

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

James is so absorbed in the football match on his phone that when there’s a tap on the window next to his face, he jolts halfway across the center console and squeaks like he’s twelve years old again. 

You’re beaming outside the car. Your shoulders shake with quiet, un-self-conscious laughter, so it’s impossible for James to be any kind of upset. Still, he makes a show of huffing a little as his own smile spreads. He reaches over and opens his door. 

“Sorry,” you say. You don’t look it, so he lets you off the hook for your over-apologizing. 

“Who do you think would drive you home if I had a heart attack?” James asks. He’s somewhat breathless, either because of the scare or the easier-than-usual grin still fixed on your face. 

You lean against the side of his car and roll your eyes. “Oh, your heart’s too healthy to be in danger of attacks.” 

“What are you doing on this side of the car? You’re the passenger, you know.”

“Okay, listen.” You give him a very intentional look. It’s more eye contact than he’s used to from you, and it makes his guts go all twisty in a surprisingly nice way. “It’s completely up to you, of course, but I think I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” 

It clicks into place. “You’re drunk.” 

“Not very.” Your grin is a short fall from impish. Your eyes sparkle. God help him. “But you’re about to be.” 

James feels his eyebrows float up. “How do you figure?” 

“Because I’ve come to collect you. If you want.” 

“To collect me…where?”

“Inside,” you say, as though this should be obvious. You tip your head towards the restaurant. “We’ve just closed, and we have so much wine. Pleasepleaseplease, James, come in.” 

“Okay.” He’s letting you tug him from his car before he knows what he’s agreed to, only that one please will always be enough to get whatever you want from him. “Alright, love, but doesn’t your manager mind that you’re drinking their wine?” 

You let loose a bark of laughter, loud and sharp and totally unlike you. “Tom? Yeah, right.” 

Tom, James learns quickly upon entering the rowdy atmosphere of your workplace after hours, is younger than the both of you, hardly old enough to serve alcohol and yet managing the restaurant. And the wine isn’t stolen, necessarily, but the fortunate leavings of a wealthy customer who bought more bottles than his table could handle and then left nearly all of them. 

Everyone who’d been on the night shift is strewn about the empty restaurant. Servers and busboys and dishwashers all perched on stools, standing behind the bar, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on tables. You take James by the hand, first reclaiming the bottle of wine you’d evidently stored behind the host’s station and then leading him around the room to introduce him to various coworkers. His hand feels warm and tingly. You have an easy repartee and a million in-jokes with the servers, but even the kitchen staff seems to adore you. As they rightly should, James thinks. It’s obvious you’re as kind and considerate here as you are at home, and he feels a bit silly for not having been able to picture you in this place so clearly before now. 

Art is working with you again tonight. It’s embarrassing, the warm wave of relief that James feels when he notices you don’t pay him any extra attention. He makes a mental note to extend his offer of a ride home more often. Every time your hand starts to slip from James’, you readjust your grip before he can even think of doing it himself. Suits him just fine; ever since your mugging incident, suddenly James is in this weird place where he always wants a hand on you.

You say his name, and then the lip of a bottle is being pushed against his lips. 

“You haven’t had hardly any.” You look like you’re trying to pout, but your eyes are smiling. 

James takes the bottle from you. He looks you in the eyes as he takes a sip as if to say, Happy? It’s barely enough to warm his throat. “I am still driving us home, you know.”  

The pout is getting better. “I know, but I’m trying to be fun for you. You don’t have to drive us if you don’t want to! You’re always the one doing the nice things.” 

“Oh, don’t.” His tone is fonder than he means for it to be, but luckily you’re too tipsy to mind. “You’re plenty fun. You do nice things for me all the time.” 

“Yeah, but not enough to balance out.” You make your eyes big and pitiful. James feels fortunate this isn’t a skill you seem inclined to utilize sober. “Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—Jamie, don’t hold back because of me, please.” 

His stomach does an impressive flip. He doesn’t think you realize you’ve called him that, doubts you’d have done it under normal circumstances, but his nervous system cares not for rationalizations. He wants desperately to hear you say it again. 

You beam as James lifts the bottle to his lips again, taking a few hearty gulps. You both end up walking home that night, but you wake even before James to go retrieve his car in the morning.

[deuxadeux-if]

WELCOME TO DEUX À DEUX.

Hi all, I’m Ray, and this is the official Tumblr of the WIP interactive fiction game “Deux à Deux."

This post contains:

Socials

Current Demo Status & Patreon Status

Short Synopsis

Long(er) Synopsis

About the Game (ROs and a basic “things to do” summary)

Content Warnings

Demo

***The game is planned to have some mature content, so 18+ only from here on out, please :-) ***

Socials: Pinterest | Spotify | COG Forum | Patreon

Demo & Prologue Status (10/05/2024):

| Public Demo |

Prologue is available. You should also see an ending page which allows you to restart/share game, you should have a stats screen, and you should have 4 save slots.

| Patreon |

Prologue is available. R Burns POV #1 (for prologue scene) is available for free & paid members on Patreon. Erin Pinsky Diary #1 and T Lyons POV #1 are available to Obsession tier on Patreon. Two free drabbles are on Patreon (you can find them here, too, though).

Short Synopsis:

You’re barely scraping by your dead-end job when a couple leaves a note as they leave: “Quit your job—we’ll take care of you.” Calling the number on the note throws you headfirst into a world of luxury, intrigue, power, and lust. Tread lightly.

Long(er) Synopsis:

As a server at a self-proclaimed “upscale” restaurant in New York City, most of your shifts end with exhaustion, total rage, or vague annoyance. When a beautiful couple leaves you a note with their receipt (instructing you to quit your job and let them “take care” of you), along with a $500 tip, you’re intrigued.

You don’t expect much from the note, but it quickly becomes obvious that you’ve caught the Lyonses attention. They’re persistent as they are mysterious, but you soon realize there’s a dark underbelly to their glamorous, luxurious lifestyle. Whether you stay in it or not is up to you.

Will you become part of (or break up) the Lyons couple, or will you find another path with their permanent “house guest”? Maybe you’ll be the fourth piece in their puzzle. You could stay at your crappy serving job and get closer with one of two coworkers, to the horror of the Lyonses—or maybe even your boxing coach.

Whatever happens, it won’t come easy.

About the Game:

-----------------------------ROs---------------------------

T Lyons.

T (Tom/Tess/Tory) Lyons is wealthy, mysterious, and cold. They’re married to N Lyons, and the two of them are the very picture of a New York City “power couple."

T takes an immediate liking to you when they meet you at La Table (the restaurant you work at). Their interest is what sweeps you into the Lyonses life, into their own luxurious, illicit, private world.

Appearance: T Lyons is American and black. They have black hair, sharp lips, and cold brown eyes.

N Lyons.

N (Noah/Natasha/Nico) Lyons is T’s devoted spouse, and is in turns alluring and terrifying. N is apprehensive to have you join their world, despite their immediate interest in you, because the Lyonses only ever have one “house guest” at once.

N Lyons will be a little harder to win over, but they may prove a more loyal ally. You also wonder how much they pull the strings of the Lyonses’ lives behind the scenes. Only time will tell.

Appearance: N Lyons is Mexican-American and brown. They have very dark brown hair, long eyelashes, and calculating black eyes.

M Nguyen.

M (Mason/Molly/Mars) Nguyen is the current house guest of the Lyonses, and you immediately wonder if they find you an unwelcome intrusion or a possible savior.

M is more reserved than either of the Lyonses, but then again, they don’t have much to talk about. They don’t leave the house much, but they want for nothing under the Lyonses care. You just wonder if they’re in a gilded cage, or truly satisfied.

Appearance: M Nguyen is Vietnamese-American and tan. They have black hair, angular cheekbones, and thoughtful black eyes.

R Burns.

R (Ronnie/Roxanne/Rainn) Burns is one of your closest almost-friends in your “real life.” They’re your boxing coach, the best around, and you consider them mostly (or completely) to thank for your combat skills.

You’re always entertained with R, but you’re torn between deciding if there’s real care beneath the easy amusement on the surface. Do you want to get closer to R, or leave them in the dust?

Appearance: R Burns is Punjabi-American and brown. They have black hair, a prominent nose, and dark brown eyes.

Erin Pinsky.

Erin Pinsky (genderlocked) is your almost-almost-codependent coworker. She’s a very talented server, always lighthearted and charming … if you cared more about your job, you might be jealous.

She seems to really like you, too. The question is, is that affection only surface-level, or could there be something more there?

Appearance: Erin Pinsky is American and white. She has poorly bleached hair, always-on black eyeliner, and bright brown eyes.

Theo Ferreira.

Theo Ferreira (genderlocked) is another of your coworkers, but you can’t really tell if he thinks anything about you … like, at all. He doesn’t really give a shit about La Table or his job, so he’s more stern than charming as a server.

For some reason, the customers eat this up. Sometimes he’ll sneak you stolen food from the back and insist you bring it home, but otherwise he’s pretty quiet. Still, he’s very handsome.

Appearance: Theo Ferreira is Brazilian-American and brown. He has buzzed brown hair, expressive eyebrows (though he hates this), and shrewd black eyes.

----------------------THINGS TO DO---------------------

In Deux à Deux, you can romance several people at once (whether there will be consequences or not is anyone’s guess … mwahaha) or devote yourself to one RO. You can also date nobody, I guess, but that will be a lot less fun in this game, sorry!

You can throw yourself wholeheartedly into life with the Lyonses, including going clubbing, eating fine dining, going on impromptu vacations, etc.

You can also reject their frivolous lifestyle entirely, avoiding them when you can (although they’re quite persistent) and spend time boxing, hanging with your coworkers, or trying to get M out of the Lyonses lives.

Or, if you’re feeling ambitious, you can try to balance both.

This game will have:

Romance (duh)

Stat checks with consequences (there will be 2-3 majorly game-defining stat checks, so choose wisely)

Combat (everyone has a few skeletons in their closets, right?)

A fair bit of drama.

Content Warnings:

These will be updated more as I continue writing and completely solidify things, but this is a start.

Combat: knives, guns, street fighting

Violence: blood, bruising, unconsciousness

Stalking (not by ROs or MC)

Swearing/cursing (your MC can choose not to curse, though!)

Sexually suggestive content

Sexually explicit content (can opt out via “fade-to-black”)

NOTE: there is no sexual violence or allusions to it, EVER. There is no human/sex trafficking or allusions to it, EVER.

The Demo:

Link: https://dashingdon.com/go/17086 OR click here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for your interest in my game!! So excited to continue sharing this with you all.

XO

Ray

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) Scenario: Marriage

Pairing: Dark Tom Riddle x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SCENARIO: How marrying Tom would go.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

You don’t know if you’ll get a job, if you’ll ever regret your career path, if you’ll move out or stay with your parents. 

In short terms, you don’t know anything. The future is completely and purely uncertain.

But one thing is crystal clear though: you’re gonna be Tom’s wife, there isn’t a single doubt about that. 

Although technically you’re already his, Tom has a strange obsession with binding you in the most sacred relation there is, despite having no actual respect for it. 

The last year at Hogwarts is…enlightening, to say the least. Tom never fully discloses his plans, you already knew that, but he did share small but frightening pieces of information.

During all the years that you’ve known Tom, he’s been power hungry, his brilliant mind preparing for when he finally leaves school and you know it’s not peace-seeking type of plans. 

Rather the opposite.

And it scares you to death. You don’t want to be a part of it, of any of his deranged plans to conquer immortality and power. While he was a teenager, it was easy to ignore his delusions but now?

Soon Tom will be able to do whatever he wants and it’s clear that he fully intends on making his plans come true with a steel determination. 

It made you uncomfortable and uneasy, straining the already poor relationship you had with Tom. But none of your attempts to distance yourself from him were successful. Tom would never let you out of your leash, would he?

Willingly or unwillingly, you’ll always have to come back to him. 

As soon as you graduate from Hogwarts, Tom won’t waste any time marrying you. It would be a very private ceremony as you and Tom hold hands, dressed in black attires.

None of your family was invited, Tom didn’t even dignify informing them about the wedding. You're surrounded by his fellow Death Eaters, who serve as witnesses for the promises of Unbreakable Vow that Tom has you doing. 

Obedience. Submission. Devotion. 

You’re less of a wife and more like a slave when the ceremony finally ends.

Committed to a man that you fear.

Bound in a way that only death can put an end to it. 

And that’s what you pray for. 

[chucky-vs-the-giant-tortoise]

i’ve got you

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

summary: an anxious Y/N feels overwhelmed while partying with the pogues at the boneyard, and JJ does his best to calm her nerves.

warning(s): underaged drinking, panic attack

a/n: a big thank you to anyone who enjoyed my last maybank!sister snippet. i hope to write a lot more for JJ in the future, so feel free to leave any requests if you have any specific ideas of what you’d like to read!

also please let me know if i should make these shorter. lol. i'm never sure.

Y/N screwed her eyes shut, trying and failing to keep her hands from trembling as they dented her red solo cup. Her heart was beating so fast that her head could barely keep up, the loud music and sweaty bodies that enclosed her doing nothing to ease her mind.

It was a picturesque summer night out in the boneyard, which of course meant that the Pogues just had to have a kegger. Y/N had grown used to the routine by then, tagging along as they went out to buy the keg and an insane amount of plastic cups that Kie always complained she found littered all over the beach the morning after. Y/N typically helped in the prep for whatever wild evening lay ahead, and had even served as a DD the few times that the Pogues got plastered enough to willingly allow a 15-year-old to drive the Twinkie. However, despite her brother's constant pleading and nagging, she'd never actually attended one of their infamous beach parties.

At least, not until tonight.

Y/N had always been shy, the complete opposite of her elder brother and all of his wild impulsivity. She hated big crowds and loud noises, and even though she would occasionally drink one while out on the Pogue, she wasn't even the biggest fan of beer. But JJ had begged her to join them all day long, poking and prodding at her nerves in his attempts to finally get his baby sister out of her shell.

"Come on, Y/N. You really wanna spend the rest of your life cooped up in the chateau?" he'd said dramatically, throwing his hands up in desperation. "You really oughtta live a little sometime."

You really oughtta live a little sometime.

His words had haunted her well into the evening, and at the last minute she'd finally decided to bite the bullet. JJ was right, after all. While most kids her age were busy making memories and taking risks, she spent her evenings curled up with a book in her lap.

Sure, it wouldn't be the most comfortable experience, but what was the worst that could happen? After all, like her brother always said, stupid things had good outcomes all the time.

She made a mental note to correct JJ on that stupid motto as someone pushed past her, blowing chunks into the bushes only a few feet away from rigid form.

Y/N covered her nose, averting her gaze just in time to notice a familiar head of blond hair breaking through the mess of bodies whooping and grinding on one another.

"Holy shit!" JJ hollered wildly, dimples painfully visible in his state of drunken bliss. "Tom, that's some gnarly shit, man! Trust me, you're gonna feel that tomorrow." He gave the boy a pat on the back as he retched, though thankfully the steady stream of vomit had ended.

Y/N only stood and watched. It was clear that JJ hadn't seen her, but maybe that was for the best. The last thing she wanted was to ruin his night.

"Yo, Y/N/N!"

Too late.

JJ made his way over in sloppy strides, and Y/N turned up her nose at the stench of alcohol clinging to him. He pulled her into him with an arm slung over her shoulders.

"Hi, Jay." Y/N hoped her brother was drunk enough not to notice the tremble in her voice.

"Where'd you go, kid? I've been looking for you all night." He was leaning on her now, gleefully unaware as he slowly crushed her beneath his weight. Y/N groaned with the effort it took to keep her brother upright, struggling not to remind him that it was in fact he who left her to do some shots and never returned.

"Yeah I was . . . I was j-just--"

"Shit, I didn't know you were drinking. That's my girl," he slurred with a wink, pointing at the cup Y/N was damn near close to dropping. It was all getting too much for her—JJ's weight boring into her side, the overwhelming stench of beer, the screaming mouths and dancing bodies slowly closing her in. She felt like a caged animal, her lungs tight and chest heavy.

"Hey, you seen Pope yet? I lost him an hour ago—saw him walk off with some blonde chick with a tramp stamp. Oh, you need a top-up? You should go now, 'm pretty sure the keg's getting low."

JJ continued to ramble on as Y/N crumbled underneath him, her eyes searching desperately for somewhere to go.

"Aw man, I love this song!" Y/N gasped as JJ began jerking her around, forcing her to sway back and forth with him. "Yo, Kurt! Turn that shit up bro!"

Y/N felt blood rushing to her ears, her hands growing clammy as her nerves took over. You're fine, she told herself. You're fine, you're fine. But it wasn't working—she couldn't hear herself think over the music blaring from the speakers.

"Come on, loosen up Y/N! Let's dance!"

"No!" Y/N reached her breaking point, escaping from beneath her brother's outstretched arm. JJ stumbled, just barely managing to catch himself and get a good look at the fear etched into Y/N's features.

"What? Y/N—" He held out a hand that she cringed away from, breathing raggedly as she did.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Y/N!" JJ called after her as she ran off, not knowing exactly where she was headed but intent on getting away. She wound up crouching behind a small hill across from the bustling core of the party, far enough away that the music finally fell to an acceptable volume.

Y/N brought her knees to chest and buried her face in them, fingers tugging at her hair as tears spilled from her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could she be dumb enough to let JJ convince her that this would be a good idea? Y/N forced her breathing to slow as her chest tightened, coughing in her feeble attempts.

Y/N had listened to a few songs run their course by the time she managed to get a grip on herself, her breaths steadying as she counted eight-second inhales and eight-second exhales. Still Y/N rested her forehead against her knees, so dead-set on staying calm that she didn't notice the sound of JJ's footsteps in the sand.

"Hey." Y/N gasped, her head shooting upright as she scrambled to back away from whoever had found her. "Hey, calm down. It’s alright, Y/N." She sighed in relief when she recognized JJ's outline in the dark, her brother crouched before her shrunken form. "It's okay. Just me."

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"'S okay. Didn't mean to scare you." He awkwardly held out another cup to her, which she observed warily. "Don't worry, it’s just water. Figured it might help more than beer."

Y/N smiled, accepting JJ's peace offering gratefully. "You'd be right about that." She greedily drank it all in one gulp, only then realizing how dry her mouth had gotten. "Thanks, Jay."

"Least I could do, since I forced you to come her." Y/N sighed, noticing the guilt swimming in her brother's blue eyes.

"You didn't force me."

"Well, I might as well have."

"it's not your fault, JJ." He rested a comforting hand on her knee.

"Sure it is. I knew you didn't like this kind of scene and I dragged you here anyway." He ran his free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as regret consumed his intoxicated mind.

"It's okay." Y/N shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. JJ ruffled her hair. "Sorry I can't be a party animal like you."

"Ah, don't sweat it. Makes my job a lot easier, anyway." Y/N giggled, shoving him lightly, and JJ couldn't help but smile. "So, what's the plan? Want me to drive you home?"

Y/N scoffed. "I don't even think you could if you tried."

"Oh, Y/N," He teased her with a smile, "you severely underestimate my driving skills."

"And you severely overestimate my willingness to die." JJ chuckled at that. "Plus, who said I wanted to leave?"

"You’re gonna stay?'

"Yeah, why not? I mean, I've made myself a pretty comfy hideout over here." JJ pouted.

"I guess . . ." He looked down at his sister with a smirk. "Or you could try the party again."

Immediately Y/N felt that skin-crawling uncertainity take over once more. She bit at her bottom lip. "I don't . . . I dunno, Jay."

"Look, I promise I won't leave you this time. We can just sit around the campfire—maybe try to find Kie or something. What'd'ya think?" He held out a hand to her. "We'll take it slow."

Y/N considered this for a moment, eventually taking hold of her brother's hand. "Okay."

"Sweet!" JJ tried his best to stand, but only wound up falling back on his ass. "I'm gonna need some help getting up, though."

Y/N laughed, hoisting her brother to his feet with a grunt, and JJ smiled as she allowed her hand to linger in his while they walked. The very same way she did when they were little.

Just like JJ promised, he found the two of them a space to sit by the blazing campfire and never left Y/N's side.

・❥・

Hours had passed before the kegger had begun to die down, their beer long gone and speakers long dead. The rest of the Pogues had finally joined the Maybanks around the fire pit, and the group listened comfortably as Kie plucked at the strings of her ukulele. "Y'know what, Jay? I wouldn't mind trying this kegger thing again."

JJ smiled. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it." She snuggled closer to his chest, absorbing whatever extra heat his body offered. "As long as you're there to hold my hand."

[xxsycamore]

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

╰┈➤🎥 Filming with Liam Evans is a dream come true. Every line he delivers, every small movement of his sculptured forms… you're far too immersed to remain level-headed, and you're yet to see him naked. This can't be good.

Liam Evans x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Porn Star AU; Porn actors; Porn Video; mentions of burglary and stalking (from the porn plot); Celebrity Crush; Cunnilingus; Oral Sex; Vaginal Sex • wordcount: 1,558 • masterlist

a/n: Special thanks to Liz (@candiedcoffeedrops) for the porn plot idea and to Drac (@drachonia) for enabling me so much. It's been a hot minute since I've been able to write anything, thank you for the encouragement guys <3

Visions of Temptation 2024/KINKTOBER DAY 1: Porn Actors AU

"Now, we can settle things nice and peacefully here, can't we? You can go ahead and call the cops on me for burglary, or you can let me try and change your mind first."

The unexpected offer nearly cracks your resolve, tense facial muscles twitching as your brow rises up just a tad. You're willing to listen, and the man in front of you notices that. He tilts his head to the side in a playful manner, unsuited for the severe situation.

"Don't try to hide it. I know your bed has been awfully empty lately…"

It definitely was a mistake, giving him the opportunity to speak. You know this must have been him collecting information for his planned theft but the thought of being stalked like this still sends unpleasant shivers down your spine. In lieu of a weapon, you hold on tighter to the phone in your hand, shooting daggers at the stranger in your bedroom. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, the long sleeves of your luxurious pink home robe suited for the lady of the house flutter around you.

"You have five seconds to change my mind."

His eyes widen slightly upon your proposition, just enough to show that enchanting magenta color. He approaches you with a feline step, and you do your best to be sturdy despite the growing anticipation. What would he do?

He gambles with his time. Whatever his course of action, he wastes too many seconds staring right into your eyes, and too little for anything else. And again, why are you hoping for anything else? He's closer now. You give no signs of resistance, and so he doesn't hold back.

A pair of lips land on your own. You don't dare breathe, and he doesn't dare invade your mouth - he's just there, a hot breath, a butterfly-light touch.

"I can treat you to some good time, and then you'll let me go. How does it sound? Think about it."

He whispers that in your ear. In response, you just slowly withdraw and take a look at him.

"And…Cut!"

A voice coming from behind you nearly makes you jump, forcing you right back into the reality of your surroundings. You got caught a little too much into that opening scene, but can you be blamed? Filming with Liam Evans is a dream come true. Every line he delivers, every small movement of his sculptured forms… you're far too immersed to remain level-headed, and you're yet to see him naked. This can't be good.

His role in this adult movie is not far from his usual repertoire. While he can transform into pretty much everything that's thrown at him, this bad-boy look fits him remarkably. A burglar breaking and entering into your home, bribing you with some good time, fully well knowing the risk he's taking and being just that confident in his skills. Liam is even more flawless when you're seeing him act up close. You're able to notice so much more this way - the way adrenaline colors his features, the daring gaze as he plays with fire - it's almost as if he's experiencing the thrill firsthand.

"You're both brilliant, I'm telling you! We'll begin the next scene with you two on the bed in the middle of undressing. Remember, Liam, nothing is decided yet. You have to win her over, to earn your freedom. Serve her like she's your mistress. You're entirely at her will!"

Tom's enthusiastic hand gestures make Liam speed up gulping the contents of his water bottle just so he can laugh at the director. You can't help but be sympathetic, he hardly needs those details after all.

"I think we got it, Tom." Liam pats his friend on the shoulder, yet his eyes never seem to leave yours. "We should keep going!"

In the commotion of spotlights being moved around the queen-sized bed in haste and cameras getting in position, you manage not to miss the intriguing little detail that Liam doesn't need any "preparation". It's hardly your first time being on set, yet you can't recall your male co-star getting a hard-on from a cliched prelude to the act…and one innocent kiss. But this really is happening, as everyone including you gets in position, and you can all but see the bulge in Liam's pants in your peripheral vision.

The camera starts rolling, however, and all you can focus on right now is making out with Liam. His hands are quickly put to work, and you know it will only get harder to be mindful of limbs blocking the view when he robs you of your concentration like that. Your robe pools on the bed around you, and Liam already has his face shoved in your chest, taking noisy mouthfuls of breather as he kisses your hot skin.

The contrast of him carefully taking off your underwear versus haphazardly discarding his own clothing only highlights how focused he is on serving you. The skillful tip of his tongue turns your nubs into hard peaks as he toys with your breasts.

By the time you're both fully nude and in the middle of another passionate kiss, your withdrawal is combined with a hand making its way towards Liam's beautiful hardness. Your insides throb at the sight of it, mind occupied with thoughts about having it inside you. Last time you had a good look at it, he was on the screen on your phone, and your hand was inside your underwear. Even now that this same hand is caressing him, you find it hard to believe…

Wait, you're not supposed to do that.

Anxiety materializes heavily in your chest, almost choking you out as you expect to hear an abrupt pausing of the scene. Feeling Liam's gaze on you, you return it, albeit with little expectation - and the shock on your features is genuine when Liam takes hold of your hand, and then of your other one, and pins you down to the bed.

He's improvising. Even if he was instructed to be completely at your mercy…

Next thing you know, Liam's head moves down between your parted legs until you find your hot centered attacked by his tongue. You sense a camera closing in to capture his performance between your legs and while in the throes of pleasure, you seem to realize this didn't spoil the scenario at all. The slight change in your dynamics doesn't mean Liam isn't as starved to please you as he was in the beginning - what's more, the measured amount of dominance in the simple gesture should be just enough to make the viewers go crazy.

You know it because it works on you.

Not a prisoner to your own worries anymore, you have little to do other than receiving Liam's masterful methods at making you soar to the heavens. The last thought lingering in your mind before you orgasm is that there simply can't be any co-star of his that has ever had to fake this.

As per the script, you have to let him pleasure you like this for some time until you start begging to be fucked - which proves to be as easy as breathing at this point, and the moment he pierces you with his cock, you can't help the full body shiver that runs through you rather noticeably. What was he bribing you for, again? Your heroine can't remember. All she cares about right now is taking her full of this handsome stranger.

Soon Tom announces another cut and you internally lament the loss of the perfect doggy position Liam had you in. For the money shot, Liam is to take you in missionary, pulling out last minute to ejaculate across your belly. You wish this burglar was a little more daring, but alas, you're not the director.

White hot takes over your vision as your head tosses back, eyes squeezed shut, orgasming one last time for the session. You don't relax just yet though, playing your next line in your head to make sure you remember it, even as you sense the hot emission of Liam's come land across your front all the way to your heavying chest. Tom is going to be happy with how this turned out.

"So? Did I manage to change your mind?"

Turning towards the smug expression looking forward to your response, you card your fingers through your disheveled hair and smirk back at him.

"I'm afraid you're in far deeper trouble now."

Despite the indication for round two, a direction who's not you decided this is where the film should end. Fair. Either way, you're likely going to feel that in your bones all the way to your home, and likely after that too.

A hand appears in front of you and you see Liam standing up next to the bed, offering you a handshake.

"Hope to work with you again someday."

You raise from your sitting position and accept his hand, giving him your best smile despite your quickening heartbeat. "Likewise. You're amazing, Mr. Evans, I hope to get close to your proficiency someday!"

Liam chuckles, leaning in just one step closer as he lowers his voice. "Just Liam is fine. And if you need any help, advice, practice, anything, just get in contact with me, okay?"

Practice…?

"Will surely do so!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

can you do a tom x reader where the reader is in a girl group and goes on tour with tokio hotel and they all get into a bunch of shenanigans together? LOVE LOVE LOVEEE YOUR WORK BTW!!

(Hey! Sure I can and thank you for loving and requesting my work! Sorry if this isn't really a Tom x reader but enjoy!)

Tour Shenanigans

You guys always wake up with headaches at this point

Tom is almost thrown out onto the balcony and has no recollection of whatever you guys did

Bill is buried under piles of clothes, your band members are almost drowning in food, Gustav is dressed in a hula dancer outfit, Georg's hair is in braids and is painted purple

You guys cannot remember for the life of you guys what happened until media leaks it the next day

You guys are constantly at clubs and getting shit faced

One time you guys somehow ended up being the bartender and serving the actual bartender

You and Tom could legit go on for hours with each other doing god knows what

Your band and Tokio Hotel are actually pretty good friends

You guys got drunk and went down skinny dipping in a lake and almost drowned

Bill was once dressed as a princess

On Halloween one time you guys pretended a member of your band was seven and used her for candy

You guys constantly raid gas stations and supermarkets

You guys had to run because Georg pushed you and Tom, who were sitting in a cart, into a display case

Shit went everywhere and the staff got pissed

You guys hauled ass out of there

There are videos that surfaced of you pretending to be Tom, Tom was somehow dressed as you, Bill and your band member were holding each other on a couch and murmuring some sorta language before making out, Gustav was being held up by your friends and screaming "Jesus is me!" While your friends bowed to him and Georg was blasting music on his bass

Saying how drunk you were was an understatement

You guys went to the depths of hell

So many things you guys CANNOT bring up again out of fear of going to jail

Interviewers bring how you guys act up so much you guys start blaming each other

You guys have stolen so much shit, some even by accident and are too afraid to bring it back

You guys get bored in hotel rooms and just ding-dong ditch hotel rooms

You guys knocked hard as hell on a door once and you tripped Tom on accident but left him

He was laying on the ground and trying to get out of a situation with a confused man at the door

You guys had to run back and drag him by his feet down the hall to get out

You guys go to a lot of attractions like amusement parks, carnivals, but you and your band once dragged them into a haunted house

Georg was oddly calm and trying to find a way out

Gustav and your guitarist were clinging to each other and when they tried to run bumped into each other

Bill tried to be hero and help your friend he has a crush on but ended up screaming and jumping into her arms

You and Tom somehow got lost and we're trying to sacrifice each other to a clown

Somehow you all ended up back together and huddled all in a corner while screaming

Of course, Tom tripped again and you guys had to run back and carry him away as a man with a knife chased y'all

You guys once tried an escape room but it ended up in you guys screaming at each other

The operator kept coming on and saying not to break shit and going "that's not a clue!" Because you guys were so helpless

You guys try and cook dinner but somehow make it even worse than before

You guys on the tour bus have a game of when the bus moves, stand up and who lasts the longest wins

It was pretty fun until the bus took a turn and you were practically thrown into the door

Turns out, nobody locked it!

The door busted open and you barely grabbed onto the door frame as everyone was yelling for the bus driver to stop and Bills fighting for his life to get you back on

Tom is screaming on roller coasters and clinging to your arm while screaming in horror

He looks like he's bouta die ngl

When getting jump scared do not expect him to play hero

He'll forget About you and haul ass, looking back and seeing you

He tried going back for you but couldn't

The pants did not hold him down whatsoever because he was holding them like they were a dress and legit BOOKING it

He was aa fast as the speed of light let me tell you

Karaoke with this dude gets competitive

Especially with both bands

You guys broke a window and TV

Do not play Wii with these assholes because it did not end well

The remotes were thrown every direction possible and you guys got called by the desk to shut the fuck up

You guys go to the beach sometimes and once went at night

You guys were so far out you didn't think you were gonna make it

It was horrifying

Drives with Tom are oddly calming

Music is blasting, driving fast and leaning out the window as you guys are screaming lyrics

Oddly therapeutic

He doesn't leave you alone on stage

He is messing with you and kissing your neck just to make you laugh

You all once went through a drive through with Bill in a shopping cart

You guys got in trouble bc you forgot money for the food you ordered and they called the cops

You guys ran away in every direction as Tom is legit running and pushing the shopping cart with Bill in it as fast as he can

Media eats this shit up

So many pictures of you guys drunk and wasted but somehow still managing to do some stupid shit

You guys get scolded so many times but continue to do it

[allbark-no-bite]

i would’ve married you.

icemav x reader (wc. 2.4k)

summary: It had always been Maverick. It had been Maverick long before you met Ice and would continue to be Maverick until he took his last breath.

warnings: severe angst, mentions of cancer, vomiting, character death

authors note: for all of my followers, i know this isn’t something that i would usually post but i’m immensely proud of it. this is for all of my Icemav Topgun people out there

————————————————————————

You watch as he cinches his belt one, two, five times. But you didn't have to watch him dress to know how much weight he had lost. The gauntness of his cheekbones could have told you that. He could have told you that. But he doesn't. And neither of you talk about it.

He just trudges tiredly out of the bedroom, running a hand through his frosty hair as he passes through the door frame. It seemed as though out of all the loss you had expected to come along with chemo, both the tumor and his hair were insistent upon staying.

Tom had the kind of hair that one would expect a man aging into his thirties to have: still relatively thick, however dulling in color, and ever threatening to see it's final days. Except it had looked like this for the past ten years. So had you expected the chemo to finally push the bleach damaged strands over the edge? Yes. Were you surprised when it didn't? No.

Along with his steel cut jawline and the soft roundness that his high cheekbones had given his face, it worked for him. He seemed to be perpetually never aging, stuck between a spry young cadet and weathered admiral.

"Where are you going? You have an appointment today." You watch, unamused and arms crossed as he moves through the house, gathering his things.

"No, I have to go into the office today. I'm already behind on too much paperwork," he corrects, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Tom has never been a coffee person, but these days he's totaling a minimum of two cups a day. That's not counting whatever he has while at work. It splashes onto the counter in his haste, but either he's moving too fluidly to notice or just doesn't care.

Normally his carelessness would have ticked you off, and you'd tell him off for the mess, tired of having to mother a grown man in his own home, but you're trying. Trying to be more gentle—be more patient. There is this tremendously guilty feeling that occurs when you yell at someone with cancer. Cancer. You hardly ever even say the word aloud.

It had started out as a persistent ear ache. Something he had chalked up to years of flying. He took antibiotics and that seemed to take care of the pain for a while. Then came the difficulty swallowing, followed by swollen lymph nodes, and finally the cough. It was the cough that he couldn't manage to shake.

"You can't keep missing treatments," you say, even though he knows. Sometimes you think it's worse that he's well versed about his condition. The first few weeks after finding out, he would come home, shower, and spend hours reading books that detailed symptoms and various treatments. Those hours bled into long anxious nights where the bedside lamp never turned off and neither of yourselves slept.

He knows what every symptom means; when it's good, when it's really bad.

Ice is already almost out the door, tugging on a coat that he snatched from god knows where, his combat boots shoved on haphazardly on his feet. His blonde hair is mushed from sleep, cowlicked on one side and only serving to add to his disheveled state. It's longer now, longer than it has been in a while. He'd always kept his hair cropped short in the time that you had known him, but now it was just long enough to stick out over his ears and brush the back of his neck.

"I agreed to do this shit as long as it didn't interfere with anything. It worked for a while but now I'm done. You knew the agreement."

The agreement. The agreement that you and Ice had settled on nearly ten months prior, back when he was just starting chemo—what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He hadn't wanted to undergo treatment. Hadn't wanted to endure the debilitating side effects that would come as a result. The doctors had given him a couple more years if he chose to do nothing. They'd make him 'comfortable' as they called it, and he could carry on with his duties until he couldn't. It was a guaranteed death sentence.

The chemo gave him a chance. You'd begged him to at least try. It was worth a try. Eventually he had given in under the condition that he would do the treatments until they started affecting his job. Your hope was that the chemo would stave off the disease long enough to buy him more time until then. At ten months, the tumor had shrunk in size, but Tom was feeling the effects of the radiation. He was nauseous more often than not and it was rare that he kept anything down. His joints stiffened and along with that came constant fatigue. The mouth sores were probably the worst development.

"That's not fair. You feel like crap because it's working," you argue, but it's like talking to a brick wall. He's not listening, tuning you out as he grabs his keys. He's been looking for an excuse to quit and it seemed as though he'd finally hit his breaking point. "If you skip again, everything so far will have been for nothing. You'll be right back where you started—"

His hand sliding off the doorknob, Ice turns to face you. He releases an exasperated sigh, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The crease between his brows seems to have become permanent these days. "The stupid appointment will be here when I get back. You will be here when I get back. My career, this opportunity, will not."

"You don't mean that," you whisper, fighting the tightening of your throat, but you don't even believe yourself when you say it.

For a fraction of a second, he at least has the decency to look guilty. Ice pauses in the doorway, his mouth opening then closing as he decides against whatever he was going to say.

"Tom...," you begin to please with him, your voice cracking, but the front door had already slammed shut.

A text comes from Slider later that day.

You need to come get him.

Had you received such a text twelve months ago, you would have assumed that Tom was being an intolerable ass and that the team was at their wits' end with him. These days he hardly even has enough energy to walk from his desk to the door, let alone raise any sort of hell like he used to.

It seems foolish to miss that kind of thing, but you do. You all miss the normalcy of it.

When you make it to the base, it is buzzing with life. The tarmac is lined with rows of aircraft and men, both returning and awaiting takeoff. Given today was the first day for new recruits, it wasn't unusual for things to be so chaotic. You find Viper behind his desk as usual, phone pressed to his ear. Upon spotting you, he covers the receiver and mouths 'bathroom'.

You find him in the one behind the showers in the locker room. He's braced over the sink, heaving. Maverick is there. Maverick is always there.

The brunette pilot is standing beside Ice, a hand on his back to steady him as he retches. Maverick's leant over, murmuring something into his ear, only taking note of you standing in the doorway as he straightens. He nods in greeting to you just slightly, a grim look in his green eyes.

You'd long ago become accustomed to the idea that Ice was not purely yours. The navy owned him first and foremost. That was sworn in oath and inarguable. But anything after that became a little less clear. There was Maverick, and then there was you.

But you knew that.

When you had first met Ice on a night out at the bar, you were completely and hopelessly swooned by his charm, convinced that you'd just met the love of your life. And then you met Maverick and realized that was never going to be true.

It had always been Maverick. It had been Maverick long before you met Ice and would continue to be Maverick until he took his last breath.

Knowing first hand that Tom doesn't like being crowded when he's like this, you wait until he straightens before making your presence known behind him. He doesn't even flinch at the feel of your hand on his back, and you take that as a bad sign. Usually he'd bristle defensively, snap at you that he could handle it on his own. You know his anger comes from a place of fear—fear of being vulnerable, fear of dying.

His face is pale and tired looking, even more so than usual. You press the back of your palm to his forehead but find that he's not unusually warm, which is good. His flushed cheeks and watery eyes must be from gagging.

Maverick now stands a few paces away, hands clasped together behind his back. He's always kept his distance when you were around, held back by not only his respect for you but the laws of the navy. One wrong move at the wrong place at the wrong time would have himself and Ice dishonorably discharged. Their careers would amount to nothing.

If it hadn’t been for DADT, you don’t think Tom would have chosen you. Had the government allowed it, he would have put an engagement ring on Pete’s finger instead of yours. You probably wouldn’t even be a part of his life. And you carry around a lot of guilt because of that. It’s been one of the most selfish things you’ve ever done, agreeing to marry Tom. But at the same time there’s a part of you that doesn’t feel guilty at all because at least that it meant you got to spend your life with him.

Tom was the love of your life, but you weren’t his. Tom loved you, he genuinely did, but he wasn’t in love with you. That was reserved for Maverick.

Tom sucks in a ragged breath, one that hurts your own chest, and a fit of coughing follows it You’re afraid you’re going to hear that cough and it’s painful sharpness for years to come, but what you’re even more afraid of is the day you don’t. You swallow the knot in your throat and pet a hand through Tom’s hair, tenderly brushing it away from his eyes.

The reality of the situation is beginning to hit you, and there’s little you can do to keep the tears from your eyes. Once he stops chemo, there’s no telling how much more time he has left. It could be a couple weeks or it could be years, but regardless, he’s done fighting.

“Pete,” you begin, your throat tight. The brunette pilot’s eyes shoot towards you, his eyes reflecting a look of surprise.

In all of the years that you had known him, he has always been Maverick to you, maybe even Mav on the rare occasion, but never Pete. That had been your way of distancing yourself from him, the man who your fiancé so fondly referred to as his wingman. It was hard to look at Maverick as a friend and at the same time, your fiancé’s lover.

“Pete, take him home, would you?” You ask, finally able to get your words out again.

Maybe he’s not sure if he’s hearing you correctly or he’s just genuinely confused, but Maverick tilts his head, his green eyes lit with confusion. “I don’t—”

Tom’s eyebrows furrow, mimicking an expression similar to his wingman’s when you slip off the engagement ring on your finger and enclose it in his palm. “(Y/n), what are you doing?”

With your heart in your throat, you engulf Tom in a hug. From a combination of him not expecting it and his considerably lighter frame, he has to shuffle a few steps back to accommodate for your sudden weight. Once recovered, his arms tighten around you. The weight of his embrace is overwhelmingly familiar, and it doesn’t hit you until now how much you’re going to miss it. You snuggle your face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in like how you used to when you first started dating.

You hear him struggling to swallow, but eventually he finds his voice. “I would have married you,” he says, his voice sounding full of regret. What he means is, even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, even though he wished things could have been different, he would have still walked down the isle and said ‘I love you’ and meant it. He would have loved you regardless.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you pull away just enough to see his face. “I know, Tom. I know you would’ve.”

And as much as it breaks you to release him, you step away from him for one final goodbye. Turning towards the man standing a few feet away, you open your arms for him, crushing Maverick in an embrace. “Take care of him, okay?” you manage, your words muffled by the leather of his bomber jacket.

“Of course ,” he promises.

“I know you will. You always have.”

——

Six months later, you get a phone call from Maverick. Tom had passed in his sleep last night. The call was brief, Maverick could barley get his words out, but he just wanted to let you know before the navy contacted you. They do around noon that day and you help make arrangements for the funeral.

With Tom being an admiral, they make it into a whole production, something he would have hated but secretly been proud of. It a very emotional day, hearing the fighter jets fly by and seeing all of yours and Tom’s friends.

You intend to slip in and out, but as you’re leaving, Maverick catches your eye in all of the chaos. It’s good to see him. He looks to be holding up okay despite the situation. There’s a gold band on his ring finger that wasn’t there before. The sight tugs at your heart a bit because you want to know how long they got to be married, if they went to the courthouse or if they had a ceremony on the beach like Tom had always wanted.

That’s the thing about love.

Even if it wasn’t you and Tom in the end, you still loved him, probably always will love him.

And that was fine.

All the love you had to give was his to keep anyways.

[ohthewh0rror]

SAVE YOUR TEARS.

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — you should know better than to go behind your husbands back.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 1k

TW: domestic violence and implied torture

A/N: this is actually an excerpt from this Tom/halfblood!OC story I’m writing, but I don’t know if I’ll ever actually post it, so I’ll just replace her name with Y/N and post the snippets here.

Y/N’s hands grabbed desperately at Tom, his stride keeping him just a step ahead of her, just out of reach. She could feel the tears drip onto her own robes, throat aching as she pleaded with him to not do this. That’s their boy, their only son. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as Tom kept on his path to the boys room.

Knowing they were growing closer and closer to his room, Y/N gave herself one last desperate push to grab Tom’s arm. She felt her fingers manage to snag the sleeves of his robe, and with all the energy she could muster in the moment, she yanked him.

The action only served to make Tom more mad, “unhand me!”. His voice was razor sharp, vaguely unrecognizable, as he yanked his arm from her grasp. In all their years together, she’d never seen him so angry, making her fear for their son only grow. Tom quickly turned and quickened his pace, the distance growing more and more between them, as her legs began to feel like jelly.

He made it to the room before her, making sure she wouldn’t get the chance to step in. Y/N twisted, turned, and pulled on the old brass knob hoping by some miracle it would open.

But it never did.

Y/N could hear the screams from the room, her head hanging in defeat as she crumbled to the ground. Her own screams of sorrow joined Mattheo’s as Tom punished him.

She curled into a ball onto the floor, and for the first time since she was a child, prayed to the muggle God to let Tom have mercy on him.

Y/N sat in the clawfoot tub unable to move. The warmth of the water and the smell of eucalyptus should have brought her some sense of peace, but ever since Mattheo’s “punishment” earlier, she felt as if a part of her had withered away. The crushing guilt and bitterness towards not being able to stop her husband left a bitter taste on her tongue. The seed of resentment that had planted itself in her heart had sprouted, firmly planting itself there.

The sight of Mattheo on the floor, twitching, blood smeared on the edges of his mouth, made her mouth run dry. The thudding of her heart threatened to cease as her heart broke in two, she rushed to him. As Y/N knelt next to her son, she gingerly cupped the back of his head, bringing it to her lap. A shrill wail escaped from between her lips and she looked at her son, who was out of it from whatever spell Tom had used against him.

She knew Tom was becoming more ruthless by the day, but she had hoped that it’d never come to this. Perhaps she was delusional, but she—

The quiet of the room was broken when the door clicked open, breaking her out of her thoughts. Y/N didn’t bother turning around or acknowledging who it was as she already knew. Y/N kept her sight trained on the wall as she listened to her husband's shoes click against the tile. Out her peripheral she could see him lean lazily against the counter, staring at her. “You knew he was being swayed against me, didn’t you?” Tom asked her. He sounded calm and collected, and that terrified her more than his anger. She contemplated lying, but decided her chances of living were better if she just came clean.

“Not exactly, I just had my suspicions, that’s all,” finally, she looked at him, and what she saw terrified her. His eyes looked dead, the blue of them shades darker than they should have been. They pierced right through her, leaving her feeling exposed. Breaking eye contact with her, Tom began to remove the outer layer of his robes, before working his way to the suit he wore underneath. He rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt up to his elbows before turning back to face her.

Her eyes never left him as he lazily made his way towards her. It took everything in Y/N not to shrink away, unsure of if she should trust him in this moment. Tom sat on the edge of the tub, his hand reaching out and cupping her cheek, his thumb running over her lips. He gave her a small smile, eyeing her, almost as if he was admiring her. She relaxed slightly, thinking she had been spared from his ire.

Only after she relaxed did she understand his true intentions. Instantly, his hand slid down to her throat, blunt nails digging into the side of her throat as his grip tightened. Before she had a chance to react, Tom shoved her down into the soapy water, holding her there. After a few seconds Tom brought her back up, unable to open her eyes that burned from the soap suds. Tom only let her take a single breath before he shoved her back under, holding her there a little longer than last time.

This time Y/N came back up choking, trying desperately to get the water out her lungs. Her hands shot up, gripping Tom’s wrist, but he was unphased as he stared down at her struggling to breathe. As her coughing died down, his grip loosened as Y/N’s eyes began to fill with tears. She could feel her whole body shaking as she feared what he was going to do next.

Tom released his grip on her neck completely, raising his hand and bringing it up to wipe her wet eyes, unbothered by the involuntary flinch she gave. “Do not let me hear that my wife and son are trying to conspire against me again. My love for you is the only thing that saved the both of you tonight,” Tom told her. The underlying threat left her terrified and unable to speak; she gave him a nod of understanding, hoping he’d leave her be now.

Tom placed a kiss on the center of her forehead before getting up, leaving Y/N alone with her own thoughts once again.

[leohtttbriar]

I have to ask... what did you think of Tom asking B'Elanna why she lives the life of a monk, right at the start of "The Swarm"? Obviously he was flirting but I think the way that line is written reveals something about both her work ethic and her reserved nature, and how B'Elanna might appear to the rest of the crew (almost like she has this duty to keep the ship running that sets her apart, not unlike the captain)

lol so i know i just watched this episode but i still had to go and re-watch that scene bc i think my brain tends to slide over tom-scenes without much acknowledgement--like when you're driving on the highway for a long time and you're technically still taking in the road but you're sort of unaware of it and thinking completely different thoughts to driving... anyway. i think on first viewing i must have filed it as a tom-flirts-and-i-don't-care scene and moved on, but, after re-watching it, i'm like "well now, that's interesting."

because you're right! surface level it's man-being-flirty-and-woman-rejecting-advances. the stuff underneath the structure, however, is revealing b'elanna in some way:

her work ethic and her reserved nature, and how B'Elanna might appear to the rest of the crew (almost like she has this duty to keep the ship running that sets her apart, not unlike the captain)

absolutely agree! i mean, we don't see b'elanna doing things off-duty all that much--unlike tom and harry who seem to always be hanging out. i feel like the only time we've seen her deliberately having fun is coming back from playing that game, whatever it's called, with chakotay. who is the only person b'elanna seems to trust with her personal feelings--the only person she really treats as a friend.

and, like, "monk" is such a hilarious descriptive word for someone who holds themselves apart because it implies that she's not sexually expressive and also that she thinks of her work as something of a higher order than the work of the """laymen""" around her. which does make her very like the captain and does set her apart. no fraternizing with the people she holds in her hands like a small bird, maybe? or maybe she really is just that inwardly turned and focused.

it's an interesting conversation to introduce this episode too because this whole episode is b'elanna getting involved in a fairly personal thing. like a really person-y personal thing. tom accuses b'elanna of being a monk--cut to the doctor getting really into opera and making enemies with long-dead sopranos (very glad he never subjected maria callas to his nonsense) in a very involved and non-monk-like way. then, while b'elanna serves as a builder/fixer, like always, in the story, she also has some of the sweetest personal moments in this episode: comforting kes, trying to fix something that looks impossible to fix, claiming a headache just to keep the doctor activated, and then watching on and smiling as he sings puccini again. when kes says "i know b'elanna can find a way," the rest of b'elanna's actions reveal what kes could mean by that: that people trust b'elanna to not only do the work but to do it kindly. she's just pure of intention.

so is the sort of back-handed "you live like a monk" from tom both a tease and, retrospectively, a compliment? i don't know. and now im on the verge of comparing her to mimi just bc that song is from la boheme but that's probably too much lol.

b'elanna's place on the crew and the way they react to her is such an interesting question. thanks so much for sending this to me--i think you are so so right about that scene and what it reveals. i clearly need to stop tuning tom-scenes out like this.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Sycamore Part 1: Along the Deep

summary: Frankie had said that your home was the perfect place to lay low; a small cottage nestled between the Alaskan sea and forest.

pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader (Eclipse)

wc: 2,415

warnings: not sfw/minors dni/18+, strangers to lovers, eventual smut, mentions of canon typical violence, mental health issues (ptsd), addiction mention, food mention, internal angst, pining

an: its good to be back! hoping this series will propel me forward and get me writing more consistently. can't wait to hear yalls thoughts, and as always thank you for reading <3

sycamore masterlist

Santi’s running, headed to a place he’d never dreamed of setting foot in: Alaska.  It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling–running is his forte– but this time around he truly feels like a failure. This time, he’s running because it's life or death and with the loss of Tom, Santi finds himself yearning to live. He had to make this grief burrowing in his chest worth something, and he was grateful to do it in the face of a stranger.

Frankie had assured him that you’re calm and collected. But, Santi didn’t know who you were– had never heard of you before this moment. He felt it was fair to have his doubts.

“Who is she?” Santi had asked once they had touched back down in Florida.

“Childhood friend. She served and seen as much as we have. I’known her longer than I’ve known you,” Frankie had explained.

Any of those doubts that lingered in Santi’s mind crumbled and were lost to the wind as he continued driving down the windy Alaskan roads. He’s surrounded by rows upon rows of trees. Frankie had said that your home was the perfect place to lay low; a small cottage nestled between the Alaskan sea and forest. Sunlight is endless this time of year and the salty coastal breeze bathes everything it touches.

He knows he’s in the right place once his tires hit gravel. The driveway stretches on a couple miles and he feels his heart rate increasing, palms slick against the leather steering wheel. This isn’t a test, this isn’t something he has to get right. All he has to do is mind his own business, keep his head down– something he does with the people that care so deeply for him day in and day out. 

The house comes into view, sand and sea as its backdrop. You are not what Pope expects– neither is the house. You’re sat on the porch swing waiting for him, a book in one hand, a mug in the other. The word that comes to mind isn't one he uses often, but you are distinctly lovely. You look so relaxed, in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair up and framing your face. The house is white and rustic, and the porch wraps around it entirely.

Pope exits the car, treating you to an awkward wave. He doesn’t understand why his knees feel weak, but it could be your intense gaze. You wave back at him with an easy smile. You look welcoming, like a woman waiting for your husband to return home. But he has to remember, he doesn’t have a home anymore, that he hardly knows you even though he already likes everything he knows about you. He’s nothing but a man who bounces from place to place, contract to contract, there isn’t room for him here. 

“Need some help?” You call out to him as he heads towards the trunk. 

“I’m alright,” He says, not unkindly. 

You stay put on the swing, sliding a bookmark between pages to save your spot before you wrap your hands tightly around your mug of tea. He’s more handsome than he was in the pictures, but there’s something in his step, in the way his shoulders slouch that tells you whatever he’s just experienced has changed him.

Frankie wouldn’t tell you much besides that they’d had a big job in South America that had gone awry. They’d lost a friend– a brother, Tom who’d you seen pictures of before. You hadn’t pressed for details knowing that the more you knew the more at risk all of you would be. 

But, from the lost look in Santiago’s eyes as he trudges up to the porch, you know it had to be heavy. A loss deeper than he’d ever known. 

He holds out a hand to you, words rushing out of his mouth in an unfamiliarly clumsy way, “Santiago. Santi. Or Pope, I don’t know.”

“Santiago. You can call me Eclipse.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly despite the current that seems to follow between the two of you. You brush it off, standing and gesturing towards the house, “Let me show you your room.”

He continues to be surprised by you. The inside of the house is simple, all cream and light wood and house plants with small pops of color. The couch is large and fluffy with a colorful patch quilt on it, taking up most of the living room space. There’s lots of black and white art, even a set of twinkly lights in the kitchen. 

You lead  him into what seems to be a never-ending hallway, showing him the bathroom he’ll use, where closets are, your room. He notices that you neglect to tell him what’s in the room beside the one he’ll be staying in and the curiosity that’s been bubbling inside him overflows.

“What’s this room?” Santi asks, his voice strangely polite. He doesn’t want to offend you. The only thing he really wants right now is to know more about you. He points to the closed door between the large bathroom and his room for the next two months.

He notices your body stiffening, and for the first time since the two of you have met you look guarded. Secretive. Your eyes are wary as you answer him, “My art studio.”

Santi’s fascinated, you’re even more mysterious now. He’s thrown by how taken he is with you, how his knees feel weak and not from all of the bullshit he’s but him through. This pull he feels is different than usual, complex and genuine. He wants to unravel you, but unlike his usual habits of leaving when it’s all said and done, he would put you back together. He’d be drowning in his fear if he wasn’t so hungry for the knowledge of you. 

“The art’s yours?”

Your face warms, but you shrug, brushing off his…wonder. That’s what you identify; he’s marveled by you. “Living up here, I had nothing better to do.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off, not wanting to discuss your art in depth– it isn’t yet what you want to be. Something has always been off, always been missing. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask quickly.

“Starving, actually,” He says sheepishly, his mouth pulling up into a soft smile. 

So handsome and so broken, you allow yourself to think for just a moment.

“Get settled, I’ll heat up some food for us.”

“Thank you, Eclipse.”

“Of course,” You say easily, like this choice of you inviting him into your home took no thought, no effort. Like you’ve known each other for multiple lifetimes. 

 As he watches you walk down the hall, he finds himself wishing that to be true. 

With  plenty of stew in the freezer, you preheat the oven to bake some potatoes. While the stew heats, you prep the potatoes, chopping them into small cubes and coating them with an herb mix. It’ll only take them 20 minutes in the oven, enough time to throw together a fresh salad with vegetables from the garden and warm some rolls.

You hear him shuffling down the hall about 15 minutes later, and when he appears he’s changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You allow yourself a single glance at him as you stir the stew, quickly forcing your eyes away from him, “Drink? I’ve got water, soda, coffee, tea. Matcha.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking a little disappointed, “No beer?”

“I’m sober. 3 years.”

Santi has to force his expression to stay neutral. You’re sober like Fish. He wonders what your vice is, how you made it to this point. It was hard with Frankie, a fight every step of the way but one he’s dedicated to helping win. 

“I have ginger beer,” You offer when he stays quiet.

“I’ll take it.”

He can see it clear as day, how good for Frankie you’ve probably been and will continue to be. Frankie may not know it, but you’ve  been taking care of him in your own way for a while now. He’s described you to Pope as a younger sister, familia through and through despite losing each other for a while. Santi wonders just for a moment how you’d  treat a lover, his eyes roaming your body. The thoughts are whisked away by the crack of a can, and you slide  it over to him. 

“Thanks,” He croaks, his cheeks warm from his thoughts. 

If you notice you don't mention it, quipping back with another soft, “Of course.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, and he takes a seat at the sturdy wooden table. He tries and fails not to watch you move around the kitchen. You’re incredibly graceful, floating around the room as if you’re on a cloud. You get the salad on the table along with some plates in perfect timing;  the oven dings just as you turn towards it.

You’re a machine, just like him. Just like Frankie, and Benny and Will. Like Tom was. And yet it seems like it hasn’t plagued you the way it has all of them as you plate up dinner and sit across from him. This little life you’ve built, even if he ‘s just gotten a glance of it seems peaceful. He wonders if he could be whole in a place like this or if that’s just wishful thinking he’ll never verbalize. 

“What made you move out here?” He asks softly after several minutes of silence marked by the sound of forks on plates. 

“Solitude suits me,” You say simply.

Santi knows that’s not true. With how easily you welcomed a stranger here, the second nature of you fixing him a meal. He doesn’t push, its not his place.

“I guess I’m ruining that for you then.”

“Francisco trusts you. So I trust you.”

Trust, not solitude. You need safety and instead of finding it in people around you, you find it in yourself. Santi sees you a little clearer now– sees that this isn’t a sanctuary, it’s a fortress surrounded by water and sand and sycamores to keep everyone out.

“That’s why you don’t live in town?”

“I can’t– the guns,” You explain gruffly. “I need to know where they are and when they’ll fire or it gets– bad.

Oh. 

He gets it. He hasn’t experienced it himself, his body’s still in this flight mode, but he can imagine what happens when it’s been turned off and then triggered. He’s heard the stories, though he files them away in a box in his head, never to be touched again. Or so he thought, until he met you. 

In a strange way, you remind him of himself–even with all the work you’ve done he sees you as guarded, though less closed off than he is. Just like him you crave�� organization, and belonging, though it seems like your versions are much more poetic than his. More than ever, Santi feels like the scraps of belonging he had with his men is out of reach with Tom gone. Everything’s jumbled and off balance, and now they’re left to figure this out again. Like it wasn’t hard enough the first fucking time. But here…it feels like he could start to. Like he could do it properly. 

The sun is finally starting to set when you finish dinner, and Santi insists that you stay put and let him clean up. When he gets all the food scraps in a pile you head out to put them in the composter and give the plants one last little sprinkle, though the coastal spray was probably enough. As always you find yourself staring into the abyss of the ocean, eyes captivated by the crash and fall of blue hues.

He watches you through the kitchen window, slowing down his methodical movements so that he can spend more time simply looking. There’s no purpose, no quota he must fill in being here with you unless he truly wants it. And right now the only thing he wants to do is look, and look and look at how beautiful you are. 

With the dishes done he follows after you, standing awkwardly on the porch. Santi looks down at his feet, as if the answer to the question in his head rests upon them. But as if you’ve heard his silent steps, you look back at him expectantly and his eyes rise to meet yours. Your mouth raises just a fraction of an inch, he wouldn’t even count it as a smirk, but it pulls the question out of him, “Do you mind if I join you?” 

You  just beckon him on and his feet move without thought, listening to your siren call. You sink further into the sand as he nears you, burying your feet and resting your head on your knees. et. He kicks his shoes off before joining you, keeping his legs straight as he leans back into his palms. The sand is cool and scratchy against his calloused hands. You stay like that as the minutes go by, the sun sinking further and further into the sky.

It looks half submerged in the ocean, its golden hues reflecting off the dark water, when you finally speak again, “I’m gonna head in but you should stay a while. It’s an experience, watching the sun leave the moon alone.”

He hums noncommittally as you rise to your feet dusting the sand off your body. “Thank you for letting me come here. Especially without Fish.”

“Fish,” You repeat, laughing softly. You hardly even glance at him when you say, “You never have to thank me. Goodnight, Santi.”

Winded, Santi can only nod and you both avoid eye contact as you pass him, the moment already feeling charged enough. He likes it though, being on edge about something other than a mission or objective. Your jury’s still out, but she can’t deny what you’re feeling already. 

“Goodnight,” He calls after you once his voice returns.

When you make it to the door you turn to look at him; there’s a pull, an invisible string wound between the two of you. Slowly, you commit this scene to memory so that you can start painting it. You’ve found a muse in him and how long has it been since you’ve painted in color?

He stays there to watch the sun leave the moon, thinking of you the entire time. 

> Part 2: Juna's Bloodshed

taglist: @sylviantree, @whatthefish, @marc-spectorr, @mccn-bcys, @toracainz, @xbellaxcarolinax, @reallyrallyauthor, @missdictatorme, @lesbianhotch, @campingwiththecharmings, @veritable-trash, @ivystoryweaver, @iolaussharpe-24, @aria725, @hana-hanako, @kingtwhiddleston, @for-a-longlongtime

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Fifteen

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst and fluff

— WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

“Riddle?”

“Yes, Mr. Oso?”

“Have you finished authenticating that copy of Colonna that came in last week?”

“I’m writing the report now, sir.”

“Well hurry up. He needs it tonight.”

Tom rolled his eyes and kept on working. The Baron’s glorified butler had caught him mid-sentence and now he barely remembered how he wanted to end it.

“What was that?”

He hadn’t said anything, but he knew it was rather what he hadn’t said.

“Yes, sir,” he hissed.

And he reminded himself for the fourteenth time to figure out an enchantment on his new fountain pen to get it to write on its own just as his quill did. The problem was that unlike a quill its more complex mechanism required there to be more steps in the enchantment, and he hadn’t even begun to figure out how to get it to reload its reservoir when it ran out — which at his rate of writing was about once every few days. He’d just about resigned himself to having to put a spell on the ink pot too.

Ambrogio was more of a slave driver than old Caractacus Burke — perhaps because rather than being an indispensable addition to the shop, Tom was a threat to him. Or so he flattered himself with thinking in his more unhappy moments.

And when his wand hand itched, he went upstairs to her.

Whatever she had been doing, she always smiled upon seeing him. Sometimes she got up and went over to fix some unnecessary thing about his tie or a stray curl of hair or rub an imaginary ink stain off his cheek. He gladly stood there and accepted being fussed over.

If she was too busy she stayed right where she was — behind her desk or up a ladder or leaning over the telephone — and Tom would just come over, place a subtle hand on an innocent part of her body, and caress her in gentle motions. Not infrequently he soothed both her and himself in this way. She always shivered at his touch and said it was because his hands were cold — and oh how he liked to leave them in her care and allow her to warm him with little rubs between her palms or, even better, up between her thighs. And when he had the good luck to catch her at work in the storage area at the back he didn’t fail to interrupt her with a kiss that lingered even longer at her throat, beneath her ear, above her chest, and straying lower. There was always a hard surface to push her up against or down on and in the dark his hands could freely stray.

He loved, if the word ever applied to him, to hear and feel it when her breath caught. Her fingers moved gently through his hair in secret moments like this, carefully so as not to give away what they had done together. She seemed to be especially fond of the hair at the nape of his neck where it was shorter and a little curled, just right for her fingers to play with. When his kisses reached her heart, falling low and deep between her breasts to mix with her perfume, he clung to her hungrily and sucked in her warmth with everything he had.

And then it was back to the bottom, down the ladder, down to hell, where the living dead was waiting for him. That is, if it was late enough for the fiend to be awake. Tom always brought with him something back to serve as an excuse.

“Jasmine tea,” he smiled. “Would you like some too?”

“No, thank you,” said Ambrogio, on the few occasions he even happened to grace Tom with a response.

Oso had his own worries, of course — with each refusal his secret was closer to being revealed.

Tom grinned. If only he knew how pointless it was to hide…

II

Activities in the under-shop began picking up imperceptively at first, then in big swaths that overwhelmed all the other work they were doing. He didn’t need to ask why. Why the Baron needed five books a day appraised just as Tom finally enchanted his fountain pen to write all on its own. Why he came wheeling down there at all hours. And why Ambrogio started working during daytime — which did not by itself cause, but was no doubt connected to, his attitude growing increasingly cantankerous.

But Tom asked anyway.

“There will be an auction next week,” said Ambrogio with an air of supreme privilege as if Tom should have been impressed, but by that point, he didn’t have it in him to fake it anymore. “Your presence will be required.”

Snacks and refreshments were to be served at midnight both before and following the auction. It didn’t escape Tom’s notice that there was also a New Moon that night, but he couldn’t decide yet whether that had any connection to the timing, or with any spells Ambrogio was casting.

He spent days carrying crates of alcohol down from upstairs and cleaning crystal glassware while Ambrogio went through the inventory once again. The room with the food was connected by two wide doors to the auction room. There were seating plans to arrange as well, and books to place in special boxes the day before the event in the section just behind the stage. The last few hours before it started were spent arranging food trays under Ambrogio’s watchful eye.

“What is this?”

“These are the canapés, sir.”

“And where are the drinks?”

“Over there?”

“Idiot. Do you not see what you did wrong?”

“Please enlighten me.”

“The canapés and the drinks should be placed side by side. They make the guests thirsty. Move them at once.”

“Right away, sir.”

“And what of the other hors d’oeuvre? Did you bring the caviar?”

“Yes.”

“And what is on the bruschette?”

“Half are with tomato and basil, the other half with prosciutto and olive oil. No garlic, sir.”

“Did I ask that, you insolent whelp? Did I?”

“No, sir.”

“How many?”

“Twenty-four of each.”

“And are the deviled eggs ready?”

“Yes, here. They’re ready for their exorcism, sir.”

“Watch that cheek, boy, or you’ll see the back of my hand. Has it occurred to your suckling brain that tonight has to be perfect?”

“Every hour, Mr. Oso.”

“Get moving and shift those drinks closer to the other table.”

III

The hall beyond the curtains filled as guests came pouring in, all of them proceeding through the trap door with complete familiarity. They arrived at different times, but steadily. Mr. Malfoy was not among them.

Two elderly Italians arrived first, a signor Luce and Verdi, one quite tall and thin but bent like a gnarled tree, the other fat with a misshapen body that looked like it was melting, both of them with grimy, flaky heads of bone-white hair. A lone figure followed them some five minutes later, and Tom could not catch his name but were it not for his resplendent suit old darkest blue with golden buttons he might have taken him for a stray — his face was blistered with red and purple sores that streaked between, across, and over his deep heavy wrinkles. Three ladies followed, middle-aged and bloated around the waist with skinny arms and clean long necks from which hung rows of pearls like nooses. Tom thought he heard Oso mutter les trois grâces beneath his breath but he was back to being as silent as the grave when he turned. His back was facing Tom as he busied himself preparing the books for presentation.

And so the group of bidders gathered, formed mainly of old people in fancy dress but a few younger ones as well, each on the arm of somebody important. Oso led the auction on his own, with Tom watching from behind the drapes which housed the books for auction, like actors waiting for their curtain call.

The view from the back was enough to put fear into anyone who stumbled in, which was probably one of the reasons why they’d gone through so much trouble to conceal it — many others came to mind, like taxation, pricing, and the source of all those books which nobody seemed to have much evidence for, in spite of Tom’s hard work of authentication. The black and white heads of the crowd bobbed in uneven waves in the flickering candlelight, framed by velvet curtains that looked like flowing blood. The ceiling was low and carved in stone, its uneven roundness looming like a shadow over this festival of wealth. And in front of it all, on a stage rimmed with blackened silver, stood the vampire in his polite black clothes, his face looking more pale and gaunt than ever, eternal, by the lectern and the pedestal on which the books sat. The scenery from Tom’s point of view was so dire and demonic that it just had to be contrived, designed that way on purpose to impress upon the bidders how secret their gathering was.

The Baron certainly seemed to have a flair for the theatrical, although it was suspicious that he was not already there. Ambrogio said he might arrive long after midnight when only a few select participants were left.

To be on the sidelines, serving no real purpose while fortunes were promised and spent, was not the punishment Ambrogio envisioned it to be. Tom was quite content to watch the spectacle and learn. He recognised a few of the books he’d recently authenticated, including one four-volume series that was to be sold in bulk. He’d placed a charm between the pages of its second volume, nothing more complex than a bundle of leaves and flower petals, dried and left there as if forgotten by passed proprietors — an exact replica of which Tom held in his pocket. It whispered to him like a living thing, echoes of old forest nymphs that spoke in ancient tongues. They were sensitive to magic and complained like children if any was hostile to them. They had complained quite virulently all day, although their little voices were easier to ignore once the auction started.

“Going once. Going twice…”

“Four million and twenty-five thousand.”

“Four million and twenty-five thousand for signor Ekatlos.”

“Four million and thirty.”

Tom stood alone all night and watched the proceedings. He paid particular attention to Ambrogio’s handling of the items, both before and after. It was a little harder to sneak up on a vampire than he expected, but he did catch a quick glance of his wand. It was a faded brown and mostly straight with long and gentle undulations.

“Quit skulking about like a land-eel. Go see to the guests, and try not to make a nuisance of yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. Oso.”

Once the bidding was announced to be over, the attendees moved in an orderly fashion into the other room where they could finally mingle and chat. They hovered around the alcohol like flies and Tom saw more than two ladies stuff napkin-wrapped hors d'oeuvre in their purses.

He’d decided to neglect his duties and go pick up his jacket when a rain of cries billowed behind his ears, speaking in old fey: “he’s killing us.” Tom turned and hurried to the back office to find Ambrogio in the middle of casting a spell. It looked like the peeling back of a veneer. Light came from the books faint enough to seem like a layer of liquid dust.

“What do you want?” Ambrogio asked without turning, his wand now out of sight.

“Noth—”

“—ing.”

Tom turned his head at the voice that had spoken beside his and was surprised to find their upstairs colleague there — his girlfriend. She looked scared and sheepish like a child caught eavesdropping. He wondered if she’d noticed the magic being lifted from the books, and he further wondered if it was the first time she’d witnessed it.

“I just wanted to see if you were done,” she said, her eyes shifting from Tom to Ambrogio.

“Not yet,” said the vampire, “but you may leave. Both of you. I’ll deal with the guests and lock up once they’re gone.”

“Alright,” she said, “t-thank you. Good night.” Her gaze turned expectantly to Tom.

“Yes, good night,” he said. “Thank you for —”

“Leave.”

IV

They managed to catch the last tram. They were the only people on it riding through the start-poxed night, and the emptiness of everything around them made it seem unreal.

“Why were you still there?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean working at this hour.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw that little smile again.

“They want me there, just in case they need something brought downstairs.”

“But Oso is there. And now, so am I.”

“Like I said, it’s just in case…”

“You shouldn’t stay there so late.”

“Well, it’s not exactly up to you,” she said in a tone he couldn’t quite interpret.

There was accusation there, and there was tiredness, and a sense of giving up that he’d experienced more than once in his career as well. Tom couldn’t quite place why it bothered him, her working hours, or why he even cared. He just knew that he did.

“Perhaps it should be,” he said.

She chuckled and reached over to grip his chin with the tips of her fingers.

“You can’t even afford to buy one little book. You think you can afford the whole shop?”

Tom smirked bitterly. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, then quickly dipped his head and bit her fingers. “And you know it.”

“Ow! Tom!” she laughed.

“Just getting revenge for earlier.”

“Who’s the animal now…?”

V

It was around the time of Tom’s first auction that he found a place to rent. In fact it was a few days before that new moon that he moved out of the hotel. He even managed to find something within walking distance of her flat, which he was inordinately proud of. They walked home together after work and spent time in her flat until the late hours of night or even until morning.

When Tom made his evening tea he poured her a cup too, and when she had the strength left after work she’d cook them pasta or risotto. Perhaps it had been too long, but Tom could swear it tasted better than anything he’d had at Hogwarts.

And if she didn’t, Tom would cook, managing to do it at least once without a bit of magic — which he was loathe to do, and only because she was there next to him.

“We can buy something from the restaurant across the street and take it home, maybe,” she said when they were going home together late one night. “I want a pizza… Haven’t had one in ages.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want. But… what’s a pizza?”

“Oh caro bambino mio!” she laughed with delight, to Tom’s great puzzlement.

He was happy in his solitude, in his new flat away from noisy tourists or the peskiness of hotel maids, but he found some value too in spending time with her.

When they got home she’d turn on the radio or put a record on of something he scarcely recognised, like jazz music or classic symphonies by Elgar, and they would eat and drink their tiredness away. If not for her, Tom might have no idea of what happened in the world, or at least among the muggles. She was quite amused to hear his questions about what, to her, must have been obvious things, but she didn’t mock him beyond a giggle.

But more than listening to music Tom liked it when they read together. She laid her head over his lap once she got sleepy, and his fingers could get lost in her hair. More than once she had him read his books to her — quite troublesome for Tom, as it meant he could not bring his own books there and had to pretend to be interested in pedestrian muggle editions — but between his words and fingers caressing her she fell quite fast asleep. As did he, soon enough.

And then, there were yet more selfish reasons why he preferred to sleep with her. They came as a surprise even to him, but there was something… magical about falling asleep with her by his side. Like a snake on a warm rock, he basked in her body. Her palm over his chest, her head by his shoulder, their legs entangled... It was a dangerous feeling, one he could only compare to melting away and being absorbed. Total entropy.

His head would naturally gravitate to resting by her own, temple to temple, and sometimes when he woke up in the middle of the night he’d find, to his horror, his hand placed over hers, pressing it to his chest right where his heart was.

He always woke up before her, which was a bit of a bother as the duty of making breakfast fell to him. But then he’d walk back in the bedroom and find her sound asleep, her face buried in his pillow, her arms curled tight around it, and perhaps the smile that gave him was something of a consolation.

VI

The night after the auction was a little different than the rest. They were both quieter, still stressed and tired, and Oso’s horror still lingered in Tom’s mind. She collapsed with a sigh on the armchair while he put their coats away.

“I’ll make us tea,” said Tom from the hallway.

“You don’t have to…”

“No, I need it too.”

“That bad?” she said with a smile in her voice.

He didn’t want to admit just how much so — although it hadn’t all been bad. Aside from Oso’s torments, he’d learned a lot that night.

Tom cursed as he fiddled with the mechanism of her stove. Why couldn’t it just be a cauldron and flame? He hissed. If he were at his flat, he’d have it ready with a wand flick… But then he’d have to contend with the spartan furniture, the ugly cutlery, and the table that quaked whenever he put anything on it. He felt more like a person in her cosy little home, like there was more to life than drudgery.

And, if he was being honest with himself — a rarity — there was a savage charm to doing some things without magic, like folding his clothes away, polishing his shoes, or, in this case, brewing a cup of tea. A different Tom was woken then in his heart, in his mind… An equally as dark, relentless, proud young man, but with a surging self all around him filled with things he left behind when he first stepped on the Hogwarts Express, when he was Sorted, when he snuck into the Forbidden Section all those years ago. He didn’t often have cause to think about it, but he had lost unknowable parts of himself as he learned more about magic, the Gaunts, the Riddles...

The old Tom that was before that had never quite come back. At least, until he started spending time with her.

Tea was ready just as she was changing for the night. The overture from Wagner’s Parsifal was playing on the radio speckling the diaphanous dark with long tremulous notes of grief like pins and needles through the air. Her shirt was hanging off a chair, her skirt folded above it, and she had just thrown on her soft nightgown as Tom stepped through the door. He placed the tea beside her on the table and rewarded himself with a touch of her skin. His palm brushed the length of her naked back from one shoulder to another.

“Your skin is warmer now,” she smiled, turning to rest her hand over his chest.

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment as if she found relief there. Then, playfully, she started tugging on his tie. Tom smiled at her invitation, but his mind was far away. It was still in the dungeons with that book.

“Did you ever see him do that before?” he asked as she continued to undress him.

“Who?”

“Oso. That thing he was doing after the auction.”

She threw his tie over her clothes and took a sip of tea, moaning pleasurably at the taste, then returned to unbutton his shirt.

“He was getting them ready for packing, wasn’t he?”

So she hadn’t noticed anything. Not the wand and certainly not the magic. Tom was disappointed, but not surprised.

“Why?” she asked as she pulled him to the bed.

“No reason…”

He took the rest of his clothes off in silence and she went to lay down, the cup of tea held to her chest.

“I think he was doing some sort of ritual,” he finally said as he put on his pyjamas, a pale green set he’d brought over one night and had since just left there.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” she chuckled, head leaning back both soft and heavy against the pillow. “They love to do all sorts of things like that. Rituals that have a purpose they don’t bother to tell me about. They like their secrets.”

“It certainly seems so,” he smiled, “although they’re not as good at it as they would like.”

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders #340: Daikokuten

meowdy, y’all! on today’s Grailfinders we’re building the god of fortune… ‘s pet mice, Daikokuten! they’re Circle of Dreams Druids to become the perfect subordinates, and Twilight Clerics, to become the perfect hosts. they’re a bit one-note, but if you want to support people (and maybe summon an army of giant rats to crush your enemies) you won’t go wrong here.

check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

next up: you can’t talk like that, white baby

Ancestry & Background

sadly there aren’t any mice in D&D, at least not as a playable race. …or is there? in the DMG, they suggest that you can use a Halfling stat block as the basis for a mousefolk character, and frankly that just works perfectly, since they can also get the Mark of Hospitality. with that, you get +2 Dexterity and +1 Wisdom (if you’re okay with Tasha’s saving our butts again), and plenty of other goodies to boot! you’re Lucky, so you can re-roll any natural ones on attacks, checks, or saves; you’re Brave, giving you advantage on all rolls against fright; and you have Halfling Nimbleness, letting you walk straight through any creature larger than you are. those are pretty basic halfling features, but thanks to your mark you’re also Ever Hospitable for a d4 bonus to all cooking and persuasion checks, and you know extra magic too! Your Innkeeper’s Magic gives you the Prestidigitation cantrip for free to clean up whatever messes you come across, and once per day per spell you can cast Purify Food and Drink and Unseen Servant using your charisma. obviously you’re supposed to do the serving, but having extra hands never hurt. you also learn Spells of the Mark, adding plenty of cool spells to your spell lists, like Goodberry (rice balls that heal 1 HP), Leomund’s Tiny Hut (a small living space), and Mordenkainen’s Private Sanctum (make any ship a well-protected Takarabune.

the Daikokuten are, of course, Acolytes of the daikokuten, so they get proficiency with Insight and Religion checks. they know who makes a good boss and who doesn’t. and one of your bosses is a god, so you’d betternot fail that religion check.

Ability Scores

Wisdom’s number one. you got them big ol’ ears for a reason, y’know? after that, Dexterity. if Tom and Jerry taught me anything, it’s that mice are really hardto hit. after that, Intelligence. you’re not omniscient, but you are practically omnipresent, which is almost the same thing after a while. we’re still making your Constitution positive though, don’t worry about that. that means your Charisma is pretty low, since you’re submissive and multiplicable. that means we’re dumping Strength. if there’s anything else Tom & Jerry taught me, it’s that mice can’t kill cats no matter what they’re wielding, and those things have like 2 HP.

Class Levels

1. Druid 1: At first level, druids gain proficiency in Intelligence and Wisdom saves, as well as two skills from their skill list, like Animal Handling, and Nature. You are animals, so being able to handle yourselves simply makes sense. you can also write and read Druidic, a secret language that can be hidden in plain sight, and you can cast and prepare Spells using your Wisdom.

For your cantrips, grab Gust for slightly alter the Takarabune’s course, and Infestation for your first and smallest rat swarm. As for first level spells, druids have a wonderful spell list to pick from- but if you want to play the Daikokuten, I recommend Beast Bond, Cure Wounds, Fog Cloud, and Speak with Animals. The first and last spells are simply side-effects of being animals, while Cure Wounds and other healing spells are simply being a good host and fixing your guests some snacks. Finally, Fog Cloud is a bit of an unorthodox choice, but it will allow you to hide your true numbers during your noble phantasm.

2. Druid 2: Second level druids enter a circle of their choosing, such as the Circle of Dreams! When you do so, you gain the Balm of the Summer Court, which gives you a pool of six-sided dice each day you can spend as a bonus action to heal a nearby creature. one of onigiri’s biggest strengths is how easy it is to make, after all.

You can also use either Wild Shape or Wild Companion to turn yourself into a giant rat or summon a regular-sized one, respectively. These two features share their uptime, but with two uses every short rest, you won’t be left wanting.

3. Druid 3: Third level druids gain second level spells, like Locate Animals or Plants to help feed Boss Anning’s plesiosaur, or Augury to confer with other “you”s about potential actions you can take to help your various bosses. The other yous can say your plan will bring “weal”, a good outcome; “woe”, a bad outcome; or “mixed”, which is, appropriately, a mixed bag.

4. Druid 4: At level four, you get your first Ability Score Improvement, increasing your Wisdom for stronger spells. You also gain a Wild Shape Improvement, letting you turn into CR ½ creatures that can swim now! Despite the fact that rats are rather good swimmers, you didn’t need this to transform into one. Still, it gives you more options. Options that you can’t take if you wish to stay in character, but options nonetheless.

You can also cast Mending now to do regular maid stuff like sewing holes in dresses.

5. Druid 5: At third level, you can now use your noble phantasm, Conjure Animals! Now you can summon eight giant rats, and that number will grow as you use higher level spell slots! They’re a bit more fragile than you, but we only need them to survive for one attack anyway.

You can also use Create Food & Water and Leomund’s Tiny Hut from your hospitality spell list to create rice balls in-game, as well as to keep your boss’ camp nice and safe while they rest.

6. Cleric 1: first level clerics can use another Wisdom-based spell list, but you’ll have to check your PHB to figure out how many spell slots you have at a given time. but before we go into magic, let’s talk domains. as a Twilight cleric you can use martial weapons and heavy armor if you want, but most of your features are about support. with your Eyes of Night you get super long-range darkvision, and you can even give it to nearby creatures once a day for an hour. you’re just helpful like that. speaking of sharing, you can give a Vigilant Blessing to yourself (or another party member) for advantage on their next initiative roll. you literally have multiple heads to watch for danger, it makes sense you’re good at it. (it doesn’t hurt that you’re working for the bad guy too)

for cantrips, Resistance gives an ally a bonus to their next save, while Light and Thaumaturgy let you get a little more godly with your presentation, making items glow or letting you act with some more of daikokuten’s authority. you also get Faerie Fire for free to give your allies some help hitting stuff, and Sleep to brew such a nice cup of tea people can’t help but doze off even on the battlefield. for more helpfulness, Bless can add a d4 to checks or saves made by multiple members of the party, and you also get even more healing spells as a cleric than you did as a druid!

7. Cleric 2: second level clerics can Channel Divinity in one of two ways once a short rest. Turn Undead is whatever, you make zombies scared, but we’re more focused on Twilight Sanctuary. now you can provide the darkness for your NP properly, and while that ball of darkness follows you around you get even more bonuses to anything that follows you into the night, either giving out temporary HP or ending an effect that’s charming or frightening it.

8. Cleric 3: third level clerics get second level spells, and while your freebies Moonbeam and See Invisibility aren’t really in our wheelhouse, you can still use Borrowed Knowledge to get some help from other yous for free proficiency in one skill, or they can help you Locate Objects. you can also support your bosses directly by using Enhance Ability to give them advantage on any one kind of skill check!

9. Druid 6: at sixth level, dream druids get a Hearth of Moonlight and Shadow, making every camp a bit homier without the need for a magic shield. during short or long rests, you can create a 30’ radius of magical darkness, in which you and your bosses have a big bonus to stealth and perception, and which also blocks any campfires or torches from being seen outside of it.

10. Druid 7: seventh level druids get fourth level spells. with Control Water, you can get a proper hold of the Takarabune no matter what the currents are like outside, redirecting the flow of water however you like, even in blatantly impossible ways. you can also use this spell to flood areas, part water, or create whirlpools. If it’s good enough for Heracles it’s good enough for your boss! you can also use Polymorph now for another way to transform into a giant rat. or maybe something better than a giant rat. if such a thing could exist.

11. Druid 8: eighth level druids get another Wild Shape Improvement, and while I know bats and seagulls are sometimes called “flying rats”, I don’t think you can change your species on a technicality. you get an Ability Score Improvement you can use though, so that’s +2 Dexterity for ya!

12. Druid 9: ninth level druids get fifth level spells. Mass Cure Wounds finally gives you a party-wide heal like your first skill, and you can send a you off to parts known to do some Scrying- that’s “spying” but when a crat does it. also there’s this one spell called Insect Plague, but I know it’s a mouse plague, it must just be a typo. a 20’ radius in a spot you specify becomes filled with yous for up to ten minutes. there’s so many of them the area is lightly obscured and difficult terrain, and when you cast the spell every creature inside needs to make a Constitution save or take piercing damage from all the buck teeth and scrabbly claws. they also need to make this save when they enter the area or end their turn inside it.

13. Druid 10: you’ve been all over the place enough that you know some Hidden Paths now. as a bonus action you can teleport up to 60’ away, or teleport a willing creature up to 30’ away, up to four times a day. if one you disappears and another you is standing somewhere else, does it really count as teleporting?

you can also give Guidance to your bosses now, giving them a bonus d4 when they make their next skill check.

14. Druid 11: with sixth level spells, you can finally hold a Boss’ Feast, giving everyone who eats it immunity to poison and fright, advantage on wisdom saves, and bonus HP for 24 hours. they’re also cured of any diseases like grail mud or being super bunyan. you can also Transport via Plants, letting you travel through any large plant you’ve seen on this plane of existence. Again, this is just to give the impression that you’re multiple places at once.

15. Druid 12: use this ASI to bestow your Bountiful Luck onto your bosses- whenever they roll a one on an attack, check, or save, you can react to give them a re-roll! aren’t you nice? turns out having a god as a subordinate comes with perks!

16. Druid 13: there’s not really anything I’d want from any seventh level spells you can get. maybe Plane Shift so you can report to your biggest boss whenever you want? really just use this for rat summoning, I guess.

17. Druid 14: fourteenth level dream druids are Walkers in Dreams. whenever you finish a short rest, you can cast Dream, Scrying, or Teleportation Circle for free, though the latter can only take you to where you woke up that morning as long as it’s on the same plane. you can cast a spell this way once a day.

18. Druid 15: controlling water is nice if you need to move the Takarabune in short bursts, but if you want to take control for longer periods of sailing, you need to Control Weather. this lets you take absolute control of the precipitation, temperature, and wind strength of the area up to five miles around you, albeit at a gradual pace.

19. Druid 16: our last ASI will make you Shadow Touched, rounding up your Intelligence and giving you one hell of a dodge thanks to the Invisibility spell. you can also Distort the Value of any object by virtue of it being in the Takarabune, doubling its apparent value for up to 8 hours, though an investigation check can see through the magic.

20. Druid 17: our last level of the build gives us ninth level spells, like Foresight. now you can give your boss immunity to being surprised, as well as advantage on all attacks, checks, and saves, and creatures attacking them get disadvantage, all for up to 8 hours! I assume this is how Giga Plesiosaurus Omega happened. I mean you are riding around in the grail, after all.

Pros & Cons

Pros:

being a rat is very useful for sneaking around- they’re damn near everywhere, and as long as you’re not in someone’s kitchen you’re usually beneath notice. whether you’ve turned into one, are using a rat familiar, or have commandeered a regular rat, you’re more than ready to gather information, or maybe pilfer a small magical trinket or two.

if you don’t want to be bothered, you cannot be bothered. leomund’s tiny hut puts a shield around you, mordenkainen’s private sanctum can make you unscryable, hearth of moonlight and shadow makes it so much harder for your camp to be spotted at a distance, and if you’re really sick of solicitors knocking on your door you can just use control weather to make everywhere within five miles of your camp fucking horrendous to walk through. when you set camp, it stays set.

you’re also great a making your party shine. unless you’re in a party with like 10 people you’ve basically removed nat ones from existence as long as you’re around. you’ve got tons of healing and debuff resisting spells, plus ways to literally see into the future to make sure everyone’s plans go the way they want.

Cons:

why are you turning into a giant rat. I know it’s in-character, but there’s so many better options available even from the start. also, summoning like 32 giant rats sounds fun, but it's hell on your DM and they'll probably last all of five seconds in a fight anyway. that wouldn’t be so big a deal, but…

outside of dexterity, your physical stats aren’t great. you get pushed around easily, and just like a real mouse a couple solid stomps are enough to flatten you. though really, this is just a symptom of the build’s biggest issue…

despite this being a combat-focused game, this build isn’t focused on combat, at least not directly. while druids do have access to a crazy powerful spell list, the strongest attack we use in-character is Insect Plague, and that spell’s more for area denial than an actual attack. this build really is all about helping other party members to shine, and that means you might not be able to do that too often yourself if you use it. that’s not necessarily a bad thing (I mean it’s why we built the damn build in the first place), but it means the build won’t be fun for everyone.

[tomwambsgans]

roman is definitely fueled a bit by a sexual fixation on tom when he invites him and shiv over for dinner, at least while specifically roasting him, which is funny bc it's kinda like he's trying to be the tom to tom's greg. i'm reminded again of roman with his personal trainer - the fact that tom hides what he wants while roman merely excuses what he wants - with how roman teases tom in a way that he likely kinda gets off on. how he comments on tom's body. it seems almost like a misguided approximation of the way tom hides his affection for greg in taunts and his physical fixation with/desire for greg in insults. obviously not that roman is literally, in-universe, copying tom (if anything it would be the other way around), but just that that's what it looks like. a bad copy of the *real thing*.

like, tom makes it very obvious (especially to the extra-observant likes of greg) that his punch-bagging of greg is done out of insecurity. earlier in the same episode is a direct example. it's a job that greg can literally, easily handle. and generally, greg seems mostly aware that tom doesn't actually mean it. ultimately his response to tom's teasing is with understanding that it's not real. at the end of the day he really likes and cares about tom and knows that that sentiment is returned.

but then... roman does not just want an excuse to talk to tom, and he is not displaying affection. he wants to degrade tom. he wants him to feel bullied and he's not ashamed of that fact, or if he is it's completely offscreen. but his sexual tastes just flat-out involve this sort of thing. there is no desire for friendship nor equality between them. there is no dynamic there. there's significantly more of a sincere and positive connection between roman and shiv, as they team up to bust tom's balls. and tom wants nothing to do with it. he doesn't even initially want to sleep in the same bed as shiv when they get home that night.

though another parallel that's interesting is that, whatever roman feels about tom, he clearly also (correctly!) understands him as being competition. tom was convinced the same of greg for all of 3 hours only to take him under his wing. here, shiv tells roman not to worry about tom, but he's clearly still trying to assess the situation during dinner. what he gets out of it is really incidental, unlike tom's sexually charged grilling of greg in the first episode. and what roman finds out is ironically information that should tell him, yes, tom is coming up, but it winds up not mattering bc logan is just that unfocused with the actual productivity of his company.

tldr roman's tom-like role is 100% in the negative sense and i guess all i'm really saying here is that everything serves to prove that tomgreg wins tbqh

[seven-gill]

Hiya!!!! Just wanted to pop in and say I LOVE your art!! You're an incredibly skilled artist, and I desperately wish I had better connection on tumblr so I could look more closely at your designs

I actually had a couple questions! Feel free to not answer if you don't wanna, but they popped into my head as I was scrolling through your art ^^

What's your design process like?

I've noticed a very high interest in SeaWings and especially with your Moray and Shark designs, I was wondering if there were any fish you really want to incorporate into a design but haven't had a chance to yet?

Your pinned post mentions a long list of marine life - could you explain that list a bit more? What leads you to putting something on the list? Is it in a specific order? What are a couple of your favorite entries and why?

Thanks for sharing your exquisite art with the world - I look forward to seeing more!!!

Urgh I wish I could say I had a proper process but I'm a little all over the place. Generally I tend to follow these steps when conceptualizing WoF characters:

a. Read up on that specific character, usually by skimming through the books/reading the wiki. What is the most basal information I can work with. For Listener, I know she is tall, curvy, and looks like a successful hunter. She's got some spunk and spontaneity to her character, although she's occasionally ignorant and air-headed. In the end, she's a devoted friend with a strong sense of justice and empathy. At least, that's my reading of her.

b. Start sketching! Play around with shapes and motifs. What does this character feel like to me? What color are they if that's never been specified? What shape are they? What sort of theme do I want them to have? Can I incorporate their name into their design? How does their personality reflect their visual appearance? Translating personality traits into physical ones is a "whatever feels right" sort of deal for me. Listener felt loose and round to me and I wanted to give her a tom-boyish look with some little quirks that I felt made her endearing and lively. This is also where personal headcanons come in. Now Listener has the equivalent of a dragon bob-cut. Now she has buckteeth, a snub nose, and hey- her name is Listener, so why not give her big ears?

c. Clarify and refine. The original sketch is typically a huge mess of gestural drawing so I'll go over it/redraw it a few times and clarify any details I might have skipped. Sometimes I try a different pose or expression to see if it still looks alright under different conditions. Maybe I flip the canvas lol. I might end up changing minor aspects of the design at this point, or scrapping it entirely if it isn't working. For Listener's design I clarified the shape of her snout, ears, and shrunk her earrings.

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2. Yeah I've drawn a lot of SeaWings by this point, lol. I'd like to say it was a coincidence, but maybe my subconscious would argue otherwise. I think it's because all the SeaWings have such large named families consisting of prominent characters, so if I draw one, then I feel compelled to draw their mother, or brother, etc... As for what fish I'd like to base a SeaWing on, I have no idea! I tend to, rather uncreatively, base a character's design off their name. Although, I've been working on a Indigo design with betta fish inspiration.

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3. OH BOY, the List. The List is actually a Google slideshow I've been working on and off of for the last five years. It's a list compiling aquatic organisms (extant or extinct) that I find strange, whether it be due to their appearance or behavior. Think animals like cookie cutter sharks, giant isopods, stoplight loose jaws, and siphonophores. If it looks weird or does weird things, it's going on the List. I've always had a fondness for unusual sea creatures, and I love to make organized lists! The List serves no actual purpose beyond my own amusement. It's arranged alphabetically and each slide consists of a name (common and scientific), a photo or two, and a brief description of the species and any explanation for their unusual appearances or habits. It's very informal, but I'm working on tidying it up and adding actual scientific information rather than a funny quip from me. Most slides only feature a picture and have yet to receive a thorough description. There's currently 346 entries so it's hard to pick a favorite, but here's some highlights:

Fried Egg Jellyfish (Phacellophora camtschatica) It looks like an egg. It's great.

Predatory Tunicate (Megalodicopia hians) Most of it's relatives are vase-shaped filter feeders, whereas this one is anything but.

Red-lipped Batfish (Ogcocephalus darwini) Just look at this thing. Who put lipstick on it.

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Annnnd that's about it. Sorry for the long posts, I have no idea how to be concise! Thank you so much for the kind words! It's honestly surreal to be here.