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holdmytesseract · 2 years

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A Shoulder to Lean On

Tom Hiddleston x fem!Reader

Request:

"You are one of my favorite writers and I saw you reopened your requests.

I was wondering if you could write a hiddles romance one were he falls for a tall lady about his height but is kinda shy and is extra fluffy (aka overweight) with mental health issues?

No worries if not!" - Requested by a nonny! 😄

Summary: You are a make-up artist, hired to work on the set of 'The Night Manager', where you meet Tom. You clicked immediately. One day, he decides to ask you out, what triggers something dark inside you...

Warnings: angst, fluff, mental health issues, mentions of abuse, swear words

Word Count: 1,5k

a/n: Thank you for requesting and especially for your kind words! It means the world to me! 😊❤ This turned out quite a bit darker than I intended to do, but yeah... I hope you don't mind! 😊🙈 I was struggling with that request a bit, honestly, but I hope I did you proud! 😊

Tagging: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @acefeather2002 @lulubelle814 @vbecker10 @fictive-sl0th @lady-rose-moon @muddyorbs @kimanne723

If you want to be added to my Tom taglist, please let me know! 😄

MASTERLIST

It started off as normal co-workers. Colleagues. Nothing more. Hence, actually not even direct colleagues... More like... acquaintances through work. You never thought that it was possible to turn into something more...

You were a make-up artist and finally landed a big job. You got hired for a series called 'The Night Manager'. It was a big project with a lot of big names. Hugh Laurie, Olivia Colman, Tom Hollander and Elizabeth Debicki. Just to name a few. But the biggest star on set was for you (and probably for a lot of other people as well) - without a doubt, Tom Hiddleston. You were looking forward to this, since you got that job. You secretly admired him and maybe, just maybe, he was your celebrity crush. You had never met him in person before, but you heard from other make-up artist colleagues that he was a dream to work with. Not that you didn't kind of know that already. Tom was a perfect example of a gentleman. You noticed that immediately on the day you finally met him. He was being utterly polite and kind. You liked working with him and being his make-up artist.

After a month on set you literally became his personal make-up artist. So, you got to spend with him several hours each day. You enjoyed it, just as Tom did. It seemed like you guys clicked from the beginning. The chemistry was amazing.

In the third month of filming, Tom decided to make a move. If he trusted the feeling inside his heart and the butterflies in his stomach, he had - without a doubt, positively fallen in love with you. You were an incredible woman in his eyes. So beautiful and kind. A ray of sunshine. His ray of sunshine.

What you didn't anticipate was that Tom could look after you... "Y/N?" His quiet, utterly gentle voice urged suddenly to your ears, causing you to flinch and hug yourself even more. You felt the movement beside you, as he sat down on the little stair as well. You flinched again, when you felt the weight of his big hand on your shoulder blade. "Are you okay? I-I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to scare you. D-Did I do something wrong?" Those words caused you to lift your head slightly; just enough to peek into his worried baby blues. Never... Never ever before asked you a man that question or was concerned about you. He had never been concerned about you. You quickly squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get those horrific memories locked behind that door again. Tom noticed immediately that something was indeed wrong, when he saw how troubled you became; how your breath quickened and how you started to shake like a leaf in the wind. In that moment, all Tom wanted was to somehow comfort you, make whatever was bothering you so much go away. So, he slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulders. When you didn't flinch this time and neither pulled away, he pulled you gently closer. That was all you needed in that moment. A shoulder to lean on; to cry on. Hesitatingly, you rested your head on the man's shoulder and cuddled closer against his warm body. Tom wrapped his other arm around you as well and just held you close. "It's okay, darling." He whispered in that deep, soothing voice, as you cried against his shoulder. "I'm here."

It was already dark outside, when Tom was on the verge of leaving your make-up trailer. The day had been a long one for all parties... "Thank you, Y/N." The man said and stood up from the chair. You just helped him remove his make-up - the fake blood, bruises and bandages. You smiled shyly at his words. He always did that. "It's my job, Tom." You'd always answer, whereupon he would reply every day: "Which doesn't mean I can't say thank you." You'd just give him another small smile and then you'd always say goodbye to each other and Tom would leave. Well... Not today...

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, as Tom looked down at his hands, fumbling with the hem of his green sweatshirt. Usually, he would wish you a good night now, but it didn't come. Instead, he said something completely different. Something that threw you completely off track. "I, uh, I know it's late and we have a long day behind us, but..." Tom looked up at you again, his beautiful oceanic orbs meeting yours. "I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me? If you want? We could go to the Chinese restaurant down the street, or grab a pizza. Whatever you like." A soft smile graced his lips, while you just stared at him. Had he just asked you out? On a date? Tom freaking Hiddleston had just asked you to have dinner with him. No. No, this couldn't be true. He couldn't mean this. He couldn't. A man like him and a woman like you? No, no, absolutely not. You felt those dark thoughts creeping up inside you. They consumed you, feasted upon your fears and doubts. And suddenly you felt like you couldn't breathe. You needed to get away from here. From him. "S-Sorry." You managed to stutter out, before you literally fled out of the trailer. "Y/N?" You heard Tom calling after you; audibly worried. "Are you okay?" But you didn't answer him and just continued to run. As soon as you reached your trailer, you broke down on the steps, crying. Silent tears were rolling down your cheeks and disappearing in the soft fabric of your blouse. You just hoped nobody saw you like this.

Tom held you, until you calmed down; your breathing returning to normal. Slowly, you pulled away from the comforting hug and wiped away the last stray tears. "T-Thank you." "Of course." He gave you a compassionate smile. "Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to, of course." You thought for a moment about his words. Usually, you were very reserved about this topic; about this part of your life, but then again... You felt like you could trust him - with your life. You felt so safe with Tom. A feeling you didn't have in a long time with a man. So, you took a deep breath and nodded softly. "I-It's... I..." Another deep breath. "My ex-boyfriend... He... He was abusive towards me. Physically and psychologically." Tom's eyes widened at your words. "H-He used me, beat me... Fucked with my mind..." You fumbled nervously with your hands. "It took me over a year to get away from him, a-and two years to get over the trauma. Although, I never got entirely over it. My mental health is damaged. Sometimes something triggers all the memories and well... I end up like this." You gestured towards your red and puffy eyes. Tom was shocked, of course and utterly disgusted by that man. How could someone do this to another human being? He asked himself. The man didn't want to dig deeper in your past, because he didn't want to put you through this. You've been through enough. He didn't need to trigger your memories again. "I-I'm so sorry, Y/N. If I had known, I wouldn't have-" You quickly shook your head, interrupting him. "No, no, this isn't your fault. It's actually mine. Ever since that, I lost trust in men. Whoever tried to get closer to me, I pushed him away. You couldn't know. It's okay, Tom, really." You gave him a small smile, which he returned. He understood now. Why you acted that way. There was just one question in his mind. One thing that he wanted to know. "Why, Y/N? Why was he doing this to you?" You shrugged your shoulder with a sniffle. "Because I'm kind. He... used my kindness. My heart of gold - like my mum used to say. I was – am, easy prey." You snorted out a laugh, shaking your head. "He never loved me. To him, I was the epitome of unattractiveness. A tall, fat bitch - that was the last thing he said to me, before I managed to break free from his grasp." Tom shook his head, couldn't believe what his ears just heard. "No." He shook his head and reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. "You're not, Y/N. You're the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon." Your eyes met his once again, frowning. "R-Really? Y-You don't care that I'm..." You looked insecurely down your body. "Not in the slightest. To me, you are beautiful - from the inside and the outside." You felt how your cheeks reddened; a few butterflies swirling through your belly. You didn't manage to answer something, except for the nervous giggle which left your lips. Tom found it utterly cute and smiled once again at you, before he gave your hand a soft squeeze. "My offer to take you out for dinner still stands. Whenever you feel ready, tell me. I'll be waiting right here for you. I'm not going anywhere." After those words, you were pretty sure, that Tom must be the kindest and sweetest man on earth. "Thank you."

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston angst

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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FEMALE CELEBRITY MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION.

Elizabeth Debicki.

Gorgeous.

↳ Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

Christmas Morning.

↳ Christmas morning in a hidden wintry lodge is everything you could’ve dreamed of. Then again, it’d be perfect even without the setting and the heating, because all you want for Christmas is Elizabeth, and that she gives you. Wholly. 18+

Reunion Revenge.

↳ At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises. 18+

Hailee Steinfeld.

Live.

↳ The first night of Hailee's tour, you're a guest singer... and her girlfriend. Everything will go to plan, surely, even when she looks that good and sings that well...

Zendaya.

Coming soon.

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k-knightt-blog · 5 years

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I barely knew I had skin before I met you

Title: I barely knew I had skin before I met you

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Chapters: 3/?

Wordcount: 1,493

Summary: You are Susanne Bier’s, the director of Night Manager, on-set assistant who falls in love with her boss’ leading man. Now, why would you do something so stupid?

A/N: Hugh Laurie is no way a bad person, he just needed to be for this story. He’s probably a really nice chap. Forgive me.

Part 1 Part 2

Everything around you slowly speeds up, but your own movements get slower. Tom's hand is now guiding you forward, his touch making you a little dizzy. The two of you were heading to the table furthest away from the entrance. It was the only table that was full and wasn’t looking boisterous, but still, you felt anxious. You knew that everyone had heard what happens yesterday. You also knew that a few people would be compelled to ask you how you were. You didn’t like being the centre of attention, and you felt embarrassment creep down your spine. Tom knew this about you, and you were thankful to have him by your side.

Elizabeth and Tom Hollander sees the two of you first and smile. As you come closer and sit down beside Tom, Elizabeth looks at you worryingly, “Are you feeling better?” Tom Hollander's eyebrows knit in a worried frown, he hasn’t heard. “Why would she be feeling anything but okay? Did I miss something?” His hand reaching for yours over the table. Bless this man, you were lucky to call him your friend. You giggle a little at his rather dramatic reaction, Tom chuckles too. When you realise that you actually have to tell the entire cast and the other people sitting at the table you go red. “I-ehm, had a minor breakdown. I haven’t been sleeping that well the past months.” You say trying to sound nonchalant. Tom probably spotted your awkward tone of voice and snaked his arm around your waist. He’s never touched you this much, well he has hugged you in the past, a goodbye kind of hug. This felt different, you didn’t know what to think.

All of the people who partook and listened to your conversation looked at you with sad eyes. “It’s really nothing. I feel better already. I guess I’m not used to life on set, early mornings and late nights, and then the night shoots. It got to me I suppose.” You say rather quietly earning a rather harsh huff from Hugh Laurie. The two Toms, Elizabeth and myself shoot our eyes over to him. You had a feeling that he had taken a dislike to you early on, but you didn’t have the faintest clue why. On the first day of the principal shoot, Hugh had nearly not let you in the studio. You remember him pressuring you to show him your pass and ID because you quote-unquote looked 18. Susanne had come just in time to reassure the acclaimed actor that you were, in fact, her assistant. A few moments after that you met Tom for the first time. You remember everything about that first encounter.

Hugh didn’t elaborate after that inaugural snort, actually he hasn’t even looked up from the paper he was reading. You looked up at Tom, the muscles in his face tight, he almost looked angry. Before either of us speak Elizabeth comes and saves the day, “Something to add Hugh?” She asks him sweetly, leaning forward, to defuse the tension. He looked up and almost looked confused like he hasn’t just dismissed your misery. Hugh folded his paper in half and leaned back in his chair, “I have been in this business for nearly forty years and I’ve never complained. Let alone had a nervous break down because of it.” His tone was cold and you were sure everybody was as shocked as you were.

You didn’t dare to say anything because Hugh obviously didn’t value anything you had to say. You looked up at Tom and he looked furious. “This isn’t about you though, is it?” He tried to not sound angry but you could tell that he was. Hugh just shrugged and ate some of the food that sat in front of him. Maybe he didn’t realise that he hurt your feelings just now, maybe he’s having a bad day. Tom’s fingers tightened around your waist and you leaned closer to him, ”Just leave it, maybe he’s had a bad day. People snap, it’s alright.” You whisper to tom who leaned his head towards your voice, but his glare still on Hugh. “Tom?” You say again, wanting him to stop staring daggers at his co-star. “He can’t talk to you like that,” Tom says, his eyes have finally found yours. You sigh, “Like my mother always said - you have to choose your battles, and if you do fight fire with fire.” Tom’s whole facade softens and you can almost detect a flash of embarrassment when he loosens his grip on your side. “Wise Woman.” He says giving you a sweet smile.

Suddenly you feel how hungry you are so you stand up, and begin walking towards the buffet. Tom shuffles to his feet and loudly tells you to wait for him. He can’t see it but your face breaks out in a wide smile. His hand ghosts your waist as he peeks over your shoulder, “Always the vegetables huh?” He chuckles earning a playful scuff from you. ”You are what you eat.” You shoot back, he’s now beside you filling his plate with Vietnamese spring rolls. ”Like those aren’t just all vegetable, hypocrite.” He laughs and brings one up to your face wiggling it. “Stop that! Sometimes I wonder about your age.” You say which only makes him laugh more and you follow suit.

You had to fetch a couple of files and your laptop in your office before you retired back to bed. Of course, Tom offered to come with you, although you insisted you’d be fine walking on your own. As you are walking you look up at him, his eyes found yours and they had a gleam of deviltry to them. ”Why do you look so cunning? I love it!” You say grabbing his left shoulder, consciously weighing him down. Tom quickly pokes your side which always makes you explode in laughter. He does it again and yet again. Now he’s the one having to hold you up because of the manic fits of laughter you were having. “Stop it! I can’t breathe!” You say as wheeze like mad. “I did, you’re simply being overdramatic now!” He laughs lovingly.

Your arms are now entangled; it feels like you’re the only people around. That is definitely not true, there are people all around you but you just didn’t care. Also, you’re still half on the floor and half in Tom’s arms. “On your feet soldier.” He said as he brings you up to your normal stance. The two of you now standing close, “What I was going to say before was that we’re all going to a bar tomorrow since it’s Friday. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go, with me-“ His eyes grew wide at the realisation that he has said "with me" and quickly added, “with us.” You knew what he meant, and it was quite surprising that he had invited you since you're not part of the cast. You're only an assistant, sure the assistant to the director but still.

"I'd love to, but are you sure Mr I have monopoly on misery wants me to come?" You said and Tom looked a bit guilty like it was somehow his fault that Hugh had taken a jab towards you. "He won't be joining. It's you, me, Elizabeth, Tom, Alistair, David and of course, Olivia. And you know that they all think you are a perfect darling, and a hell of a good sport." You laugh and a smile dangled on the corner of your lips, "David Avery is going to challenge me in a tequila battle, and under no circumstances can you allow me to say yes. I've won over him once, a couple of years ago now, but the consequences were terrible." Tom's pupils dilated, "I cannot believe this. I want details, whe-" You shushed him, "No further questions." You say sternly as he laughs and follows you into the office.

"I'll just ask David." He said as he looked around your little workroom. "You'll get nothing out of him, we have a pact." You wink at him and leave Tom standing alone, nearly dumbfounded. "Come on!" He yelled after you, when he realized you weren't coming back he jogged after you. You snickered as Tom caught up to you, both of you now waiting for the lift. He wasn't even staying in this wing of the hotel, but he waited with you. The ding was loud as you step into the lift, "I'll see you tomorrow." You smile at him and he grins, "Sleep tight and I'll see you tomorrow. No more breakdowns, it's awful seeing you cry." Your face flush in crimson, a quiet "I can't promise anything" leaves your mouth. The doors close and you hear him saying, "Good night darling." Your heart and your cheeks are throbbing, maybe he did actually feel the same way you did.

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viking-raider · 4 years

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Reflection *Fic Request*

Summary: Henry wakes up in the morning, and spends time admiring you as you sleep, with some playful banter after you wake up...two hours later.

Pairing: Henry/You

Rating: More Fluff-ity Fluff Fluff! and some mature references

Word Count: 2,008

Inspiration: Anon Request (x)

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart

Related Fic: Mornings

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It was a usual morning in the house for you and Henry, starting with Henry getting up anywhere from an hour to three hours, before you, so he could start whatever regimen he might be on for his various filming projects. He didn't have one yet, but, would in the coming weeks as the prep to start working on season two of the Witcher kicked into gear. Even though, he'd slept in, Henry was up almost two hours before your alarm would go off, for you to get up and start the day.

Good. He thought, turning on his side to stare at you. More time for you.

He reached out and twisted a loose strand of your hair around his index finger, watching the look of absolute peace on your face, the way your long lashes laid against your skin and the feel of your warm, soft breath against his hand. Henry couldn't clock the amount of hours he'd spent in bed with you, just like this, over the almost five years the two of you dated. It didn't matter where the two of you were, here at home, safely tucked in your own bed, a hotel room in some big named city, or on site of whatever movie the either of you were shooting. It was the consistent, reliable stability that Henry had craved in his life for a long time, especially since hitting it big on Superman and his life always feeling like a shook up snow-globe. You were his stability in everything; you were the person that could give him one word, one look or just your presence and he'd know where he was in the world, or as you lovingly called it 'keeping that big head in check.' And that's what you did, like a grounding wire. You weren't going to let him get an ego as he got bigger and bigger roles, and forget the man he really is. Both of you built a solid foundation of your relationship on keeping each other in check, supporting each other in the good, the bad and the ugly, picking up wherever one of you had a weakness and protecting it, and reaffirming the strengths you both had. If you were having the worse day from hell, he knew simply locking his arms around you and pressing his lips to the top of your head, would instantly shield you from it, like he was your body armor. If he was getting overwhelmed with work, or struggling on a workout and strict diet, all you had to do was tell him how proud you were of him, that you believed in him, and it gave him the strength to continue on.

“You are the Superwoman to my Superman.” Henry whispered, unraveling the strand of your hair from around his finger, and caressed your cheek, smiling has you whimpered and rubbed your cheek against his palm. “You are what makes my life complete, and meaningful.” he told your sleeping form, lighting his fingertips down your nose. “You are quite literally the most gorgeous woman in the world, and it was the best day of my life, when I met you.”

The pair of you had met on the set of The Man from U.N.C.L.E., where you played the female lead. Henry knew the moment he walked into the first script read through and saw you at the table, where you sat beside your good friend, Elizabeth Debicki, and laughing at whatever it was the two of you found so hilarious, that he was smitten with you. With unbelievable luck, he found that his seat was right next to you, he felt his hands grow clammy, and his insecurities start to flood into him, as he approached you, thankfully you and Elizabeth were still too absorbed in the conversation you were having, to see him coming. He stopped a few steps away from you, rubbing his hands on his jeans and trying to get a handle on himself, before taking the last few steps and pulling his chair out as nonchalantly as he could, and sat down. It was then you noticed him, turning your head away from Elizabeth and giving him a smile that undid all the confidence he managed to recover the moment before.

“Hi.” You smiled, meeting his eyes and extending your hand to him. “I'm y/n.” you introduced yourself.

“Hey, I'm Henry.” he replied, taking your hand in his, and prayed it wasn't as clammy as he felt it was, as he shook your hand. “I'm playing Napoleon Solo.” he added, reluctantly letting your hand go.

“I'm playing Gabby.” You offered back, politely.

“Well, I look forward to working with you.” He said, honestly, smiling back at you.

And Henry had more than enjoyed acting with you in the film, he reflected, as his hand followed the curve of your side and over the slope of your hip. He'd grown a bit jealous as well, on set. Your character had a bit of a fling with Armie's, so, the pair of you had grown rather close on set, something Henry desperately wanted with you, for himself. He was sitting in his chair behind the camera watching as you both did the scene in the hotel where you fight each other, then melt into making out, and no matter how hard he tried to focus on the script in his hand for his up-coming lines, he couldn't keep his eyes off of you, legs wrapped around Armie's waist and your arms around his neck, as you kissed deeply. With a huff, he'd gotten up, tossing his script onto his seat and walked away out of the studio, needing air. But, after you'd finished the scene, you'd panned around for him, noticed he was gone, and came looking for him at his trailer.

“Can I help you?” he'd asked, looking down at your from the steps in his trailer.

You'd frowned and cocked your head to the side as you looked up at him, making him feel like you were staring into his soul. “Superman's jealous.” you said in a slow and amused voice, a grin pulling across your lips.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” he replied, folding his arms over his chest, but you'd grown to see through his defenses and took the two steps up into his trailer, Henry backing up as you did. You'd pulled his arms away from his chest and rested his hands on your shoulders.

“You're a dirty liar.” You'd teased him standing on tip-toe and kissed him, meaningfully, on the lips.

It had been all Henry needed to know you were finally his, that you'd been in love with him since he sat down next to you at the script reading, but too afraid to say anything, in case he didn't feel the same. From that moment in the trailer, you were both almost entirely inseparable. If you didn't have work to do, you'd follow Henry to his various interviews, photo shoots and filming sites, as he would do the same when you were working and he wasn't. You always went to award shows together and premieres. All your friends and family teased you two about being so attached at the hip, it was like you had three of them.

Henry lifted your arm, turning the silver bracelet around your wrist in a circle, it was the first birthday gift he'd given you, just before you and he stepped out of the limo and onto the carpet for the Man from U.N.C.L.E premiere, also the first public appearance you both did as a couple. The top of the bracelet had a gaelic phrase inscribe on it, and on the inside was the translation: Love You Now, and Forever. He'd only ever seen you take it off long enough to take a shower, you wouldn't even take it off for film roles, forcing the director, producers and artists to integrate it into your costume. Henry trailed his fingers flat along your collarbones, rubbed them over your chest, then over the swell of your breast, you moaned in your sleep, reaching out to lightly wrap your hand around his wrist, making Henry smile.

“You are beautiful, y/n.” he whispered, gently kissing the tip of your nose. “I really--” his voice trailed off, and just watched you sleep for a few moments. “What have I done in life to have you love me so much. To trust me like this..” he licked his lips, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, burying his face into your hair for a moment before rolling out of bed. He went into the walk-in closet, pulling down one of the shoe boxes he kept a pair of his dress shoes in, and flipped it open. Reaching inside the left shoe, Henry pulled out a small velvet box and opened the lid, revealing a diamond ring he'd had custom made.

Henry stared at the ring for a long time, and was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of your alarm going off. “I really need to finally propose to you.” he whispered to himself, slipping the box back into his shoe, then slid both back onto the top shelf.

“Henry?” You called out his name, before you'd even finished waking up or turned your alarm off.

“Right here, babe.” He smiled brightly at you, popping out of the closet, holding a t-shirt and a pair of jeans in his hand. “You sleep well, sunshine?” he teased, knowing you hated waking up before the crack of noon.

“Hmm.” You nodded, rolling onto your back and draping an arm across your eyes. “You?”

“I always sleep well, when I'm in bed with you.” he commented back, stepping out of his pajama bottoms and into his jeans.

“Fuck all, you're too happy for 7am.” You shot back, sitting up and looking at him.

“Someone got warm last night.” Henry grinned, seeing you shirtless, not that he didn't already know that after staring at you for two hours.

“I wonder why?” you replied, shooting him a look that made him laugh. “I tried turning my personal heater down, but, he's permanently stuck on one setting, Henry Cavill.”

Henry laughed even harder as he pulled his shirt over his head, knowing you were in full swing of giving him shit, when you dropped his full name. He settled his shirt over his muscular torso and grinned, impishly at you. “I told you last night after we made love, if you want the heater to go down an notch, to twist the nipple a little harder.”

“Oh my god!” You howled, laughing as you fixed your hair and got out of bed. “That is so not what you said!” you called over your shoulder as you went into the bathroom. “You said, if I wanted to make you harder to twist your nipple, it was pulling on your ear that was supposed to turn the heat down.” you said, relieving yourself. “And while you did get harder, you only got warmer.”

“You probably pulled the wrong ear.”

You choked on a laugh, pressing your hands to your face and got up to start brushing your teeth. “I'm starting think I need to see your mother for a instruction manual.” You told him, between brushing.

“My mother does not know what ear to pull to cool me down.” Henry told you, standing in the bathroom doorway.

“No, but she might know where to kick you, for a restart or fail safe.” You countered, spiting into the sink and swishing mouthwash.

“You don't need to kick me for that.” He told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, turning his face into your neck. “Just kiss me.” he whispered into your ear, tugging on it with his teeth.

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criticarter · 3 years

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Films Watched in 2021 - (12/???)

The Burnt Orange Heresy (2020) - Giuseppe Capotondi (2.5/5)

The only thing possibly worse than an outright bad movie, or a forgettable one, is one with the capability to be good that falls short at nearly every moment. Not only is it horribly paced (seeming much longer than a mere 100 minutes) with most of the fluff conversations about the pretentiousness of the art world (but not at its expense, like Velvet Buzzsaw was), but we’ve once again completely wasted Elizabeth Debicki, who has no business approaching the role of victim (in any sense) in her career. Maybe the best thing this movie has going for it is that it didn’t end up including Christopher Walken (in the artist role instead of Sutherland) in addition to Jagger as the collector; this would have been a bridge too far.

#film2021 #burnt orange heresy

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jewels2876 · 5 years

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Sweet Dreams

A/N: This is my first piece based on an aesthetic - I blame @until-theend-oftheline ha!

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 977

Warnings: death by fluff

The forecast called for at least a foot of snow; Chris was grateful he had stocked up on groceries and necessities when he got back in town before everyone else made their mad dashes. He stood in his kitchen, watching the snow drift down lazily, taking a bite of the grilled cheese sandwich he had made. The storm wasn’t supposed to start until later in the evening but Chris still gave himself a mental note to check the pile of firewood sitting by the fireplace. As he ate into his sandwich his mind wandered, thinking about the last set he was on in LA. He missed the warmth and the sun, but Boston was still his home, his heart. All too soon the sandwich was devoured; he shook the plate over the sink to dust off the crumbs before placing it in the dishwasher.

He lumbered from the kitchen into his den, seeing a nice high pile of wood. He smiled to himself as Dodger padded along behind him. Chris reached down and scratched the dog behind the ears for a minute before putting a small wood pile into the fireplace and lighting it. It took a few minutes to light; the flames laid low while Chris stoked the wood into the previous embers. Dodger chuffed at the growing warmth and threw himself in front of the fireplace to take a nap. Chris chuckled at the dog and reached down to rub his back. “Good idea buddy,” he said softly.

Chris sat down on the brown leather couch; he moved some of the throw pillows his decorator had insisted on out of his way, tugging on the extra large fuzzy throw that was hanging off the back of the couch. The throw covered his feet up to his neck; Chris smiled to himself as his head settled on one of the pillows. The growing fire bathed him in a soothing warmth and before long he was fast asleep.

“Seb, what are you doing in my dreams man?”

“I’m here to point out all the stuff you missed dude,” Seb smirked at him and led him around the Avengers set. “Like that. How do you forget about the random hookups between coworkers?”

Chris cringed as he watched Tom Hiddleston and Elizabeth Debicki making out. “Ewh! Ok that didn’t really happen; I just read something in a trashy magazine that SPECULATED about them. Isn’t she married?”

The scene changed and Sebastian suddenly changed into Bucky, missing left arm and all, and started speaking to Chris in the Wakandan language. “Seb, you know never I learned that! Speak English!” Sebastian as Bucky turned to Chris and started reciting all of his lines from Infinity War over and over. Chris groaned in annoyance.

The snow was still drifting down, sticking to the ground but not yet a nuisance. You had reminded a sleepy Chris that you needed to run a few errands before the real storm hit; you pulled the SUV into the garage with a sigh. Not that you didn’t enjoying running errands, but when people were acting like it was Armageddon and not another winter storm in Boston it was a little tiring. You grabbed two of the bags in the row of seats behind you and headed into the kitchen.

The scene changed again. Chris held a baby in his arms, bright blue eyes and light reddish blonde curls aglow. He made cooing noises at the baby, while another child played at his feet. The playing child looked up at him with a grin, minus a couple of teeth. “Robert, where’s your sister hiding?” Chris heard a giggle coming from a nearby closet. He held the baby against his chest with one arm while he slowly opened the closet door. The giggles increased in volume. “Daddy you founded me!” The little girl’s beaming smile were outmatched by the bright blue eyes sparkling, looking just like his.

“Babe?” you called upstairs. No response. You tiptoed quietly upstairs and hid the small bags in your closet. You’d wait to show him tomorrow, when you could be snuggled up, kissing and touching, You went back down the stairs towards the his office in the front of the house. “Babe?”

“Baby girl, why were you hiding?” Chris closed the door to the closet and bent low to eye his daughter. He shifted the baby from one arm to the other; he reached out and wrapped his other arm tight around his daughter in a big hug. She giggled and squirmed at the kisses he dropped on her cheeks, nose and forehead. “Daddy!”

“Babe?” you found him curled up on the couch in the den. His dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, his smile bloomed across his face. One arm was tucked into his chest and the other was dangling off the back of the couch. Dodger lifted his head to acknowledge you; you took the treat out of your pocket. Dodger reared up and barked once in approval at the treat. Chris shot up. “Huh? Dodger? What?” He heard a low chuckle and rubbed one eye with his hand as he turned towards your frame in the doorway. “Hey,” his voice grumbled. “When did you get back?”

You tossed Dodger the treat and walked in, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. You smiled and ran your right hand through Chris’s hair as your left cupped the side of his face. You kissed him softly before laying your head in the crook of his neck. “Just a few minutes ago. You looked awfully happy with your nap. Dreaming about something good I hope?”

Chris smiled to himself, his left hand rubbed your back. His right hand laid gently on your stomach. “Something amazing.” You kissed him softly again, thinking about the twin onesies you had hiding in your upstairs closet.

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#Kari’s MCU January Quickie #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans #fluff #chris evans fluff #fluffy

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flickdirect · 6 years

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In 1902, the world was introduced to an adorable yet mischievous rabbit named Peter. British author Beatrix Potter wrote six books over ten years showcasing the anthropomorphic bunny, his family, and friends. Over the next one hundred years the Peter Rabbit books and merchandising have earned over $150 million worldwide and this year Columbia pictures gave the classic tale a modern spin in the live-action feature Peter Rabbit. Three months later, the movie was released on 4K, Blu-ray, DVD and Digital HD and is available to buy now.

Joe McGregor (Sam Neill; Jurassic Park) lives a quiet life in the English countryside. A mean old man, McGregor likes the solitude and his garden. He hates the vermin that is Peter Rabbit (James Corden; Into the Woods), his sisters, his cousin and all their woodland friends. Peter is the bane of McGregor's existence constantly stealing food from his garden and always being saved by the sweet neighbor, Bea (Rose Byrne; Neighbors). When McGregor finally caught Peter in his garden one day, he is ready to make rabbit pie but dies of a heart attack instead. Suddenly, it seems Peter's luck has changed and he and his friends gorge themselves on vegetables from McGregor's garden.

Thomas McGregor (Domhnall Gleeson; Star Wars; The Last Jedi) is an anal retentive, Assistant Manager in the toy department at Harrod's. When he gets passed over for a promotion he loses his cool and finds himself fired. He then learns he is the heir to his late great uncle's estate - the same one that Peter and his friends have been enjoying. Thomas decides to fix up the house so he can sell it and make enough money to open his own toy store. Of course, he and Peter clash immediately but he pretends to like the wildlife to impress Bea. Everything falls apart when Bea learns Thomas tried to kill the rabbits and accidentally falls a tree on her house.

Corden is the perfect actor to voice Peter. With his humor and sarcasm, his inflection gives the cute rabbit a unique personality all his own. Domhnall does a great job as the uptight Londoner who needs a lifestyle adjustment and suddenly falls in love with Bea. Byrnes is the right choice to portray the animal-loving artist. The supporting cast including Margo Robbie (I, Tonya), Elizabeth Debicki (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.), Daisy Ridley (Star Wars; The Last Jedi) and Colin Moody (Party Tricks) are terrific and add to the overall feel of the film.

The 4K Blu-ray is 2160p HDR10 video quality is fantastic. The detail on the wildlife's fur is excellent and the colors of the countryside, Bea's paintings, and the vegetable garden are all vibrant. The Dolby Atmos audio is clean and crisp and highlights the fun soundtrack. The Combo pack includes the 4K, the Blu-ray disc, and the Digital HD. The Blu-ray has 3 extras including a mini-movie, Shake Your Cotton-Tail Dance Along, and Mischief in the Making; the first being mildly entertaining and the latter two being just general fluff.

Peter Rabbit has some funny moments and will delight the younger audience it is intended for. As mentioned earlier it also has some great songs, which is why a sing-along extra is not unsurprising. A few of the jokes and gags fall flat and the movie wasn't without controversy when it was released in theaters, as some viewers found the handling of food allergies insensitive. However, overall it is a cute film that will delight kids and offer a few laughs to adults.

If you have a little one in your house, owning this movie is recommended.

Grade: C

About Allison Hazlett-Rose Allison Hazlett-Rose has always had a passion for the arts and uses her organization skills to help keep FlickDirect prosperous. Mrs. Hazlett-Rose oversees and supervises the correspondents and critics that are part of the FlickDirect team. Mrs. Hazlett-Rose attended Hofstra University where she earned her bachelors degree in communications and is a member of the Florida Film Critics Circle.

Read more reviews and content by Allison Hazlett-Rose.

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

#night manager jed #elizabeth debicki #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki avatars #vita & virginia #elizabeth debicki imagine #elizabeth debicki fanfic #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #elizabeth debicki x you #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #wlw imagine

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.

#elizabeth debicki #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki imagine #jed roper #jed night manager #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki fic #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #wlw fluff #Spotify

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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∘◦❅◦∘ Elizabeth Debicki - Christmas Morning ∘◦❅◦∘

A/N - Elizabeth is a superior human being and I shan’t hear a word against it. She’s so bloody stunning and pure and everything good. I got this idea a while ago, but it’s taken me a while to write it. What better time to upload a Christmas Morning imagine than on Christmas Eve (in my time zone at least). This is not intended to offend anyone, or to intrude on Elizabeth in any way. I do not know her, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. And I’m sorry if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I’m not trying to force it upon anyone. I also used google translate for most of the Polish.

Warnings - Explicit s*x and lots of it. Cursing, Polish cursing. Just 3.4k words of adult content, really. 18+.

Summary - Christmas morning in a hidden wintry lodge is everything you could’ve dreamed of. Then again, it’d be perfect even without the setting and the heating, because all you want for Christmas is Elizabeth, and that she gives you. Wholly.

DAPPLED SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the gap in the curtains, icy and sharp, defining the angles of her face with acute shadows. God she looks so perfect this way, you never want to wake her.

Usually Liz is the first one to wake up, so this is a rarity, one you’ll never take for granted. She looks so ethereal, so angelic, so incredibly perfect, it makes you wonder what you’ve ever done to deserve this half covered celestial woman in your bed next to you this morning. Perhaps the retreat is doing its work, and she’s finally starting to sleep well. Life away from all the pressures of Hollywood seems to be suiting her, and you, hence the lodge you booked into at the start of the week and don’t plan on leaving until it’s absolutely pertinent. How she’s managed to sleep half naked, though, with only a sheet slung around her hips is beyond you, and you find yourself smiling at the thought.

With your eyes, you trace the curves of her bare body from the silhouette of the longest and shapeliest legs you’ve ever seen (that look particularly good wrapped around your waist… or neck) to the dips of her hips where the sheet rests tucked a little beneath her, to the gorgeous valley of her perfect breasts and her nipples, already pebbled from the cold air. You can appreciate her face like this as well, more than you usually could; so still and relaxed like no harm could ever come, like she’s your guardian angel, a facts he’s proven again and again, only for you to snatch her breath away by capturing her slightly plump lips in yours, nudging her button nose with yours, gazing into those stunning baby blue eyes. And her hair, God, the choppy blonde locks that only serve to make her more angelic even when she’s acting like a devil, just like on Halloween. The thought alone gives you chills, riding goosebumps on top of your goosebumps, and sending blood rushing simultaneously to your cheeks and your core.

She lets out the breathiest little moan, and you can’t help but wonder whether she’s dreaming of you, and if she’s just as wet as you are beneath the covers, creating a damp spot where she’s lying on the crisp white sheet, as crisp as the winter snow outside. Her cheeks begin to colour, and now you just have to avert your eyes or you’ll simply pounce her when she needs her sleep. Presents can wait.

The view outside the window, though, is simply magnificent. Hundreds of tiny snowflakes fall all around, dancing and twirling until they settle into beds of soft snow or fall onto the broad branches of the fir trees lining the property. The perfect white Christmas, and your first together, even if, with your destination, it was expected.

Eventually, you pluck up the strength to extricate yourself from the warmth of the bed, only to grasp for the nearest jumper, tugging it on to shield yourself from the worst of the cold. Ice bites at your toes this early on in the day, though it’s swiftly dissipated when your feet hit the soft, cream rug next to the carpet on the log-appearance floor, already warmed through enough to make your toes toasty via underfloor heating.

You ensure to keep your footsteps soft, padding along the floor and treading over any obstacles until you reach the door, and even then only opening it a sliver more than you need to slip through the gap. Yawning, you trek down to the kitchen, pulling the sweater tighter around you. It smells of Liz, of her perfume, and that indescribable smell of roses that is so distinctly her.

Popping the kettle on, your mind drifts from the sound and last night's activities hail you, willing you to forget that you’re in the kitchen and to just think of the way she kissed you, touched you, fucked you- The bubbling stops, and you’re grounded once more, but even so you can still feel her touch scorching your skin, burning you with every graze of her fingers over your legs, your stomach, your-

And that's when you nearly drop the mug of boiling tea onto your bare feet. You have to physically shake the sensation from you if you want anything done before heading back up to bed. You make Elizabeth’s tea the way she likes it: white, one sugar, just like her, and wrap the mug cosies around each cup to keep them toasty, even while she’s still asleep. You tiptoe back upstairs, the ghost of her touch sending shivers down your spine, and as you softly kick the door open, cautious to keep your balance so as to not spill tea all over your sprawled self on the floor, you’re surprised to find Liz sitting up n bed, laying on her elbows, her hair slightly more coiffed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Your eyes dart to the safe, a bubbling of excitement fizzing in your stomach just to make this morning better.

“Merry Christmas baby,” She coos in that delectable accent of hers.

“Happy Christmas darling, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head reassuringly, and opens her arms for you. “Though I’d have been much happier if you’d woken me up in a better way than with tea, though I’m ever so grateful.”

You put the mugs down and bend to kiss her lips, tasting only desire in the tender brush. She brings her hand up to wrap around your back, drawing you impossibly closer to her until your whole body is covering hers. She’s wearing that stupid Christmas cardigan you told her not to buy, the terrible clash of red and green and gold being a lot for your eyes to take so early in the morning, but the soft material tickles your back so delightfully, warming you up, so you can’t complain.

“Were you dreaming of me?” You husk in her ear.

“Mmhm, only of you.”

You bring your lips down to her neck, kissing her pressure point ever so gently, only to suck on her skin feverishly enough to leave a hickey and have her moaning already.

“Don’t stop- fuck.”

Your hips begin involuntarily bucking into hers, creating a delicious friction while your mouth works on her weakest spots. For once, neither of you has to worry about leaving marks on the other: free rein to mark each other up in whichever way you choose. In truth, this is your favourite time to just be with Elizabeth, nothing and no one to worry about, especially no paparazzi and no one trying to catch her out.

Without wasting another second, you bring your lips back to hers, your mouths colliding deliciously. She weaves her hand into your hair, tugging you closer, drawing you closer into her warmth and the taste of her wholly. She’s yours, and this morning you certainly plan on proving that, starting with shucking off her cardigan, followed by your jumper, flinging them both across the room.

“Someone’s eager.” She giggles, her accent sounding above lush to your ears, especially with that gorgeous morning husky quality.

“Always.”

You begin to nip at her jaw, she claws at your back, her nails leaving crescent moons in their wake already. Grasping at your hair, she forces you to go lower. Grazing your teeth over her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, she’s already getting desperate. You can always tell the signs: Her back slightly arching, her hips rolling from side to side and up and around in circles to grasp onto any thread of friction she can, and then there’s those pretty little whimpers she thinks are too quiet for you to hear. You listen closely every time for them, the most darling sounds she makes, they drive you crazy. They also waive your will to tease her, leading to you always giving in. Today is no exception, other than the fact you begin to tease her pebbled nipples with your tongue much faster than you usually would.

“Laska,” She moans, pushing her breasts further into your mouth, her hand moving up to clasp around the back of your head, beginning to control your movements.

You’d be lying if you didn’t say Liz’s boobs were the sexiest you’ve ever seen in my life, but when she speaks Polish, it really gets you going. In fact, tweaking her other bud between your forefinger and thumb, pulling gently while you leave hickeys all across her one breast. She’s really getting what she asked for, using that breathy, ungodly voice to call you the sweetest names.

If you had it your way, you’d be making her come using her breasts alone, but Liz has other ideas, pulling you up by your heir until she’s pinning you to the bed, her long, slender arms on either side of your head, trapping you in. She looks so… elegant.

“Moja cudowna dziewczyna.”

Jesus Christ she’s gonna be the death of you. You look up at her with wide, starry eyes, completely enthralled with every movement she makes, even the slight quirk of her lips, every blink, every breath. She’s trailing her hand down your body, her fingers between your breasts, her palm over your stomach, two lean digits swiping through your slick, having you a mewling quim under her control as soon as the soft pads of her fingers make contact with your core. She teases your entrance a little before gliding in in one swift movement. Your whole body seems to vault up from the bed, wrapping yourself around Elizabeth as an instinct, bringing her lips crashing onto yours while she continues her ministrations. The kiss is sloppy yet oh so sexy, a clash of teeth and tongues with a flame of pure passion. She’s pumping in and out of you, faster, faster, and you can feel your climax approaching. She can tell as well, because she begins to speed up, pressing her thumb down on your clit.

“Say it.” You whine, “Say it, baby.”

She moves her hand faster, her wrist flicking with every movement as she fucks you, deep and hard on her fingers. God the things they can do…

“Wesołych świąt, seksowna.” She purrs, right in your ear.

The most delectable shiver of arousal runs down your spine, electrocuting every nerve ending in your entire body. You’re on fire, and within a second of her strokes continuing, her fingertips curling to get that exact spot she always knows how to reach, you come with a scream of her name, your hands yanking at her hair as she grunts. She flops down onto your body, every inch of your skin touching, and yet she doesn’t stop her movements, every single jolt of her elbow elongating your high beyond what you thought it could. An almost out of body experience, and all you can see is her, all you can feel is her. Everything is just Liz as she kisses you. Hard. Finger-fucking you through to your second orgasm where all you can hear are her coaxing words. You can feel her, too, desperately grinding against your leg. If you had any control over your brain or mouth whatsoever, you’d be teasing her for being so desperate, your eager baby, yearning so much to come that all she can do is ride your thigh; but apparently your mouth can’t do anything but whimper.

“Pierdolić, królowo.” followed by a faint cry are the clearest thing before you're taken away into your memories.

The first time you heard that word was the most heavenly moment of your existence. You and Elizabeth had been dating for a small while, keeping it on the down low, never sharing more than a kiss for weeks and weeks. Until one fateful night, after a nice dinner, she finally invited you in and it was not a night to forget.

Round two, this time you made it to the bed, and seeing her beneath you was a sight and a half. Her pale skin against her dark sheets, a stark and striking contrast, only complimented further by her halo of long curly blonde locks surrounding her head. Her soft pink lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand clamping onto her pillow to anchor her, the other in your hair. Her back keeps arching off the bed as she approaches her high, crashing back down as soon as you ease off the intensity of your mouth on her core. You’ve edged her again and again even though she’s overstimulated already, sensitive all over. You know that with just one tweak to her nipples or one kiss to her clit, she’ll be coming all over your tongue. Not that you’re complaining. So after laying off for a moment, you get back to work, delving your tongue into her core, savouring every last drop of arousal that drops into your awaiting mouth, your lips pulling at her clit, your hands holding her legs apart to stop them from closing around your head, becoming your necklace. Not that you’d complain about that either…

“Pierdolić!” She screams, her body practically convulsing, crying out that very same word and her name until her throat grows hoarse.

Only when she’s almost finished do you feel your own high coming on with absolutely no contact at all, merely the friction of the bed sheets against your sensitive breasts and the lasting taste of her juices on your tongue. The vision of her topples you over as well, your orgasm silent, muffled by her pussy, your quiet moans sending vibrations throughout her whole being until she falls lax onto the bed, spent, smiling dizzily.

Making your way back up her body, peppering kisses everywhere you can reach, you feel yourself leaving a trail of wetness over her legs and pelvis until you come up to straddle her hips, your chest pressing against hers, your lips meeting in a series of lazy kisses.

“That was pretty sexy,” She murmurs, her voice weak and oh so sensual, “You like it when I speak Polish?”

You just moan softly, unwittingly in response. She chuckles, her fingers running up and down your spine. Ever since, you’ve seen stars with every orgasm when she speaks Polish to you.

This morning follows a similar pattern. With you both exhausted from your first round, you curl under the duvet, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She’s so gentle this way, nothing like the intimidating 6ft+ woman that's shown in the press, the one who could kill anyone with so much as a glance. Not that she isn't drop dead gorgeous, but she’s… vulnerable. And with you, here, she can finally be free and be herself with no external challenges or judgement. That’s what makes this so special.

Skin to skin, heart to heart, lips to lips. You’d take this over anything any day.

“I love you.” You whisper, kissing her shoulder, darting your eyes up to see her beautiful face. The apples of her cheeks are so pronounced when she smiles that signature way, so quintessentially Elizabeth. God she’s so beautiful, and brave, you’re so glad you get to touch her all the time.

Trailing your fingers over her chest, your hand comes up to rest on her bare breast, uncovered by the duvet. She hums absently, her everlasting touch console for you.

“This reminds me of The Night Manager,” She says, turning her head on the pillow to face you.

Your ears prick up; “How come?”

“The cardigan, the snow from when we were in the alps, your hand on my boob like Toms was.”

She’s wearing that smirk, the one that tells you exactly what she wants.

“So now I’m just on par with Tom?”

“Mhm, yeah you are, baby.”

Her smirk widens, mischief glittering in her gorgeous eyes. You chuckle to yourself; this is often her way of instigating another round.

“So I’m just a mediocre white man on a film set with you?” I draw her one nipple between my teeth, my hand massaging the breast it’s already settled on, eliciting a little moan and a vehement nod. God, she’s such a switch. “So you’re telling me that I don’t fuck you better than he can? The fact I have your whole body quaking beneath me in seconds flat when all he got after God knows how many takes was a little twitch?” Again, the same response. “Are you telling me that I’m not the best shag you’ve ever had, darling?”

Silence. You’ve caught her in her own trap, and now, like earlier, she’s just dying to be overpowered. Her torso relaxes a little, her arms falling away, her eyes opening wide, expectant.

“I’ll fucking prove to you that I’m the best you’ve had and ever will have.” you guarantee pridefully.

Pressing a soft and gentle kiss to her lips, your grip on her body is anything but, lifting her limber body off the bed and on top of you. She’s rendered surprised, unable to fight you, just a lopsided smile proving her consciousness while her hands on your cheeks prove her willingness. That twinkle in her eyes that never goes away is good enough to soften your demeanour for a second while you adjust yourself with the headboard, only to take Liz by surprise again, licking a bold stripe from her opening to her clit, her jaw dropping in a silent ‘O’. Kitten licks to her dripping hole are your next move, the bare minimum of contact, reading her a little, but the look of sheer beauty on her face, completely fucked out while she sits on your face is indescribable. You’re not going to drag this out, you’re gonna go fast and rough and truly make it worth her while.

“I love the way you taste, baby.” you tell her as sweetly as you can, pressing your tongue into her leaking hole, clenching around nothing.

She makes a mad grasp for the headboard, wrapping her hands around it, bowing down a little, her breasts in your direct eye line, her nipples hovering just where you want them, pebbled pink peaks perfectly placed on delectably rounded breasts, her soft skin covering every inch, the blemishes just a part of her.

One hand squeezing her ass, kneading her cheeks between your fingers, the other grazing over her gorgeous breasts, your gazes connect. Her eyes focus on yours, your gaze authoritative, demanding for her to keep looking at you, even when it becomes what seems, in the moment, to be the hardest task of her life, just to keep her mouth open as your tongue delves deep into her, reaching as deep as you can go. Your hand on her bum brings her pussy down even closer to your face. You have full access to roam her core as you please, even more when she begins grinding on your face.

“Keep going, fuck, baby I need you!”

And if that isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, you’ll be damned. Her one hand leaves the headboard and comes up to her other breast, pulling and twisting her nipple as she grinds faster, gyrating her hips against your mouth. She’s getting close, so close.

“I’m gonna-”

She doesn’t get chance to finish her sentence before she’s crying out, pleasure washing over her and breaking out a sweat on her skin, small beads dripping down her forehead and cleavage, all thanks to you bringing her bundle of nerves between your lips and suckling while you played with her ass. No matter how hard she tries, her gaze falters, her eyes squeezing shut as her second climax renders her speechless, breathless, boneless, collapsing onto you. Two hundred times at least you must’ve seen her climax, but this? This morning takes the cake. What a fucking brilliant start to Christmas day.

You both pop to the loo to clean up before wrapping up in your cosy Christmas jumpers and slipping back into bed with your mugs of tea. The smile still hasn’t left her face, and you hope to God it never will. Legs entangled, arms wrapped around one another. She feels so petite and delicate in your grasp even though she towers over you normally. She’s precious, the most precious thing you’ll ever have, the only Christmas present you need. You just hope she knows this.

“All I want for Christmas is you, Elizabeth. Now and always.” You say to your girlfriend, your partner. Your fiancé if today goes to plan.

“I love you so much.” She whispers, her lips on your temple.

“I love you.”

With a surreptitious glance to the safe in the corner of the room, you train your gaze back at Liz, only focussed on you as you cuddle up with her, burrowed under the warmth of the duvet. Yeah, this is a pretty perfect Christmas morning.

#elizabeth debicki #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki imagine #elizabeth debicki x reader #jed roper #wlw imagine #wlw smut #christmas smut

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