#tom ryder x you

[pretty-little-mind33]

Colt Seavers x fem!reader

&

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: When Tom Ryder cockily asks Colt if he can share you with him, your boyfriend is initially disgusted. You? You're less disgusted—

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: it's a LONG one, threesome, p in v, unprotected sex (only in fiction where babies or STDs don't have to exist 💖☺️), oral sex (m receiving), Eiffel Tower? kinda, praise, slight spanking, degradation, good cop and bad cop dynamic, sweet and stupid pet names, daddy kink, Colt and Tom low-key high-key dislike each other in the beginning, polyamorous relationship implied in the end if you squint, FILTHY SMUT (i don't know what came over me i just can't get them both out of my head)

~ ✨ something for my ryan gosling and atj girlies ✨ ~

TOM RYDER MASTERLIST

Colt leans against the steps of Tom's trailer, his back against the door as he bandages his arm. He'd just been blown out of a building, thrown around, and now his entire body hurts.

The only good thing right now is that he sees you. 

"Colt," you say, running up to him, careful not to trip over the gravel, and as you sit next to him, you look him over, "you okay?" you whisper, your eyes round as you take in his appearance and touch his cheek. He smiles at you, looking completely love-sick as he tucks some hair behind your ear.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft.

You smile at him, "Hi," you lean in and kiss his lips. When you pull away, you run your hand in his hair. "You did so well in your scene. Did it hurt?" you ask him seriously. 

Colt shakes his head and with a pained chuckle, he lifts his arm and gives you a thumbs up. "It's the job, cupcake," he smiles and grunts when he moves his arm. You caress your hand down his cheek, your concern evident.

"I'm gonna find you some water," you say, determined, and jump up, smiling at him as you walk away. Colt's enamored gaze lingers on you for a moment until his peace is broken by Tom Ryder's presence. 

"Is that your girl?" he asks, emerging from his trailer dressed in only the pants of his costume and a towel wrapped around his shoulders as if he'd just done the most strenuous exercise of his life—which he hadn't because Tom Ryder doesn't do his own stunts.

Tom whistles and brings the straw of his juice box into his mouth. He says, "How'd you secure a girl like that, Colt? She's way too hot for someone like you." 

"Charming as always, Tom," Colt groans and stares up at his coworker, "Don't you have anything better to do than creep around? Go sign some posters or something. Learn your lines, I dunno, just stop bothering me or my girl."

Tom chuckles. "You're the one leaning against my trailer looking like a broken-down rat."

"And whose fault is that?" Colt hisses. He stands and rotates his shoulder around.

"Take it up with Gail! 'M not in charge of those things." Tom raises his hand in defense, and then his small smile turns into a smirk.

 "But, we're friends, hm, Colt?" 

Colt glares at him, his tone deadpanned. "Sure, Tom. We're friends," he says sarcastically.

"And friends share, don't they?" Tom leans against his trailer and crosses his arms, a dangerously arrogant gaze in his eyes. "You wouldn't mind sharing your girl, would you? She's cute."

Colt's frown deepens and he hears you walk back to him. He narrows his eyes and points at Tom menacingly. "In your fucking dreams," he says and then turns to you as you hand him the glass of water you'd found.

He thanks you and then his smile vanishes when he sees you look up at Tom, your gaze on his toned abs. Tom seems over the moon that you're staring. 

"Hi, doll," he says, sounding cocky.  

"Hi," you answer him, clearly flustered that you're speaking with the Tom Ryder and Tom clearly knows this. He opens his mouth to answer you but Colt isn't having any of this. Your boyfriend hooks his arm around your shoulders and guides you away from Tom. 

"That's enough movie stars, sweetness, let's go home," he whispers in your ear. 

"Think about what I said, will you, Colt," Tom calls out, his tone light and you feel your boyfriend's hand tighten around your shoulder instinctively.

In Colt's truck, he's quiet as he grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. He doesn't even ask if you want to do donuts, which is uncommon for him. 

"Are you okay?" you ask him, moving to the center and putting your hand on his thigh. "Is it because of what Tom Ryder said? What did he mean?" 

Colt's jaw clenches and he dismisses your concern. "Don't worry about it, cupcake," he says but you do worry. 

"I am worrying. Please tell me," you say, in a tone you know Colt can usually never resist. Only this time, he does. 

"No."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Well, now I'm thinking of the worst possible scenario."

"It is the worst possible scenario."

"What is?"

"Tom Ryder getting his filthy hands on you—wait," Colt's head snaps to you, his eyes round, realizing what you just did and you crack a remorseful smile. 

"Why would Tom Ryder get his hands on me, Colt?" you whisper, ignoring how your mind plays every possible scenario of Tom Ryder having you in your head and you don't hate them. 

Colt lets out a sigh and rubs his eyes. "He just said some stupid stuff—as usual," he pauses for a moment, "He asked if I could share you with him."

You stare at Colt, confused. "What?"

Colt senses your confusion and puts a hand on your thigh. "It was an awful thing to say, don't worry about him. I told him no, of course."

You blink at him, taking in what he'd just told you. Tom Ryder wanted you? He'd asked Colt to share you. You know you shouldn't, but you feel flattered. The Tom Ryder had the nerve to ask your boyfriend to have you?! Did Tom desire you that much?

"Oh," you say, your voice fading at the end, because what else could you say? 

Colt turns his head back at the road, but he gives you a side-eye. "Oh?" His voice sounds tense. 

You snap out of your daze and immediately shake your hands in the air. "I mean, oh–as in–gross. I'm not interested or anything! I only want you! Why would he even ask that, he's such a creep!" you say, meaning it. 

Colt's shoulders untense a moment and he sighs. "Yeah, I know baby," he says, "I trust you—it's just a weird thing to imagine, y'know?" 

You nod but your mind wanders to the image in question and you feel warm. 

"Yeah, but you don't have to worry! I don't want Tom Ryder. He's a dick," you say. It's true. Tom Ryder is a dick and you would never even think of cheating on Colt.

Colt Seavers is lovely and he treats you well and you mean every word you've said to him—you love him.

But Tom Ryder is still Tom Ryder. 

* * *

Over the next weeks or so, you visit Colt more often than usual. You don't even realize you're doing it but you start putting more attention into your outfits, your hair, and your makeup. Of course, while you don't seek out interactions with Tom Ryder, they do tend to happen more frequently. 

Colt seems to notice this too and his blood runs cold when he sees Tom wink at you as he leans over you to grab a prop from behind you.

It isn't Tom's wink that annoys him as much as it is the way you look at Tom. Colt feels like someone just punched him directly in the stomach and it makes him feel so stupid.  

He needs to talk to you.

On his way over, Tom walks by him and smirks at him. "She's even cuter when she's trying to be," he taunts and Colt restrains himself from socking him.

"Y/n." Colt's hand skims your arm when he approaches you and you turn to him, smiling so innocently he almost feels ashamed. "Hi, baby," he whispers, his voice soothing as he pulls you into him and kisses your forehead. You wrap your arm around his torso and kiss his nose. 

"Hi, Colt," you say happily, "I saw your stunt. It was absolutely amazing!"

Your boyfriend smiles and he hears the sincerity in your voice. He caresses a hand down your cheek and his tone is kind when he says, "I need to talk to you." 

Your smile disappears. "Is everything okay?" 

Colt takes your hand and leads you further from the crowd of crew members around you and his thumb strokes across your palm. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine I've just noticed you've been slightly distracted lately." 

You tilt your head. "Distracted?" 

He nods. "Yeah. Distracted. With Tom." His eyes drift to your exposed thigh. 

Your stomach drops and you make a face. You look confused and Colt can almost see the wheels turning in your head. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice a little shaky as you pull down your skirt to cover more of your thigh subconsciously. 

"Do you remember when I said Tom wanted me to share you with him?" Colt asks bluntly and he sees your eyes widen in realization. 

"N-no," you lie. 

Colt frowns. "Liar," he says calmly and crosses his arms. He sees your hurt expression and his eyes soften. "Okay, listen, baby, I just want you to be honest with me. If you're suddenly all attracted to Tom Ryder, I think I deserve to know because I love you, and if y-you want to explore something with someone like Ryder—"

You panic and cut him off, holding onto his arms. "Colt, I don't want anyone else. I love you," you say, your hands moving up his arms so you can cup his cheeks and you kiss him.

You pull away and bite your lip, deciding to be honest with him because you can't deny what you're doing anymore. "But," you pause and Colt's blue eyes bounce from your features with panic. 

"But, I- I am slightly—turned on by the idea of um—Tom."

Colt sees the embarrassment on your face after you say this and his breathing picks up. At first, he doesn't quite know what to do about this information. He stares at you and when he sees you squirm under his gaze, he takes your hand in his. 

"Thank you for being honest with me," he whispers and then pauses, contemplating what to say next. "So, what do we do from here, baby? I-Is um—sharing—something you would really want to try?" 

You nod, looking up at him with wide eyes. "But, only if you're comfortable, Colt. It can stay a fantasy otherwise. I promise." 

Fantasy. 

That word hits him hard. So this is something you really want, something you've actually spent time thinking about—something you've fantasized about.

The thought alone makes Colt's cheeks turn pink as blood rushes to his dick. He sighs and brings his hand up to your cheek again. 

"I don't want to deprive you of want you want, especially if the third party is so fucking willing," he mentions Tom with a slight spike in his tone but bites his tongue, "but I don't know if I can handle watching you be with him. Of him having you completely. I don't know if I can deal with that asshole getting to have you like that," he says honestly. 

You nod. "I understand," you say. 

Colt lets out another sigh and twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "But, I suppose we could find a compromise. On my terms, not his." He sees the look in your eye shift from slight disappointment to excitement as you imagine the possibilities. Colt's chest burns and he can't deny his temptation at the thought.

He's so fucked. 

* * * 

Tom Ryder's bedroom is dimly lit and there is a faint smell of cologne and aftershave in the air as steam comes from his bathroom. 

You're sitting on his King bed, the satin sheets feel soft under your fingers and against the exposed skin of your bare thighs. Colt stands in front of you, his arms crossed and his expression hard as he watches Tom come out of the bathroom. 

Tom's wearing a blue and white robe with nothing but a pair of blue slacks, his toned abs on full display. His curly blond hair sprawled messily across his forehead and he smirks at you. Then, his eyes shift to Colt. "Loosen up there, man. You're making me nervous. Sit," he says and points to a modern-looking armchair in the corner. 

"Don't tell me what to do," Colt snaps back and Tom raises his hand in mock surrender. You look between them, moving your hands to rest between your knees as you hold your breath. 

Colt stares at Tom, his jaw clenched. "Okay, Y/n and I discussed some rules beforehand," he says and he doesn't like the way​ Tom rolls his eyes but he doesn't address it. "If you don't follow them, it just gives me a reason to beat your ass, capeesh?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Tom nods and sits on the bed next to you, not touching you yet but your skin prickles at the closeness anyway. "Get on with it then." 

"Firstly, I don't want to see a single bruise or mark on her," he says sternly, "she's not yours to mark. Secondly, her safe word is red and if she says it, you stop immediately no ifs or buts, and lastly, you can do whatever foreplay you want but no fucking." 

Tom frowns, narrowing his eyes. "Excuse me?" 

"No. Fucking. Her," Colt says again. 

You listen to them, feeling like your entire body is on fire as you try and ignore how soaked your panties already are.

The feeling only worsens when Tom turns to you and asks, "Is that right? You don't want me to fuck you, sweetie?" His voice sounds like velvet and you squirm under his gaze.

"Hey," Colt snaps his fingers and Tom turns to look at him again, "Do not speak to her yet, you fucking dick." 

"Fuck, alright, no need to get your panties in a twist, man," Tom grumbles and runs a hand in his hair. "I understand, okay? No fucking the pretty girl. Can we just do this? I'm getting fucking blue balls over here." He adjusts his pants and you can't help the way your eyes drift to the outline of his dick. 

He's already hard. 

"You okay, baby?" Colt asks you, his voice much softer now, "You still wanna do this, yeah?" 

You nod. 

Colt waits for a verbal reply. 

"Yes, I still want to do this," you say, looking between Tom and Colt, your cheeks burning. Tom smirks at this and his attention turns to you, his blue eyes sparkling as he takes in your appearance. 

"You're so sweet," he murmurs as he leans in, his lips attaching to the skin behind your ear. You gasp, feeling his hands around your waist as the fabric of your skirt accidentally bunches up a little. Colt inhales, hesitating but ultimately relenting as he sits on the armchair and his gaze fixes on you and Tom. 

You make a small little squeak as Tom lifts you up and gently tosses you further up onto his bed, the soft mattress bouncing as you hit the multiple pillows Tom keeps on his bed. In seconds, his knee slots between your thighs as he hovers over you, and his lips find your neck, gently kissing your skin.

Your hands find the sleeves of his robe instinctively, accidentally pulling them down in your haze as you arch into him, the feeling of his lips overwhelming you. 

Tom chuckles when he feels the rob slide down his shoulders and he hums into your neck, "Eager little thing, aren't you?" he says as the robe falls down until he's now completely shirtless. 

Colt feels his stomach tighten as his hands clamp around the armchair. The sound of your pretty moans—the ones you used to make only for him fill the room and it takes everything in him not to rip the velvet armrest of Tom's stupid chair. 

Tom's lips trail down your neck, his hand coming up your arm as he hooks his finger in one of the straps of your tank top, pulling it down your shoulder. You moan, arching into him again as his other hand finds your thigh and he positions your leg around him, his hips lowering to grind into yours.    

Your skirt is now bunched around your waist, your wet panties very visible to anyone who looks—and both Tom and Colt are definitely looking. 

"So fucking pretty," Tom groans, stroking your thigh as he moves to hover his mouth over yours, "Such a good girl," he says and then his lips crash into yours, kissing you passionately. 

Colt feels hot and cold at the same time as he shifts in his seat. He wants to stop this, to tell Tom to get the fuck off of you, and to stop kissing you. You're his. His heart skips when he hears your small little whimper and he sees your eyes watching him from behind Tom's shoulder.

Instantly, he recognizes the look of arousal on your face, and something inside him shifts. He can't help the way his dick twitches in his jeans. 

You moan into Tom's mouth, feeling his other hand now lower the second strap of your shirt until it's also bunched at your waist. Tom disconnects your lips just to see you in your bra and he licks his lips. You stare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly as your body tingles all over and your pussy aches for him. 

Tom unhooks your leg from his body and then effortlessly shifts you so that you're straddling his lap. His muscles flex as he holds your waist and unhooks your bra. As soon as your breasts are revealed, Tom's mouth finds your nipples as he sucks. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into him as your cheeks press against his head, his soft curls caressing your skin. 

"Tom," you whimper, feeling like you're in heaven as he makes you feel good. "Tom," you whine.

Tom squeezes your ass, disconnecting his mouth from your hardened nipples and he looks up at you through his lashes."Mm, I love it when you say my name, sweetheart," he moans and kisses between your breasts, "Say it again. Louder. I want him to hear you say it."

Colt hadn't even realized he's started to palm himself through his jeans until Tom's voice jolts him and he frowns when he hears you again. 

"Tom!" you groan, chanting his name like a prayer, "Tom, Tom, Tom," you plead, tears brimming in your eyes as the entire sensation overwhelms you. "Please," you whimper. 

"Please?" Tom taunts, his hand finding your hair as he pulls on the strands so you can look down into his eyes. He sees how lidded your eyelids are and how blissed out you look and his chest swells with pride, "Fuck, you're such a slut." 

Colt's jaw clenches at the degrading name but he doesn't move, his hand only working harder on his dick. 

You whine, "Tom, please, please, please," you beg, "I need you." 

"Hear that, Colt? Your girl wants me—no sorry, she needs me," he taunts and then shifts you again, his hand still in your hair.

You squeal, his movement causing you to lift from his lap and shift to your knees as Tom does the same. He presses your back against his chest, holding you so you're looking at your boyfriend and then his other hand grips your jaw. 

"Tell him how good I'm making you feel," he whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe. 

Colt sits up, staring at you as his hand still moves over his dick. Fuck. He sees Tom's hold on you and while he's slightly worried, he also trusts that you'd use your safe word if he was hurting you. 

Plus, he can see how much you like this from the expression you're wearing. "H-he's making me feel s-so good," you whimper in a small voice, looking at Colt with teary eyes. 

Tom laughs and then he lifts your hips, sliding down your dress and tank top so you're only in your panties. You groan, suddenly feeling Tom's hand press on your back. You whimper as you bend down, your ass pressed right to his crotch.

Tom moves his hand from your back to your hair again, pressing you into the mattress as his thumb soothes circles on your scalp. You can see Colt from the position you're in, your eyes lidded as you feel Tom's other thumb trace over your panties. 

"Shit, man, she's so fucking wet," he chuckles, looking at Colt directly as he taunts him, "So fucking needy all for me." 

Colt lets out a groan, wanting to unbuckle his jeans and make his own ache go away. 

You whine as Tom presses his fingers against you, teasing you with his thumb as he presses you further into the sheets, muffling your sounds. He slaps your ass before resuming his movements. "Be still," he reprimands, slapping your ass again as he presses one of his fingers into you. 

You cry, feeling so good as you look at Colt. Tom's fully fingering you now, his thumb adding pressure to your clit as he pumps his finger in and out. 

"Colt," you whimper, watching your boyfriend as he rubs himself over his jeans. You can tell he's aroused to the point where it must be painful and you desperately want to please him. You whine again as Tom continues his movements, his other hand gripping your ass. "Colt, come here, please," you manage to say between your breathy whimpers and you sense Tom hesitate at your words, a little confused. 

Colt stands, his eyes blown wide with lust as he walks over to you and looks down at you, your hair spilling over the bed as you look up at him. Tom has slowed down his movements, which makes you whimper and Colt strokes a hand in your hair. He looks at Tom. "Don't stop making her feel good," he demands sternly.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?" Tom grunts, staring daggers at Colt now as he completely pauses all movement, "Get the fuck off. You said she was mine for tonight," he sounds almost whiny and Colt rolls his eyes. 

"I never said she was yours," Colt corrects him, "you can always fucking leave." 

"You're at my house!" 

"Please," your voice cuts into their arguing, your eyes still teary as you try and push back against Tom's fingers. You can barely form coherent sentences. "Colt, T-Tom, please," you whimper, needing them to do something. 

They fall silent and look at each other, hatred still simmering underneath but in the end, they both decide you're more important.

Tom grunts and he continues to finger you as he strokes a hand over your back. "Yeah, yeah, no need to beg me, sweetie," he says, his voice unusually soft. He pulls out his fingers and then goes to pull down his pants. 

"Woah," Colt says and Tom sends him a glare. 

"Relax," Tom says as he pumps his cock a few times, positioning his dick over your panties and sliding it up and down. "Daddy needs to feel good too," he grunts and you gasp, loving the new feeling as wetness slides down your thigh.

Colt stares at Tom like he's gone insane but his thoughts quickly drift to you when he hears your small whimpers. He looks down, his thumb still stroking in your hair. You look so pretty like this, all at his mercy. He slides his hand down to hook his thumb in your mouth. 

"Wanna make me feel good, baby?" he asks, his voice smooth. ‘

You nod, looking up at him with anticipation as he pulls out his thumb with a pop. He goes to unbuckle his jeans, looking at you with a smile as he sees your mouth open automatically as he prepares himself for you. 

Colt brings the tip to your lips, asking for entrance and you part your lips. You feel him grip his hand in your hair, encouraging you. "My good girl," he whispers as you hollow your cheeks around him, taking him in. You try your best not to be distracted by the feeling of Tom's cock against your pussy as you focus on pleasing Colt. 

You whine around Colt when Tom slaps your ass, "Dirty fucking slut," he grunts. 

Colt snaps his hips into yours, fully fucking into your face now and watching how drool pools at the corner of your mouth. He likes the sounds you're making for him. His cock drags across your tongue and you can taste his pre-cum. You whimper when Tom picks up the pace behind you, holding onto your hips for support. 

Colt pulls out of your mouth just in time to hear your pleas. "Please–I-I want him to fuck me," you whimper, your voice strained from just having his dick in your mouth. "I wanna be fucked, please, please, Colt." Tears spill from your eyes. 

Tom chuckles from behind you, his hand gripping your hips harder, and before he can make any snarky remark, Colt snaps, "Shut up," and then holds your chin. 

"You wanna be fucked, baby? Alright. Tom, switch with me."

For once, Tom doesn't protest Colt's demand. 

He's just happy that he can put his dick into something now. 

You feel them move around but you don't look up, your breathing harshening as you prepare for what's coming. You feelColt's familiar hands on your waist as he hooks his thumb in your panties and pulls them down. You gasp as his dick teases your pussy and Colt leans over, pressing a reassuring kiss to your shoulder blade as he praises, "You're doing so well my baby," he praises as he moves forwards and you groan, clutching the sheets. 

You're so lost in the pleasure Colt's providing that when Tom's hand holds onto your chin, his dick bobbing near your mouth, your eyes widen in surprise. You look up at him, sticking out your tongue for him and Tom smirks as places his dick in your mouth, immediately using you. 

The feeling of Colt's dick dragging in and out of your walls is tortuous but oh-so-good. Every thrust of his hips sends you further into Tom's cock and you gag, feeling so degraded and used but in the best way. 

Colt's soft praises as he fucks you mix with Tom's lewd comments as he fucks your mouth hard. If this is heaven, you never want to leave. 

After a while, you start to feel slightly lightheaded because of Tom's dick clogging your airflow. You've already come twice around Colt's dick and your pussy is feeling so overwhelmed. You hear Colt groan in the way he does when he'sclose and you clench around him, wanting to make him feel as good as you feel. 

When he finally comes, you moan too, and feel him spill inside you. At the same time, you reach for Tom's thighs and tap them, telling him to pull out. When he does, you gasp for breath.

Tom wipes his thumb across your lips, wiping the drool, and then he smirks. "I know you said no fucking, but c'mon," he says, his voice low and hoarse. "I want a piece of her too." 

Colt grunts and shakes his head, riding out his high inside you. "Fuck off, Ryder."

You moan, your body rocking back and forth from Colt's thrusts. 

"One fuck won't kill you," Tom hisses, holding your chin, "Sweetheart, you want me to fuck you, don't you?" he asks you, looking into your eyes. 

You can't help but nod, "Y-yes," you whimper, "Please," you whine, needing this. 

Colt senses the desperation in your voice and he can't exactly blame you. You must be so overwhelmed with pleasure. He strokes your neck and then pulls out. You whine at the loss. "You want him to fuck you?" he repeats, his voice strained. 

"Yes, yes, please, I need him too. Colt, please," you say, desperately. "I wanna feel him too." 

Colt knows he can't deny you anything as he nods and Tom's smug smile returns. You feel like you're stuck in a hazy cloud of pleasure as your body is manipulated. Your eyelids flutter and the next thing you feel is Tom's hard cock against your pussy as you feel yourself being lowered onto his lap. 

You whimper, falling forwards onto Tom's chest as you make small breathy sounds and his cock stretches you open even more. 

"Be gentle with her," Colt warns him, his voice slightly tense, "She's tired." 

Tom holds in a grunt, his cock twitching inside you as he fully sits you down onto his cock and then lifts you again, repeating the movement.

He presses his lips to your ear. "Just sit there like a good whore for me, okay? Daddy'll do all the work for you," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, resting your cheek against his chest and you can hear his heartbeat as he fucks up into you. 

"Good girl," he soothes, his large hand over your hair as his pace picks up. "Making me feel so fucking good."

Your legs tremble, letting out pants and whine as the core aches. It doesn't take very long for you to come around Tom's cock, your third orgasm of the night, your body feeling warm and limp as you finish. You aren't even sure how Tom still has the strength or the energy to continue moving you up and down as his hands grip your hips. He shifts you so his lips press against your ear, his grunts overwhelming your senses. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Colt asks from somewhere but you can't seem to pinpoint where, as you're too exhausted to think and your mind turns completely blank. 

Tom continues to drag you up and down his cock, his voice mocking in your ear. "We really fucked you dumb, didn't we?" he chuckles, groaning. "Shit, I'm gonna come," he bites down on your earlobe and calls you his slut as he spills himself inside you. You feel so full and dirty as his cum mixes with yours and Colt's. 

Your eyes roll and all your muscles relax. You slump forward even more, hitting your nose in the crook of his neck and making a whining sound. Tom holds you up, his touch uncharacterized gentle as his thumb strokes your cheek. He shifts you off of him, careful with you as your head hits the soft pillows. Your eyelids flutter, your chest heaving as you hear the mumbling of voices and feel the bed dip from around you. 

"She's okay, yeah?" you think it's Tom and you feel someone's fingertips on your skin. 

Another dip in the mattress. 

"Yeah, I think," Colt whispers, his voice soft and calm as he soothes you. "You're okay," he whispers and his voice eventually lulls you to sleep as the world around you turns dark. 

When you wake up again, you're tucked under the warm covers, your cheek pressed into silk pillows. You stir, blinking, and then shift onto your back. You feel clean—like someone had wiped away the cum and taken a warm cloth to your sensitive skin. You sit up halfway and look around Tom Ryder's dimly lit room and then you look down and realize you'rewearing one of Tom's shirts. 

You can hear low voices from the balcony of Tom's room and see Tom and Colt having what looks like an oddly friendly smoke for two men who seemingly hate each other. 

Tom's wearing his robe again, his blond curls still messily sprawled across his forehead, as a cigarette hangs between his lips and he lights it up.

Your boyfriend seems relaxed as he leans his forearms on the balcony and looks out into the cool night. He shifts his head and smiles like he does just after he'slaughed and you wonder what Tom had said.

"Colt?" you call out, your voice small, and immediately, both men walk back into the room—Tom's cigarette discarded on an ashtray on his balcony. 

"Hello, cupcake," Colt whispers as he stands beside you. When he sees you sitting up fully, he tuts and pushes you down a little as the mattress dips and his thigh touches yours. "Shh, how are you feeling?"

You look between them and sense no tension or arrogance from Tom as he stands at the end of the bed, a small smile curling his lips. He moves closer and sits on the other side of you, his tone light when he says, "You did so well for us." 

Colt nods, agreeing with Tom for once, and his hand finds your hair. "So well. You had fun yeah, pretty girl?"

You nod, looking between them once more as you look flustered. "Y-yeah," you admit. "It was really good."

Tom's smile widens and he sniffs. "Good," he turns to Colt, "Told ya she'd like it, man." 

You expect your boyfriend to be upset by Tom's quip, but instead, he chuckles and his thumb moves to stroke your cheek.

"Mhm, I suppose you were right, Ryder," Colt whispers and you feel like you've woken up in some alternative universe where Colt and Tom are now friends.

You wonder what they'd spoken about while you slept but whatever it was, they're on way better terms than they had ever been. Tom's much nicer to Colt on set—which isn't much but it's good because whenever you visit, he'll sometimes join you for lunch. As time goes on, you kind of feel like when Tom and Colt are around you, you have two boyfriends. 

And you can't say you dislike that. 

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

Hello! Could I please get #22 with Tom Ryder? And if possible could it have some jealousy-driven angst? I love your writing so much, you’re one of the bests in this website (along with your wife) 😍

Thank you for your kind words! I hope this hit's the spot for you.

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝘽𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨

Tom Ryder x F!Reader

◢ Genre: Prompt Request — Suitable For Adults Only. Minors will be blocked.

◢ Warnings: 18+ only, please. AFAB Reader. PWP (slight plotting, mostly smut). Angst. Tom is jealous, maybe a little paranoid. Drunk and high Tom. Slightly drunk reader. Mentions of drinking. Mentions of drugs. Mentions of a party. Smut. Marking the reader with hickeys. P-in-V. Mentions of orgasms and cum. Mentions of Tom saying you're his.

◢ Word Count: 1.7K

◢ A/N: Gif was made by me, please credit me if you use it. Likes are enjoyed. Reblogs are always greatly appreciated. And I am always down to hear what you think.

2K Follower Prompt List

"Were you flirting back with him?" Tom asks, his tone sounding rough, almost slurring just slightly from the mix of liquor and drugs.

The party, as usual, had been nothing short of crazy. Everyone wanted to be around Tom. Everyone wanted to be friends with Tom. People fawned and pawed for his attention and his favor. None of them knew him. None of them actually care about him. It was just the glamor effect of being around a big celebrity.

A part of you hated it, but that didn't stop you from enjoying yourself. Still, he was searching for a problem that wasn't there.

"No, Tom." You respond sounding almost annoyed at this point.

You have given him the same answer a couple times now. Why was he reaching for a problem that wasn't there? You were faithful to him, even when he was a complete asshole. Even when he would allow some strange girl to hang all over him for attention.

Maybe you should be the one raising questions, but you didn't. You had this trust in Tom because he didn't give you a reason not to, as much as it might look like it sometimes.

Placing your hand on the wall, you brace your slightly drunk self as you reach down to take off your shoes. You slip off one, and then the other, stumbling slightly.

"Were you interested in him?" He asks.

You shoot Tom a rather angry glare. "Seriously, Tom? No."

You go to make your way through the apartment, shaking your head in disapproval. This was insane. He knew better, but when he got like this, there was no stopping that sometimes stupid vivid imagination of his. But his hand reaches for you, grabbing at your forearm tightly as he pulls you back to him. He jerks you slightly, forcing you to look at him.

"You're mine, Y/n. No matter what anyone else thinks or wants. And they think they can just have you like they think they can have everything else --- they can't."

Tom's tone makes you stop, your eyes searching his. This wasn't just some stupid argument for the sake of it because he was drunk, was it? You couldn't tell anymore. You go to pull your arm away from him, wanting to walk away. You didn't want to reward this kind of behavior, but he pulled you back, jerking on your arm a little harder.

"Tom, let me ---" "No." He cuts you off. "Stop -- stop brushing me off."

He lets go of your hand only to wrap his arms around you. His face grazes against the crook of your neck. You can smell the liquor and cologne mix on him, the scent filling your nose and it's almost as intoxicating as what you both had to drink. His breath is hot on your skin, causing goosebumps as he grazes his nose against your neck. His hand travels against your body, going to grip your ass as he pulls you as close to him as possible, his fingers pressing to your cheeks and pulling them apart slightly.

"What's mine is mine. You're mine. All mine."

You're frustrated with him, but the way his hands handled your body made you weak. He can hear as your breath becomes shaky, slightly heavier than normal. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around him as he goes to carry you off, moving a little slow to not drop you or bump into anything.

"Tom, I gotta ---" You start to say softly. He caught you off guard. "Shut up." He cuts you off again.

He wasn't about to let you have a word in edgewise. He was tired of you brushing this off, or getting mad at him because he wanted to make a point. Since talking about it didn't work, he was going to make his point in a way that you'd understand. Drunk, high, or not, he knew what he wanted and he wanted you. He wanted people to stop trying to get your attention. That guy wanted your attention. He hated it. It got under his skin.

Your body comes to the bed and he lays you on it, hovering over you for a moment. The weight of him on top of you felt good, the frustration starting to fade as he ran a hand up your thigh and to your side. It creeps up under your shirt, pushing your bra out of the way as his hand starts to fondle your breast. Your skin is sensitive, feeling hot as it responds to the desire that you always had for him.

Tom's lips feverishly press against yours before they start to trail from your lips to your jaw, and then your neck. He makes you moan slightly, your hips lifting up and pressing into his. This was much better than arguing or getting annoyed, but he still had nothing to be worried about when it came to you. Maybe you didn't understand why he responded the way he did, but you were tired of it.

Going to lift your shirt slightly, he fumbles a bit, wanting it off your body. You help him, lifting yourself up just enough to remove the fabric and the bra, then come to lay back down on the bed. His lips go to meet your nipple, taking it into his mouth like his life depended on it. He pulls slightly at it with his teeth, all while his hand moves from your side to between your legs.

Feeling his fingers meet your clit through the fabric, working the flesh in a circular motion, you gasp slightly. Your hands run through that tangled mess of shaggy blonde and brown hair. You pull at it slightly, feeling the vibrations of a groan against your breast. He knew exactly how to touch you, to cure that sense of bubbling frustration. His fingers pressed against the fabric of your pants a little harder, feeling as you started to become wet and it clung between your legs slightly.

Tom became increasingly excited at the response you gave him. His hips, pressed down slightly as he felt the restriction of the fabric that held him. With a heavy breath, he moves from you, his hands quickly gripping the waistband of your pants, pulling them down, and stripping them from your body, along with your panties. He tosses them to the side before he fumbles slightly, stripping his own clothes off and letting them fall to the floor.

It's just a matter of moments before he's between your legs. His hand grips the shaft of his cock, stroking it slightly against you before he guides his sensitive head between your wet folds. Both of you moan in unison as the length is pressed in deeply. He starts to thrust, his flesh meeting yours with deeply pressed, rough, steady paces.

The feeling of him makes your back arch against the bed. His lips meet your collar bone, nipping at your slightly before they trail against your neck. You can feel Tom nuzzles into you slightly, a hand gripping at your hip, the other braced next to the side of your head. Noises start to fill the room as Tom becomes increasingly vocal in his enjoyment of the way your body flexes around him.

"Ma-- Mark me, Tom." You stammer in a breathy tone. "What?" He asks, face still nuzzled into the crook of your neck. "Mark me. Mark me so everyone knows who I belong to."

Your words bring out a sort of feral instinct in Tom. His lips press against your neck as he starts to pull at the skin between his teeth. You can feel the wetness of his lips, the warmth of it as at first it tickles and then a slight bit of pain. You moan out, your hands quickly moving against him as you aid to pressing his cock in deeper between your legs. He moans quickly, letting go of your neck as his lips part in a heavy breath. Your neck is left with a tingle of pain, a warm wet spot where his lips once were.

But he doesn't stop there. A low groan comes from him as his pace starts to pick up, pressing into you with a more fever of pacing. His lips meet a new spot on your chest, pulling again as he starts to leave another mark. Before moving to another spot on the other side of your neck, leaving another. Maybe you were never one for love bites, maybe in some way, you were. But in the moment, there was something about the action that had sent both of your bodies into a sort of overdrive.

The sounds of flesh meeting flesh become louder as the pumps between your legs become harder, a little more clumsy in nature. Both of you let out moans in unison as you two fit like perfect puzzle pieces. He comes to take that bracing hand and lowers it a little more, his body weight pressing against you as he rests on his elbow. His other hand, still gripping at your hip starts to leave little fingertip bruises against your soft flesh. You both work your motions together, your hips moving in synch as the pace starts to pick up more and more.

His lips move from your flesh to your lips, pressing against yours. Hovering little kisses at first before your two became more passionate. Your tongues start to dance together messily, letting out noises of pleasure between your breaths. You start to feel that tremble in your body, working its way from between your legs and throughout your limbs as you climax. Tom is right along with you. He presses deeper, faster, harder until that building presser lets go and releases his finish deep into you.

There's a heavy groan from Tom as you moan his name loudly, gripping the bedspread under you in an attempt to hold onto something. You both ride out those finishes, with twitches and heavy breaths. After a moment of silence, he shifted his weight to hover over you better once more. He still braces with one hand as the other comes up to grip your jaw. He looks over the marks on your neck and he boyishly smirks. Your head turns from one side to the other as he checks your neck. His grip on your jaw tightens slightly as he leans down, kissing your cheek.

"You're mine babe." He mutters softly. "All yours, Tom." You whisper back.

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

Extra tags: @voxmortuus @earth-elemental18

[lost-pen-name]

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: You were about to leave Tom’s suite when a heavy rainstorm started. Not wanting to risk trying to drive in such poor conditions, you grabbed your stuff from your car, returned back to his door, and asked if you could stay the night. He, begrudgingly, obliged and allowed you to stay in the guest bedroom.

Genre: Fluff, cuddling, comfort

Word count: 2176

Warnings: none

{ you came? you called. }

You were sitting alone in bed, trembling like a leaf, when the power went out in Tom Ryder’s house.

The light flickered for a moment before going out completely, along with the rest of all things electrical. The house was unsettlingly quiet and felt off without the hum of the fridge or air conditioner.

Lightning crackled outside. You pushed yourself a bit out of bed, debating on the idea to go look for Tom, just so you wouldn’t have to be alone. But that would mean leaving the safety of your room.

“Tom?” you called out instead. You looked back at the large window across the bedroom. Even with the curtains drawn, light flashed across the room sporadically.

Farther across the house, you swore you could hear someone moving around. Your heart pounded and you waited, holding your breath, hoping it was Tom coming to check on you. You just needed to know another human existed right now.

There was a THUD and a curse that came after. It sounded like it came from farther down the hall.

A second later you heard an “Oi, what happened?” That familiar voice came from your doorway and you breathed a sigh of relief.

You breathed a sigh of relief and swiped at an unshed tear. You prayed your voice won’t have too much desperation in it. “You came.”

“What? Of course I did. A woman screams my name out in the middle of the freaking night, I’d be crazy not to come.” He sounds agitated and tired but you don’t care, you’re just clinging to the fact that there’s someone here now. “Why’d you call for me? I hope you know I almost died on the way over here. The power’s out, I can’t see a bloody thing.”

Lightning lit up the room and you caught a glance at Tom Ryder standing in the doorway, wearing only a pair of loose fitting sweatpants. A series of thunderclaps shot an arrow of anxiety through the bubble of thought of how gorgeous he looked even at 1am.

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. “I... I didn’t want to be alone. Not with this storm raging outside.” You gestured towards the window just as thunder booms again.

You heard him sigh. “What am I supposed to do, crawl into bed with you?”

The idea of having someone close to you overpowers all the reason in your brain screaming at you that this wasn’t good for your business relationship. The fear of being alone in this storm trumped all rational thoughts.

“Could you? Even just for a bit?” you said.

There’s a moment of silence before you hear his footsteps and he’s at the side of your bed. You look up at him and gulp. Maybe this was a dumb thing to ask.

“Fine. But give me some blanket.” Without another word, he’s on the bed, crawling into the covers. His bare feet touched yours for a brief moment before you quickly moved your body far away that side of the bed.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care. You watched him as he shifted around, getting the pillow right for him, the blanket pulled a bit over to his side before he relaxed and breathed heavily.

You can feel your heart hitting against your chest painfully and you don’t know if that’s now entirely because of the storm or if it had anything to do with sharing a bed with Tom.

He breaks the silence. “I called Gail, asked her what the whole situation is about the power and all that.” You see him wave his hands around as he talks. “She said it’ll take a few hours, maybe even ‘til morning before we get any power back. So, we’re in it for the long run.”

That was longer than you had hoped but you guessed you should’ve expected it to take that long. “Okay,” is all you can manage to get out through your tight throat.

You both grow quiet again. The awkwardness of this all keeps hitting you so you break the silence. You twisted your head to look at him. “Sorry, I know this is kind of weird.”

“Yeah, well,” he said dryly, “it’s mainly weird because I didn’t need to know how many stuffies my employee has. How old are you again?”

You’re dumbfounded. He’s choosing now to judge you? And for what, bringing in the small stuffie collection you had in your car? That was so like him. It was oddly both reassuring to have the normalcy and frustrating. “You’re such a jerk, Tom Ryder,” you said.

Quiet. Then an indignant harrumph. The blankets shifted and you felt the mattress dip as he pushed himself off. “Well, fine, if that’s how you’re going to treat me.”

You rolled over to his side of the bed, trying to ignore how nice and warm it was. “Wait!” You grabbed his hand before he went too far. “Tom, wait, please don’t go.”

He peered over his shoulder at you. “Make me.”

Your heart sank a bit. There he goes again, always with the attitude. “Well, you’re kinda proving my point here,” you whispered under your breath.

“What was that?” He turned fully around and squinted down at you.

Goodness gracious, he kinda does look glorious standing there, his bare chest making it hard to formulate sentences, his usual strategically tousled hair ruffled and unkempt. And he doesn’t seem to notice you’re still gripping onto his hand, not that you mind. It’s hot and rougher than you expected from a privileged celebrity.

Thunder claps interrupt your ogling and a nervous ripple hits you. The anxiety might’ve left for a bit but the thought of Tom leaving you alone again with the storm sends all of the worry back into you.

“I didn’t actually mean that, you know that. I was joking around,” you said. Your free hand clutches at the covers.

“I come in here and, and, what? I’m being incredibly nice to you and you insult me as a joke?” His tone carried a bit of a whine to it.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You inhale and exhale with a quiet and quick, “pleasedon’tgo.”

His frown softened and he glanced down at our hands entwined. Lightning danced across the room for a moment, lighting up the room enough for you to spy the smallest smile from him.

You gaped at him. What did you say that earned you a gentle smile from THE Tom Ryder?

Before you can think about it too much, he sighed and leaned down to get back into bed. “Hey, scoot over.”

You let go of his hand and moved back over to your side of the bed.

He fell into the covers and put his arms behind his head, cushioning his head on them. He sighed again. “You absolutely should be grateful, you know.”

“I am,” you whispered.

Thunder booms, closer than any of the other times and you winced. Your breathing is becoming too fast, too irregular.

Tom turned on his side, angling his body to face you. “You’re really scared of storms then?” His usual condescending tone is gone. It’s replaced with something softer.

You nodded, even though he probably can’t see it in the dark, and pulled the covers up to your chin. “Ever since I was a little kid.”

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. “Do you know why?”

“No. I just get anxious whenever there’s a storm. I can never go to sleep when there’s one happening.” You closed your eyes and put a hand on your chest, trying, willing yourself to just breathe normally.

A huge series of thunder crashes outside and the house shudders, breaking off any thoughts you had. Your body reacted in an almost fight or flight instinct. Without even stopping to think, you slid further into bed and towards Tom, pressing your body against his, your face and his pecs aligned. Your hand wrapped around his arm and you squeezed your eyes closed, praying that the noise will come an end. It sounds like the grand finale of the thunderstorm, like the storm is proud of this last act and wants to show to the world just as loud and powerful it can be. The heat coming from Tom’s body and the solidness of him is the only thing tethering you and keeping you from going too far over the edge.

Finally, it’s quiet. You panted and opened your eyes. His flesh is the only thing in your vision. Your eyes focused on a freckle on his chest and there’s a small part of you that has the urge to kiss it. A blush creeped up with your neck. You realized your nails are digging into his arm and you snatched your hands away.

You can not believe you just freaked out and clung to your boss. In bed. This had to be against so many employer-employee work ethics. If this doesn’t get you fired, you don’t know what will.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, sitting up and starting to push yourself back away from him.

His hand shot out and stopped in your tracks. “No,” he said thickly.

Just... “no?” You have no clue what that meant. He’s probably angry at you now or thinks you’re even more childish, reacting like a baby koala clinging to her mother just because of some storm. With a sinking feeling, you overcome your fear of whatever you might see on his face when you look at him and glanced over at him.

Even in the dark, you can tell his expression is the most serious you’ve ever seen in the months you’ve worked under him.

That was not what you were expecting.

“What did you do about these storms when I wasn’t here?” His voice is low, almost stern.

You pushed your hair back awkwardly. “I don’t know, wait it out? Hide under my covers? When my sister stays at my place sometimes, she’ll calm me down.”

“And how does she do that?”

You swallowed hard. What is he thinking? What is he planning to do with this information? “She holds me until it’s long over.”

Tom’s hand tightened a bit at that. You looked down at it on your arm, you had almost forgotten it was there.

“Well.” He sniffed loudly. “Come here then.” He let go of you and opened his arms, like he’s welcoming you to a hug. The most muscle toned and chiseled hug ever.

Your heart pounded. “You really don’t have to do that, you’ve done more than enough. And the storm sounds like it’s almost over.”

“If your sister does it until the storm is completely over, then I’m going to do it better and do it all night.” He waved a hand in exasperation. “I’ll feel like a heroic knight saving a princess. So stop being stubborn and come here.”

His words are said so easily but the weight of them hits you like a brick. Sure, he always likes being better than everyone and doesn’t like being beaten at anything.

But this was excessive, even for him.

And somehow, in a weird way, it was sweet.

Not knowing what else to do but listen to him, you awkwardly scoot closer to him. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you in, forcing your body to be pressed against his and closing whatever distance you had. Now your head is next to his pecs again, his strong arms around you, cocooning you in. His skin is warm and you can faintly hear his heartbeat. It’s a steady pulse, its gentle rhythm is calming to you. You can feel his chest as he inhales and exhales and you start to match his breathing.

The world has calmed. You feel calm. And safe, surprisingly. Safe and secure with the world’s hottest superstar but to you, a flawed man you’re slowly beginning to realize you enjoy spending time with. Maybe you’re starting to like him, not just tolerate him.

“Thank you, Tom,” you said quietly as you stared up at the ceiling.

He shifted slightly and you feel his sigh ruffle your hair. “Mhmm.” It’s just a sound but it sounded like an audible shrug, like he didn’t think you meant it.

You smiled softly and closed your eyes. “No, really. This is helping. So thank you.”

His chin nestled in your hair as he got comfortable. “Whatever, I’m glad to help.”

Did he sound embarrassed? You grinned bigger. “You’re the best boss ever. You’re like... my hero, my knight in shining sweatpants.”

He groaned. “Now you’re laying it a touch too thick. Be quiet now, I’m trying to sleep.”

You covered your mouth with your hand and laughed quietly. “Okay, okay, goodnight, Tom.”

He murmured a goodnight and pulled you in further, his legs wrapped around yours, practically hugging you like you’re a body pillow. It’s nice. Really really nice.

You smiled again and leaned into the hug.

Okay, maybe you do kinda like him.

[voxmortuus]

May I request #3 ☆ { overstimulating } them til they’re begging with Tom Ryder?

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Tom Ryder x F!Reader ⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ The Fall Guy ⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 466 ⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Appealing to Tom's Massive Ego | Clitoral stimulation | Overstimulation | Begging | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ⇘ NOTES:⇙ Sorry if this is total ass... but I hope this brings you some joy. Prompt from this list. ⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙ ⇘ My Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist ⇙

Your breath, you couldn't catch it. It was like the whole world was non-existent, and you felt like you were floating. Your eyes flutter, your body shakes and quakes with such a fever that you feel beads of sweat forming at your brow and across your hairline. Clenching at the arms of the chair as he hovers over you, feeling your breath grace his skin. This sensation of static kisses the surface of your flesh, unable to make sense of much, it all becomes so overwhelming.

Pressing your legs against him as he keeps them open, working your swollen bud, you let out a shaking scream, your whole body feels so overwhelmed with pleasure you're unsure what to do with it. You can't close your legs, you can't move, you're just shaking. You can't find your words, each time you try to speak, it's nothing but breathy gasps.

Looking over you, he chuckles softly, kissing the corner of your lips as you press them together, whimpering. Your eyes search his face as you grab his arms, gripping tightly. Shaking your head, you still can't find your words. Your eyes flutter as you continue to shake your head.

"You're gonna need to use those words, Babe, I can't understand what you're tellin' me." Tom smirked.

You continue to shake your head, your breathing heavy and breathy. You can't find what you're trying to say, you press your hips up as you press your head back against the chair.

"If you can't find your words, I'm just gonna keep goin'."

Taking in a gasp, finally finding the free brain moment to form your words.

"Please -- Please stop!" you plead, though on the cusp of your finish, you need a moment to breathe.

Blinking twice, he looks over you, his fingers slow just a bit, but didn't quite stop.

"No, I think I'm going to make you beg for it." He smirked.

You weren't using your safe word, so he knew he was still okay to keep going. Groaning you shook your head again, biting your lip, your nails pressed into his arms a bit as you attempted to wiggle away, but unrelentingly his fingers kept working you.

"Tom. Please, please stop, I need a moment. Please." you whimper.

"You can do better than that, come on, beg for it." he groaned against your lips.

"My God, My Sir, My Master, please, please stop, I need a moment. Please, I beg of you, stop for a moment." you plead, appealing to that ego of his.

After a few brief moments of thought, he stopped for a moment but kept his hand there, covering your wet core. He searches your face and smiles a moment.

"When you're ready, let me know. We'll keep goin." he smirked and kissed you softly.

[mutliwankenobi]

Girls don’t want boys, girls want Colt Seavers emerging dramatically from the water in a bloodied white wife beater after faking his death while I Was Made for Lovin’ You blasts in background.

[happy74827]

And… Action?

[Colt Seavers x Actress!Reader]

Synopsis: In which a minor… stunt caused the meeting of the stuntman himself who always seemed too busy, too focused, and too far away {GIF Creds: fleursial}

WC: 1121

Category: Mega Fluff, Suggestive Ending?

Why is there still so little of Colt?? I don’t understand it 😭

『••✎••』

It wasn’t unusual for you to find yourself staring at Colt Seavers from across the set. You liked him, liked the mysterious presence he displayed. Sure, half of it was because you never had the courage to approach him, despite how friendly he was with the rest of the cast and crew, but he always seemed so busy. Plus, your character never needed to interact with the stunt crew so you didn’t have a reason to walk across the lot. And even if you had, your scenes wouldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes anyway.

However, when the very last scene of the day was called, everything changed for the better. You were moments away from leaving the set, having already said goodbye to almost everyone else, with the feeling you weren't going to see Seaver ever again.

Until he bumped into you, quite literally.

You let out a surprised gasp, almost dropping your script as you stumbled backward, but a pair of strong hands were quick to steady you by your arms.

"I am so sorry, miss… woah," he said as he looked down at you, taking in your face for the first time, his hands still resting on your upper arms. You felt yourself go red, suddenly unable to look him in the eye and instead opting for looking anywhere but.

"No, no, it was my fault; I should have watched where I was going," you said.

He shook his head and released his hold on you. "You’re… man, you are really beautiful," he said.

"What?" you asked, surprised.

"I mean—uh, you were really beautiful… out there! On set, you know," he corrected himself, and you swore you saw a faint blush form across his cheeks.

You bit your lip and finally found the courage to meet his gaze. "I appreciate the compliment."

"Yeah, no problem. How come I’ve never seen you around here before?" he asked, crossing his arms and tilting his head in curiosity.

That right there… it took everything in you not to melt right then and there. You could see the indentations of his biceps from under his tight-fitted jacket, the arm cross just amplifying them. It didn't help that you also just barely came up to his chest, which, while intimidating, also made him all the more attractive.

You swallowed thickly and averted your eyes. "Well, I never needed a stunt double, so…" you trailed off.

"Yeah, that’s fair. Totally get it, yeah." He clicked his tongue and nodded, looking away momentarily. Before you could turn to see what he was looking at, he squinted, looking back down at you. His hand peeled away from his arm to hover in front of you.

"Colt," he said, extending his hand. "Name's Colt Seavers… I’m kind of a big deal around here. You know, doing car crashing, rope climbing, cliff-diving stuff," he explained with a smirk.

You let out a small, quiet giggle as you reached for his hand, giving it a shake as you stated your own name. His hand was big, rough, and calloused, no doubt from years of hard work and training, but it was warm. A strong grip, but ever so gentle.

"I, uh, do the acting stuff." You repeated his words, and his smirk broke into a smile, one that nearly took your breath away.

It was then, looking at his smile, that you realized the opportunity before you.

You had to say something, had to tell him, and you weren't about to let this opportunity pass.

"I think you're pretty beautiful, too," you said, and that caught his attention, his eyebrows raising.

"You do?"

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod. "Out there… on set, I mean."

He let out a short laugh, his hands moving back to his pockets. He was sort of swaying, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. It was adorable.

Alright, you needed to do something. The fear of letting another moment like this go to waste was far too much. So many guys had slipped through your fingers because of your hesitance—a real shame, too, considering how most of them weren’t even remotely attractive.

But Colt, though…

"Listen, um… maybe I'm jumping the gun here, but would you like to—"

"Yes," his answer was nothing short of immediate. “Absolutely, yes… yeah hundred percent, yeah- yes… yes."

It took him a second, took him a long second, to realize you hadn’t even finished your question. His eyes went wide as fear evidently started to creep in.

"Shit, uh- sorry. Yeah, uh… yeah, I'm listening. You can keep going." He motioned with his hand for you to continue, and you had to suppress a smile.

Well, this is definitely promising.

"Maybe we could hang out sometime? Have dinner or something?" you suggested.

"Dinner, yeah- dinner is good. Dinner is… great. I love dinner. Dinner is, uh… dinner is great," he stammered, and you couldn't help but give him a small laugh, one that was cut off when his eyes went wide yet again.

"Sorry, I'm just… yeah, sorry, I'm just- I'm gonna… hey, can I get your number?" His question was followed by him digging into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone, which was cracked beyond belief. “Not so I can bother you or anything, not that I would- I mean unless you wanted me to bother you, I guess, which- no, sorry. Just, like, text you, I guess, yeah.”

Your eyes went wide at the state of his phone. "How does that even work?"

"I'm a pro. Just a quick swipe to the left and a few presses, and it works fine, see?" He tapped the screen a few times before opening his contacts, and he handed the phone to you. "Here."

"You know what? I'll just put it in my phone if that's okay," you said.

"Oh, yeah, yeah- absolutely," he said, nodding. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable, yeah."

You quickly punched in his numbers and sent a text, a small, simple message. One that escalated to where you were now, weeks after that dinner, his hands roaming your body as he pressed you against the door of your new and current trailer.

You should’ve known you weren’t going to run lines that day.

A stuntman running lines?

Yeah, right. He runs through scenes instead, and… this was definitely a scene.

God, how ready you were for that first take to start.

[@kcisahoe + @adeesthetic] Since you guys asked so nicely, here’s another Colt fic!! There needs to be way more out there because he’s just so… 🤭🤭

For all you Tom lovers out there, don’t worry!! I didn’t forget about you. He’s in the works so I’m praying my work/study schedule aligns with me finishing it 😅

[allaroundjejje]

Couple of Fruits and Space Cowboy

Part 1

It’s the usual set up for a drug deal. Big, empty warehouse out of corrugated steel. Tangerine and his brother Lemon were hired to get the money back to the buyer in a drug deal going down. Nothing new. A walk in the park Tangerine thought to himself.

The only thing that was different about this job was that they didn’t know who had hired them. All they knew was that they were getting paid a lot of money. "This mystery man is willing to pay us what we're worth” Tangerine had said to Lemon when they were offered the job.

They sat behind old boxes and other crap that luckily enough was left on the mezzanine level in the warehouse, providing enough shelter for the two assasins to stay out of sight from the druglord and his crew while they waited for their moment to grab the money.

"Oi, isn't that that guy from that movie?" Lemon said nudging Tangerine with his elbow as he saw Tom Ryder in the scope of his sniper rifle staking out the scene. Tom strolled up wearing a yellow beanie, sunglasses and a way to expensive blue tracksuit out of velvet. Like no one was gonna recognize him in that.

"What's that now?" Tangerine answered his brother absentmindedly just spotting the woman walking in to the warehouse. Tangerine wasn't a believer of love, let alone love at first sight, he couldn't be in his line of work. So whatever he felt for the woman must be instant attraction he told himself. He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw who the woman was walking next to.

Tangerine rolled not just his eyes but basically his entire body when he saw Tom. "Don't tell me that's the prick who hired us?" he said pinching the bridge of his nose. "Looks like it" Lemon said with an amused smile on his face, knowing his brothers disliking of the actor, as he continued scoping out the scene.

This is my first ever fanfiction. Hopefully this is just part one! I hope you guys like it 🧡 Inspired by this post

@vicky342 @eefos tagging you guys in case you want to read this 🧡

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven Part eight

[daisymintt]

https://www.mensjournal.com/streaming/ryan-gosling-already-has-script-for-the-fall-guy-2

What I wouldn’t give to see the Fall Guy 2 😭 If it doesn’t get the sequel it deserves I hope they release the script

[pretty-little-mind-reblogs]

𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔

i made this account so i have somewhere organized to reblog/store some of my favorite works and so i can better organize my @pretty-little-mind33 blog ♡

feel free to follow if you want to see some amazing writing!

and remember, support authors as best you can! reblogs are SO important

i might also make story recommendation lists on here (for myself and for anyone who wants them!)

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: You're Tom's makeup artist for a movie he's shooting and you absolutely hate him. However, one round of karaoke later, your feelings temporarily shift.

Genre: Fluff, smidge of angst, Enemies to Lovers (very one-sided lmao)

Warnings: Tom is a stupid asshole (but he's also just a mess), swearing, reader is described as shorter than Tom, light misogyny, slapping, alcohol, being drunk/high.

TOM RYDER MASTERLIST

The bar is dimly lit and the loud music resounds in your ear as your knee bounces. You stir the straw around your drink, sighing as you turn to Vanessa, your co-worker. "He left me another post-it note on the desk yesterday telling me he wants a new lip oil because his now tastes weird!? His last one is only from last week and it's the same brand he always uses! I'm so sick of his bullshit, V," you drop your head in your arms and then peek up at Vanessa again, "He's such a dick."

Vanessa laughs, sipping on her margarita, as she shrugs, "Didn't you know that when you took the job, honey?"

"I mean, sure. But those could have been rumors," you pout and sit up, moving some hair behind your ear as you look around the room, where other crew members have gathered around the karaoke machine.

"Listen, don't think about Tom Ryder. You're off the clock and everyone knows he's a world-class asshole—a pretty world-class asshole, I will let him have that," Vanessa hums and also turns her attention to the rest of your friends and co-workers as she claps her hands. 

You look down at your drink, your cheeks feeling warmer than usual. Not thinking about Tom Ryder was easier said than done when you had to work on his face 5 days a week. He was so infuriating most times, either talking down to you when you worked or wouldn't cooperate with anything you told him to do because he was on his phone. Sometimes he really makes you want to stab the mascara stick into his eye. 

Still, you can't deny he's extremely handsome and that just annoys you more. 

Suddenly, you hear a bunch of cheers and hoots from outside, directly accompanied by the sound of the door slamming open. When you hear an all too familiar voice, your eyes widen and you snap around to make sure you hadn't just imagined it. 

Tom Ryder coming to one of the crew parties? No fucking way. Obviously, he's always invited to them but in a very arrogant fashion he never shows up—which is one of the reasons you do, because he never does. 

Only this time he did and he's not alone. 

Tom is dressed in another one of his boisterous outfits, his shirt loosely unbuttoned to reveal his chest and a peak of his toned abs. Pink-tinted sunglasses sit on his nose and his dirty blond hair curls messily around his face.

He looks drunk, or high, when he walks in and you can't tell which one it is because he's constantly moving and laughing. He's accompanied by a few other low A-list actor friends he has and a pretty blond model hangs on his arm, her giggles instantly infuriating you. 

How can she stand to be near him for more than a minute? Even less hold his arm and be his eye-candy? 

You turn back around, desperately attempting to calm the bile rising in your throat. God, you hate him. You feel even worse when he leans beside you at the bar and orders a drink from the bartender, snapping his fingers as he does. He doesn't even address your presence beside him and your blood boils. 

Your anger immediately turns to disgust when you hear the man hosting the karaoke scream out Tom Ryder's name.

"Tom Ryder everyone! I loved your new movie, man, it was awesome! How about a song?" the man asks, eyebrows wiggling as the crew clap (mostly out of politeness) and his friends make loud, drunken noises like a bunch of animals. 

"C'mon! One song—for all the pretty ladies in the crowd!"

Tom seems intrigued when the man mentions the girls. You roll your eyes and your hand tightens around your glass as he walks up to the host, raising his hands in surrender and feigning humbleness. "Alright, alright, I have to give the ladies what they want, don't I?" Tom boasts, winking at one of the camera girls he never looks at otherwise. 

Someone put you out of your misery now.

The host seems ecstatic to have someone this famous next to him and asks Tom for a quick photo, which Tom obviously doesn't turn down. You pretend to gag when Vanessa turns to look at you and smirks at Tom's behavior.. 

"How about a duet, Ryder?" The host asks as he hands him the mic. 

"Nah, I usually sing solo," Tom says, his words slightly slurred, and then he leans in to whisper something in the host's ear—which probably goes something like, "Unless she's got a nice rack, then by all means invite her up here." 

You lean in and whisper into Vanessa's ear, "Ten bucks he takes home the girl he ends up singing with," you say with a frown, your voice a little strained. Vanessa laughs and then the worst thing happens.

"You," the host shouts and you look up alarmed. Your eyes are wide when you realize everyone, including Tom, is staring at you. "The angry-looking girl in the back. Why don't you come up and join him? I doubt he'd bite." 

Laughter, including some nervous ones from your friends, resounds around the room as Tom's smirk widens. You'd be surprised, you think. You find your voice again and say, "Um, can't you ask one of them?" you point to the group of eager fangirls swarming around the small stage as they ogle Tom. 

"C'mon, sweetheart," Tom slurs, squinting at you, "One song won't kill you." 

But you might just kill him.

Vanessa, the traitor, nudges you again and you stumble from the stool. You glare at her but when all your friends, including Tom's more obnoxious friends, chant encouragements you feel completely trapped. 

The walk to the small stage feels eerily similar to a walk of shame as you look to your co-workers in hopes someone will save you. No one does and you ignore the stares from all the girls who wish they could take your place. 

You're blinded by the lights as you step on the stage and approach the host. "Atta girl," the man smirks patronizingly as he hands you the second mic. You scrunch your nose at him and then look up at Tom, expecting him to be ignoring you like he usually is, but instead, he's staring. 

His cheeks are pink from being intoxicated and he tilts his head, watching you clutch the mic nervously. 

The host doesn't warn you when the song begins to play and he walks away. You realize too late you and Tom are now alone and everyone is watching you as dread slowly fills your stomach. 

You don't even know how to sing! This is so humiliating. 

 The familiar melody of, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," fills the air and you feel the heat rise in your chest and up to your ears. Your heart is pounding so loudly you can only faintly hear Tom start to sing the song. He sounds fairly good and you aren't surprised considering he's an actor. 

Your voice catches in your throat and you feel tears rise. You don't sing when it's your turn and the crowd is silent. 

Suddenly, you jump when you feel a strong hand on your hip and you snap your head around to look at him. Your hand finds Tom's hand immediately, gripping it, and just as you're about to pull it away, he leans in and whispers, hot against your ear, "Baby doll, you're making me look bad," he states, his tone as condescending as it always is, and your heart does a somersault in your chest.

He looks down at you this time, his blue eyes lock with yours for a moment and his hand falters on your hip. For an actor, Tom Ryder has surprisingly no poker face because when he sees your distressed state, his demeanor shifts, and instead of frustration, he takes on a different approach.   

He takes your hand, suddenly twirling you around and you make a small sound as you stumble. It's been a few seconds since anyone has sung the song, so he sings again and this time, his eyes stay on yours as he sings your lyrics.

"You know this," he mouths, encouraging you as he does this weird, clearly drunk-induced shimmy that makes you laugh despite your better judgment. He points to the small screen where the lyrics are displayed.

You take a breath and then sing, focusing on him instead of the crowd and your head feels light. You would have never guessed there would be a day when you'd find comfort in Tom Ryder. Your friends clap with amusement and laughter swirls around the bar as you both continue to sing and dance. 

Occasionally, Tom will pull you in closer but you'll move away, flustered, and when the song finally ends, you move back and almost trip on the mic's cord. 

With a gasp, you expect to fall flat on your ass but instead, Tom wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into him as your palms press on his chest. You're breathing heavily and so is he, his hand is still on your back as his eyes roam over all your features until you push him away and walk down the small stairs and back to the ground where all your friends are whispering and clapping. 

You feel like you can't breathe, your heart beating so quickly. You mumble a quick "excuse me" to Vanessa, snatch your purse from the bar counter, and open the door to outside. The cool air calms your burning skin and you lean against the building. 

What the fuck was that? Why was he looking at you like that? 

"You know, it's normal to be nervous around someone like me," Tom's voice interrupts your panic and you spin around, not expecting to see him. "But running from me? Now, darling, that's truly a first," he finishes with a chuckle and an obnoxious smirk. 

"You're so full of yourself," you whisper automatically but then your eyes round as if you've realized what you'd said. 

Tom looks surprised but he also remains cool as he strokes a hand down his jaw and puts it on his hip. "Mm, I assume you're not a fan then." 

You cross your arms and look anywhere but directly at him because fuck, why did someone so incredibly stupid and pretentious have to be so darn hot? "You could say that, sure," you shrug. "Not everyone likes you, Tom Ryder." You shut yourself up as soon as the words leave your mouth. This isn't exactly something you should say to someone who you work with.

However, Tom's expression sours and he lifts his eyebrow. "You don't like me?"

You turn to him, eyes locking with him this time. "That isn't what I said."

Tom's eyebrows crease and he squints at you, removing his stupid sunglasses and they push back his blond hair. "You're confusing me." He sounds genuine. 

You can't help but chuckle at his idiocy and surprisingly for you, your laughter makes him smile. He leans in and you lean away, eyes round when you realize how close he's becoming. "You have such a sexy laugh," he says cockily, "Bet I can make you do it again."

You hate to admit this but your heart does flutter at his words. Can anyone really blame you? It's Tom. Fucking. Ryder. You try to remind yourself how much of a dick he is—and always has been—but as you look into the blue of his eyes, his reassuring touch burns imprints on your skin and you feel dizzy. 

Shit. 

"You look familiar," Tom straightens himself, "Have I seen you somewhere? You been in any magazines? You certainly have the look."

You ignore the so-called complement and stare at him. He has to be kidding. You've been doing his makeup for over six months now and he supposedly sees you almost every day. You worked on his face every single day—how could he not recognize you? You open your mouth to ask if this is a joke but he interrupts you.

"Seriously, I must know you from somewhere. Gimme a hint, baby,"

Your stomach sinks and you feel so so stupid. Tom doesn't sense your shift as he's still focused on whatever fleeting emotion may have been between you before as his hand finds your hip. 

Instantly, your palm connects with his cheek, and the sound cracks into the air. "Don't touch me," you say harshly, ignoring how shaky your voice is.

Tom looks at you, his hand over his bruised cheek, "You hit me?!" he says in disbelief, "What the fu—" 

You don't stick around to hear his whining as you turn around and run from him. 

Again. 

"Hey–wait!" you hear Tom's shout but why would you turn around now? Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you hastily walk down the empty sidewalk.

There is no way you're fucking crying over Tom fucking Ryder right now, you tell yourself and pinch the inside of your eyes. 

No way. 

You ignore Vanessa's incessant calling and her worried texts when you arrive at your apartment. You scream in frustration, throwing your heels across the room and scaring your poor cat, Pumpkin, as she sprints into the living room, her claws against the floorboards.

Quickly, you follow her and scoop her into your arms, "'M sorry, baby," you coo and nuzzle your nose into her fur. "I'm sorry Mommy scared you."

You hear Vanessa's fifth call from your purse but you're too exhausted to deal with her and the fallout from what had happened tonight, so instead you sit on the couch and cuddle with Pumpkin, scratching behind her ears. 

* * * 

When you pull into the parking lot of the new set the next morning, you haven't slept well and you feel like shit—it doesn't help that they're filming outside today, in the summer heat, and grainy sand infiltrates into your Converse. 

You groan as you walk over to the makeup trailer and see Vanessa waiting for you. You almost called in sick this morning until you realized how guilty that would make you look, so you sucked it up. 

"Y/n?!" Vanessa shrieks and pulls you behind the trailer. "Where have you been?! I've called you a hundred times, why haven't you answered any of them? I was worried Ryder somehow took you home and that I'd lost 10 bucks—" 

"Gross, why would you think that?" you say with disgust as if you weren't surprised to hear that after you left Tom hadn't returned to the bar. 

"I mean, for one, Ryder was missing and no one knew where he went. And second, are you shitting me? Girl, the tension was more than palpable! You were practically dry-humping Tom Ryder in front of everyone!" 

You feel like someone has just punched you in the stomach and your voice comes out high and nervous when you exclaim, "I was not! It wasn't like that, V! Is that what everyone thinks?" Vanessa nods as an answer and you want to scream. 

"I swear, I- nothing happened—even outside—I- funny story I slapped him because he's a jerk and I- I don't like him!" you ramble and your heart thumps quicker when Vanessa looks behind you and her mouth curls into a devious smirk.

"Don't look now, sweetie, but your boyfriend just arrived," she pauses and checks her watch, "An hour late. As usual." Vanessa looks you dead in the eyes and then she teases, "Chop chop, time to put makeup on your man." 

Your eyes widen and you pull Vanessa further behind the trailer so Tom won't see you or her. You hold her shoulders. "Please switch with me for today. He won't even notice the difference, and Allie doesn't need to have her makeup done until noon so that way I don't have to see him! Please, V, I'll do anything!" 

Vanessa crosses her arms, "Nothing happened with him, hm?"

You look at her, your eyes round and pleading, "Please."

"Fine, but you're paying for my lunch later," she says and taps your nose, "and giving me a detailed rundown on what happened with Ryder."

You nod reluctantly, whispering a small thank you under your breath as she turns to walk into the makeup trailer behind Tom. You let out a breath, leaning against the trailer. You know you'll have to face him at some point—just not now.

The day drags on and on as the heat is becoming almost unbearable. You stand to the side, your makeup kit secured to your hip as you watch the scene from under a tent. It's another action sequence and it's very obvious Tom's makeup is fading from the warmth and his sweat. 

Shit, you realize, he needs a touch-up. Vanessa didn't use the correct primer. 

You look around, hoping to see Vanessa and tell her Ryder needs a touch but the director's voice cuts in and you tense, "Cut! Someone come to fix his face!" Jody turns to you, her eyes kind as her voice becomes a little less stressed when she sees you're prepared for this, "Can you fix his makeup?" 

Shit, shit, shit. 

This is your job, you can't say no so you walk out onto the set where Tom is leaning against a prop rock. He straightens himself and when he turns, he doesn't have the chance to process your presence as you guide him down and fumble with your kit. 

He's taller than you so he's leaning down so you can fix him up properly. You put your hand on his jaw, near his ear, to steady him as you touch up under his eyes and near his cheekbones. 

He's staring at you and you know he recognizes you this time, his blue eyes wide and puppy-like. 

Silently, you add some powder on his cheeks and nose so the product sticks better this time and when you let him go, Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head no, and then you turn your head and hurry back behind the camera. 

Your ears are burning from embarrassment as you walk directly to the makeup trailer, without looking back at anyone. 

You've barely closed the door when it slams open and you scream. You spin around just as someone tries to hold onto your arm and on instinct you grab the hairspray that's in your kit and spray it directly into… Tom's eyes. 

He screams too, his voice high-pitched and very un-sexy, as he clutches his eyes. Seeing him only causes you to scream again. "Ryder?!" you exclaim and immediately take his arm, pulling him inside the trailer as he wails like a child and rubs at his eyes. 

You slap his hands away and push him down under the faucet, pouring water into his eyes and in the process drenching his blond hair and ruining his mascara. 

"Fuck," he groans as he sputters out water as he jerks away from you. You move closer to him and without thinking hold both of his cheeks in your hands, looking directly into his, now slightly irritated, eyes. 

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, clearly concerned. 

Tom rests his hands on yours and pulls them away, "What do you think?" he groans and blinks a few times. "You're the girl—" he mutters and pinches his nose, "at karaoke. I remember you now."

You realize how close you are to him now and, overwhelmed, you step back. "Lucky me," you mumble sarcastically and take his arm, pulling him to one of the seats. "I have to fix your face again or someone is gonna fire me." 

He's weirdly docile as he looks at your work as you dry his hair. Once you're done, he speaks up, "Why'd you run from me? I mean, c'mon, the way you looked at me with those fuck-me eyes—" 

Tom has no shame and of course, he wouldn't. He's probably never really been rejected in his entire life and women have most likely let him speak to them like this. You pause and pull his chin harder so he's looking at you as you continue with his mascara. 

"Tell me honestly Ryder, do you even hear yourself when you speak?" you ask, your voice strained. 

"What?" Tom asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You're an asshole. That's why I ran from you." You drop his chin and your word vomit comes out without you being able to help it as you cross your arms, "I mean—I have been doing your makeup for months! And you've only ever left me your stupid post-it notes when you have a demand! No "Hi," "Good morning," "How are you?" No. Nothing like that. And I tried! I really tried in the beginning because like everyone else on this fucked up planet I thought you were awesome."

Tom opens his mouth to make a snide comment but you instantly press your finger to his lips. 

"I really thought, "I'm so lucky to be Tom Ryder's makeup artist!" and then I found out Tom Ryder is a shit person that doesn't—"  

"I'm not a shit person," Tom deadpans and stares at you as if your words have hurt him. 

You tilt your head and drop your arms to your side. You don't even know what to say to him anymore. 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I made you feel shitty, okay?" Tom defends and his cheeks are pink, "I just—I am really bad with faces—and I-I was completely shit-faced and high on–" 

He pauses, stands, and wraps his hand around your jaw, his thumb stroking your bare cheek as your eyes widen and you tense. Something about his charm makes it impossible for you to move and because his touch is gentle, you aren't too worried. For now. "'M sorry. I am. Can't we call it even since you hit me and sprayed me in the face with whatever that fucking was?!"

He continues, "—listen, I liked karaoke with you and I was shit-faced so I know I must have been a dick."

"You're always a dick, Ryder," you comment, your tone less mad than earlier.   

"Then, you don't know me very well," Tom shrugs, "or like at all." 

"So—you're saying all this dick-ishness is a persona?" You sound very skeptical and Tom just shrugs as his thumb strokes over your skin once more and then he drops his hand, putting some distance between you and him. 

"No. Not entirely. But, you know, that doesn't mean I'm incapable of genuine feelings, Y/n."

You're surprised when you hear your name fall from his lips. Tom sees your expression and another one of his smirks curls at his lips, "As I said, I remember you now. Always did—my hot makeup artist—ask anyone—ask Gail, I mention you a lot. I was just hammered, you know? High out my mind—and it heightened all my fucking senses that I couldn't get your laugh out my head for hours." 

"If you're joking," you say and glare at him, "it isn't funny." 

Tom puts a hand on his heart dramatically, "'M not. Scouts fucking honor." 

You look at him and for once, you can't read him. "Well, either way, that doesn't change how much of an asshole you've been to me. You never said "hi" but you told Gail about me? Sorry, but that doesn't impress me."

You walk up to him and tilt his head using his chin, examining his make-up once more, and then you take his arm and try to pull him out of the trailer, "Now, c'mon, you have a job to do—go do it," you hiss.

"But—" 

"No," you start but he won't move. He turns around and stares at you. Fuck, he's strong. "Why won't you leave?" you ask, breathless as you step away from him. 

"Do you hate me so much that you won't even consider that I genuinely find you interesting?" he asks with a hint of insecurity in his voice again. "That I liked spending time with you and I think you're pretty."  

Your chest tightens and you sigh, "I- I don't know," you admit and you look up at him. You can't deny that your feelings have shifted and a little voice in your head screams that this is a trap and he'll eventually break your heart. 

"Here," Tom fumbles with the pants of his costume and pulls out a pen and a post-it note. 

"You seriously just carry those on you?" you crack a smile, finding that weirdly endearing. 

Idiot. 

"Yeah," Tom says like it's the most normal thing ever and then he writes down something on the paper. When he hands it to you it's the name of a restaurant. You frown, it's your favorite restaurant. He'd written a time beside the name. 

"How do you know this is my favorite restaurant?" you ask. 

Tom looks up, his smirk turning into a smile. "I didn't—it's mine."

Your frown deepens, "Hm, I didn't take you for a low-priced family-run Chinese restaurant kinda guy—don't you have a personal chef or something," you say and look at the time he's written down, "What is this anyway?" 

Tom shrugs and adjusts his hair. "I do but I like this place. The family who owns it never tells anyone I've been there, it gives me some privacy," he sounds serious and he walks closer to you, "Don't tell anyone, it might ruin my reputation and then your favorite restaurant might be swarmed by a bunch of fangirls," he smirks, pleased with himself. 

You can't help but chuckle. 

"And this," he points to the time, "is where I'll be tomorrow evening if you'd like to join me," he says nonchalantly and then opens the trailer door. Just as he does, he takes his phone and takes a picture of the time so he remembers it and he sends you a wink. "I won't wait long but if you do come, it's on me." 

You stare at the paper and realize Tom Ryder has just asked you on a date. You look up but he's gone and your heart does about ten thousand summersaults as your brain screams in agony. Your cheeks feel warm as you fold the paper up and put it in the pocket of your jeans. 

You're so very screwed.

You hear a ding and then a text from Vanessa saying, "Ryder's mic was on—crew heard absolutely everything—we didn't wanna interrupt your moment," she adds a mocking winking emoji but you don't care. 

That's the least of your worries now that you have a date with Tom Ryder.

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

𝘋𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘰𝘮 𝘙𝘺𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦

Tom Ryder x Fem!Reader

◢ Genre: Headcanons — Suitable For Adults Only

◢ Warnings: 18+ Only please! Mentions of sex, smut, and relationship with F!reader. Also includes mentions of jealousy, narcissism, and famous relationships.

◢ A/N: I am back, doing some warm-up writing. I still have everything in my drafts, and currently have some free time to try and get caught up. Keep an eye out for new content. Gif was made by me, please credit me if you use it. Likes are enjoyed. Reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

Dating a celebrity is never easy. Especially Tom, who right now is one of the most famous action stars in the world.

It'd be a lie to say that it hasn't gone to his head.

The man is narcissistic and not at the same time.

He's got an ego for days.

But he's not the type to gaslight you, at least not all the time.

He's capable of emotions, and yet he won't hesitate to try and cover up a murder with the help of his agent.

He's a man of morally gray standing. He's neither good nor evil, but will put himself first and foremost when his career is on the line.

When you and Tom started dating, it was unexpected.

No one expected it to happen. But he knew what he wanted and he went for it.

There was even a sticky note in his house about asking you out.

That note he didn't forget.

You aren't a celebrity like he is, so this forced you into the spotlight.

The tabloids ran with it, either making you look good or bad. It didn't matter to them.

What mattered was that Tom was dating someone new, and someone who wasn't a co-star.

It's strange being in the spotlight. Maybe a part of you hates it. Maybe a part of you likes it.

But you aren't dating Tom for his money or his fame, not like some people claim to.

You are probably the most down-to-earth person he's dated.

You don't ask him for things, or money. Which caused him to spoil you slightly.

He clings to you, keeping you close when he goes out.

He likes to show you off, even if people are criticizing him for who he's with.

His agent isn't a fan of you and tells him that he should be with someone else who is famous because it will help him.

There has been a time or two that she had almost convinced him to do it.

But when someone was said, it never turned out like he expected.

The arguments are heavy, mostly because that is when his ego comes to blows with you.

When you approach him to fix it, not wanting to fight, he tends to cave to the feelings you show him.

He starts to feel like you understand him past the fame and who he is as a person.

You've come to learn how to deal with his weird quirks, like the sticky notes.

More often than not, you are reminding him about things and trying to keep them cleaned up.

But some of the notes he leaves are utterly ridiculous and you tend to leave those up because they make you laugh.

Then you started to find notes about his feelings for you. Things he wanted to remember to say for later.

When he realized you saw them, all he could do was give you this boyishly charming smile.

Maybe the notes are a good thing.

It becomes a small form of communication between you two.

You have learned to deal with the parties, the drinking, and the drugs.

It may or may not be your scene. But somehow he manages to bring you out of your shell.

You have a good time with him. Letting loose. You always go home together.

The sex is amazing. Hot and heavy, a lot of heavy petting, moaning, and groaning.

He's vocal. Often telling you how he loves your body and how you feel wrapped around his cock.

"Fuck babe. You feel so good."

"You're going to make me cum babe if you keep doing that."

The man has his moments of being vanilla.

But when he gets kinky, he can get weird about it in a good way.

He's always willing to try something new.

But when you get submissive and worship him, he goes crazy.

The guy has a praise kink for days.

When you lean into his ear and start telling him about how you adore him, adore his cock, how good he feels, then he starts to go crazy mentally.

"Say it again babe. Louder."

"I'm gonna make you scream my name."

It makes it hard for him to keep his hands off you.

When he's gone, he thrives off the images and videos you send him.

Phone sex can be a regular when he can't get to you.

But there are times when he would take you wherever he's going.

The man won't hesitate to take you back to his trailer to have his way with you.

You'll make him late to set a time or two, but he doesn't care. He can get away with it for the most part.

He doesn't like other guys touching what is his. Ever.

He's going to make it known to his "friends" that you are off-limits.

He doesn't want them hitting on you.

This will bring out that small bit of insecurity that lingers in his mind.

He'll get jealous if he thinks the wrong thing, or see something that can be taken out of context.

If you two were to break up, Tom wouldn't handle it well.

You'd make him emotional, and the idea of seeing you with another man would frustrate him.

He'd try and get you back because of how you treated him and understood him.

This time, he'd be calling you while laying in the bathtub almost crying.

He might try and date someone else after, but chances are they aren't going to compare to you.

ATJ Taglist: @voxmortuus @earth-elemental18

Some of my tag list people aren't working anymore. If you want to be added for ATJ stuff let me know, and I can update my list.

[lost-pen-name]

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: An introduction to a series of fics where you are working as an assistant for the hot celebrity, Tom Ryder.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 324

Warnings: none

{ intro }

Everyone you know tells you how lucky you are to have the job that you do.

It’s a job that hundreds of thousands of people would sacrifice anything and everything for. Heck, maybe even murder for, if it came down to it.

“You’re so lucky! What’s it like working for the hottest superstar of the decade?”

You always shake your head, say something brief about how wonderful it is, and then find the politest way to excuse yourself out of the conversation.

You learned the hard way that telling people the truth about your job gives you reactions you don’t want. People really do change their whole welcoming and loving demeanor once they hear you think your job is simply a job, a means of getting by. It pays well, yes, but really, he’s just some guy. While he’s usually cocky, loud, and loves to complain to anyone who’ll listen, he’s been relatively easy to work for. You’re essentially his errand runner, the kind of assistant that blends into the background. You go on morning coffee runs, you take care of his bird when he’s out of town, you search his trailer for things he forgot to bring along to movie shoots. It’s a simple job. And honestly, you’re just here to make some cash so you can pay for your apartment and groceries and all the bills.

Every time you’d tell people this, they’d change. They’d stop pushing themselves on top of you, trying to get close, maybe close enough to see the superstar himself.

And quite frankly, it became annoying to have them all start whispering and gossiping behind hands and stolen glances about how ungrateful and crazy you must be.

You don’t understand why they’re always like this. But it’s the same every time. So eventually, you learned to stop telling people the truth.

You don’t bow down to Tom Ryder.

To you, he’s just some guy.

And that’s it.

...right?

[storiesforallfandoms]

the space cowboy and the pa ~ tom ryder;the fall guy

word count: 2869

request?: no

description: in which the big movie star takes interest in the pa of his new movie

pairing: tom ryder x female!reader

warnings: swearing, tom being tom, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

When you were hired as a PA on a major sci-fi blockbuster, you were obviously beyond ecstatic. It was a big deal for many reasons, and it would look great on your resume as the first film you worked on.

What you didn't expect was for your job to essentially become you running after Tom Ryder all the time.

You knew who Tom Ryder was before you were hired on to Metalstorm. Everyone did. His face was on every screen and every poster. But besides knowing him for his work, you were also warned about his work ethic and entitled attitude. You couldn't say you were surprised to hear that. You figured most celebrities of his status were all into themselves. But when you started working with him, you realized it wasn't just his stuck up-ness, it was his lack of work ethic. Truly, you had no idea how any of his movies ever got made.

You didn't agree to work on Metalstorm so you could chase a self obsessed ego maniac around all day and convince him to come do his job. That's now what a PA is meant to do. On the plus side, Jody was very sympathetic and apologetic to you over this. Jody had worked with Tom for years, and had actually been the one to warn you about Tom's behavior. She knew you didn't want to just be a lacky to Tom Ryder, but when Tom's personal assistant was constantly out taking care of his dogs or getting him his super (annoyingly) specific Starbucks order, and everyone else was too busy trying to make a huge blockbuster to do it themselves, the responsibility had to fall to someone.

So, when you arrived on set to see Jody with her head in her hands, a sign that she was stressed, you already knew what was happening.

"He was supposed to be here an hour ago," Jody said, exasperated. "We don't have much time left for this shoot and there's still so much to be done, but he's nowhere to be found."

You looked up at Gail, sipping her usual Diet Coke. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I've already gone to his trailer twice. Each time he said he was on his way to set."

"Clearly he wasn't," you muttered. "I'll go find him."

"(Y/N), no - " Jody started.

"Try to film something with Colt in place of Tom or something," you told her. "I'll get the dickhead to set."

You made off for Tom's trailer. It was incredibly easy to find among the sea of other cast and crew trailers because it was the biggest one. He could probably live out of it if he hadn't gotten a huge apartment to stay in while filming. His name was printed in big, bold letters on the door, as if the size of the trailer alone wasn't enough to signal that it belonged to the star of the movie.

You walked in without knocking, something you'd realize later you might've regretted if you had found Tom in a more...revealing position. Luckily, he was just laying on the trailer couch, a sleep mask over his eyes and AirPods in his ears. He didn't notice you walked into his trailer, so you did something else you'd probably regret: you flicked Tom's forehead to get his attention.

He jumped and ripped off his sleep mask, snapping, "What the fuck?!"

You crossed your arms as his eyes readjusted to the light. He looked up at you and took out a headphone. "What do you want?"

You rolled your eyes. "You, on set, now."

"Gail already came to tell me it was call time. I'll be there in a minute."

"You were meant to be on set an hour ago. There's no more 'minutes', you're coming now."

Tom sat up. "Listen, assistant, I have a very intense process before I start filming that takes time and concentration. Gail already interrupted me, and now that you have as well I'll have to start all over. Tell Jody not to worry a hair on her pretty head, I will be there."

A combination of general frustration with Tom's behavior and the fact that he was dismissing you as just an "assistant" caused you to finally snapped. You grabbed Tom's sleep mask and snatched his headphones from his ears. He protested, but you ignored him as you kicked open his trailer door and chucked the objects as far as you could.

When you turned back to Tom, he was on his feet and he looked furious. But you refused to be intimidated by him.

"You listen to me, Tom Ryder," you said. "I don't give a shit about your stupid fucking pre-filming rituals. What I do give a shit about is this movie, that you're supposed to be the star of. I am sick and tired of chasing you around like a toddle to round you onto set when that is not my job. So, please, get off your ass and do your job."

You turned to leave, but paused to add, "And I'm a PA, not your assistant."

You walked out of his trailer, the frustration slowly starting to evaporate. You didn't think your words were going to have any effect on Tom. If anything, you were sure it would just make him pissed off and he probably wouldn't even come to set at all now. You'd feel worried for your job if you weren't so happy with yourself for finally telling Tom off.

You were planning on how you were going to tell Jody about what happened with Tom when you heard his trailer door open. You turned to see Tom stepping out of the trailer, already dressed in his gold space cowboy outfit which you hadn't noticed before.

He brushed past you, saying, "Let's shoot this fucking thing."

You let out a sigh of relief as you trailed after him.

Tom, luckily, was super professional and fantastic at his job for the remainder of the day. So much so that Jody was literally jumping from her seat to praise the cast, and to show her relief that the day had finally gone well. You were equally thrilled by this because it meant you were finally able to do your actual job.

When Jody finally called it for the day, you were collecting your stuff and noticed someone approaching you. You looked up to see it was Tom. You braced yourself for the verbal berating you were likely about to get.

"Hey," he said. "PA. What's your name?"

You'd be offended if it were anyone else asking. You had been working with Tom for months, so most people would expect that he'd know your name, but considering that he viewed you as just another assistant until hours ago, you weren't shocked that he hadn't deemed you important enough to remember your name.

"(Y/N)," you told him. "And, listen, I'm sorry about what I said earlier - "

"No you're not," Tom cut you off. "That level of verbal smackdown only happens when you've been holding something in for a long time and you've finally had enough. And you're right, I haven't been making things easy for anyone on set this whole filming process."

Was this some sort of joke? Were the cameras still rolling trying to film your reaction? Had you passed out suddenly while filming and now you were dreaming? There was no way that Tom Ryder of all people was admitting to his faults, especially to someone he couldn't even be bothered to learn the name or occupation of until seconds ago.

When you didn't respond, Tom continued on, "What are you doing tonight?"

"Uh...just going back to my hotel room, I guess. Maybe grab a drink with Jody at the hotel bar."

"Change your plans. You're gonna come have a drink with me instead."

It wasn't a question because Tom Ryder didn't have to ask questions. Tom Ryder was used to just smiling at a woman - or at a man honestly - and having them fall to his feet immediately.

So imagine his surprise when you said, "No."

You started to walk away from him, but he quickly moved to follow you. "Uh...maybe you didn't hear me correctly."

"No, I heard you just fine," you said. "The answer is no."

"But...why?"

You stopped walking to turn and face him. "Tom, you are the star of this movie, and I am a production assistant. There are so many levels of not right about me getting drinks with you."

"It's just drinks," he said with a shrug.

"It's a date, and I can't go on a date with you while we're working together."

You turned to walk away from him again. This time, he didn't follow. He watched you go for a while before calling out, "What about when we're not working together?"

You looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. "We'll see."

~~~~~~

Weeks later, the filming of Metalstorm came to a close. It have become much less painful on set as Tom was always in costume and on set at the time he was supposed to be, sometimes even earlier. Everyone was so shocked by his sudden change, but no one was going to question it. There was too much left of the movie to be filmed to start bringing attention to the fact that Tom was actually being a professional.

During the last few weeks, Tom did not give up on his pursuit of you. He didn't ask you out again, but he was constantly sending you gifts to remind you that he still wanted to go out with you: flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals. The one that really made you laugh was when you found a magazine with him on the cover, shirtless, in front of your hotel room door.

The last day on set, as everyone was celebrating the end of the shoot and saying their emotional goodbyes, you walked up to Tom and slipped a piece of paper into his hand. When he opened it, he saw your number written on it.

You got a text almost immediately after: "drinks, my place. i'll send a car for you"

You got ready at the hotel, putting on the nicest thing you had packed. You hadn't really packed any dresses or outfits that would be date worthy because you weren't expecting to go on any dates. The closest thing you had was a nice pair of jeans and a short sleeved button up blouse that was white with red and pink flowers on it. It seemed more professional work vibes than date vibes, but that's all you had really prepared for.

You also hadn't packed makeup, not expecting to need any when you were just here for work, so you had to hope Tom wasn't expecting you to show up completely dolled up.

The car he had sent for you showed up around 8pm and took you directly to his apartment. He was waiting for you by the door, also dressed more casually than fancy for a date, so you felt a little relieved.

"Hey," he said when you got out of the car. "You look great."

"Thanks," you said. "Are we, um, staying in for drinks?"

"Yeah, I figure that's probably the better option. Less likely to be surrounded by paparazzi or crazy fans if we just hang out in my place."

Right, that would make sense.

You hadn't really thought about the fact that someone like Tom probably didn't get to go out as much as a normal person would. He hadn't been to any of the Metalstorm cast and crew nights out, but you had chalked that up to him thinking he was too good to go out with everyone else. Maybe it was actually because he felt like he couldn't.

You followed Tom into his apartment. Although, "apartment" was definitely an understatement. The place was bigger than the house you had grown up in, and even had two floors and a rooftop pool. You couldn't help but marvel at everything - the largeness of it, as well as all the film memorabilia Tom had placed on the walls and the shelves. And then you came across the walls covered in sticky notes and found yourself confused.

Tom noticed the look on your face as you stopped to read a few of the notes and laughed. "I like to remember things."

"'Next role: paramedic vampire'?" you read, giving Tom a playful look.

"I think that could be a good role. Imagine a paramedic who is also a vampire, and sometimes they have to struggle with all the blood they're exposed to every day."

"So basically Carlisle Cullen from Twilight?"

"I've never seen those movies so I don't know."

You chuckled as you followed him to the mini bar.

"What do you drink?" he asked. "I have...basically everything."

"Give me a whiskey neat." He raised an eyebrow at you. "I had a lot of hard nights during film school. You learn to enjoy the hard stuff."

He smiled and grabbed you a glass. He filled it halfway with a whiskey that definitely looked very expensive, and then got himself a glass as well. He held his glass up to you, and you tapped yours against his.

"What are we toasting to?" you asked him.

"To the movie finally wrapping so I could take you on a date."

You couldn't help but smile as you took a sip of your whiskey.

"There's something I have to ask you before we move forward, though," you said. Tom leaned against the island between you two and motioned for you to continue. "When did you and Iggy stop dating? I mean...obviously you've stopped dating...right?"

Tom chuckled. "Would I have asked you on a date if we hadn't?"

"I don't know how you big hot shot celebrity couples do relationships. Maybe you guys are like...open? I don't know."

"We're not, and we're not together. We broke up just before Metalstorm started filming."

You winced. "That's rough."

"That's acting. You can't just throw away a whole role because you have to act alongside your ex. Besides, it was mutual, and now she's dating Jason Momoa."

"And you're on a date with the PA from Metalstorm."

Tom gave you a look. "Don't say that as if it's a downgrade or something. I like you, that's all that matters."

You were speechless. This was the most sincere you had ever heard Tom be. Usually he was yelling or cursing on set because he felt like the take he did was awful, or he was annoyed by the Australian heat in his shiny gold costume. You had no idea that Tom Ryder had a softer side of him. Actually, you weren't sure anyone knew that.

You and Tom eventually moved from the car to the couch in his lounge. He turned on a movie ("I promise it won't be my own", he had joked) and the two of you sat close but not close enough to be touching. Tom had his arm across the back of the couch behind you, just begging for you to lean into him. You'd keep inching closer every so often until finally your side was pressed against his, and you were able to rest your head on his shoulder.

You couldn't help but think about how surprised you were with how quickly things had changed these last few weeks. For a majority of filming, you had basically hated Tom. You thought he was egotistical and annoying. You never would've thought you'd be on a date with him once filming had wrapped. Sure, you thought he was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. But you didn't think he would ever see you as someone to go on a date with, let alone that you would have agreed if he asked.

At some point during the movie, Tom shifted and moved away from you. You looked up at him, confused, to find him already looking down at you.

"I really want to kiss you," he admitted.

"What's stopping you?" you asked.

The answer was nothing, because once the words were out of your mouth Tom was cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss. It was one of those magical kisses that people in TV shows and movies always talk about. The ones where they say you feel a spark and you see stars. You didn't want it to end.

But eventually you had to pull away for air. You looked up at Tom, who now had a small grin on his face.

"I suppose there's no chance you'd want to stay over?" he asked.

You really wanted to say yes, but you knew you shouldn't. You weren't the type of person to put out on the first date, and you knew there was a huge risk of that happening if you stayed at Tom's for the night.

So, you sighed and shook your haed.

"Thought so," Tom said. "I'll just have to get enough kissing in before I have to let you go."

You giggled as he leaned in to kiss you again.

[cheolism]

BREAK AND RETURN

✰ — brother's-bandmate!minghao x f!reader ✷ — summary: last week minghao did what he thought was best and put an end to your fling. he sees you again before band practice and can't help but give in to his desires. ✰ — wc is approx. 5k ✷ — genre: 90s au, smut, fwb/fucking your brother's friend ✰ — warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it! yk it!), pet names (good girl, angel, etc), jealousy, possessiveness, and lust. backshots, off-screen masturbation, fingering and pussy-licking. lmk if anything else should be added :) ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: this is a part of @beomcoups's "now that's 90's" svt collab! thank u very much for letting me join the collab! i had fun chatting n interacting with new people ^-^ i hope everyone enjoys the fic!! thank you very much to @wooahaeproductions for reading this over and reassuring me <3 tagging @idyllic-ghost and @onlyhuis bc i think you both wanted tagged but i can't remember, so sorry!!!

here’s the thing: minghao isn’t stupid. 

he knows better. he truly does. he isn’t some idiot stuck at a claw machine at an arcade, doesn’t keep feeding it his money while never getting any closer to winning a prize. minghao knows when to quit something, when to step away. 

that’s why he broke things off with you, after all. he had thought it would be easy. the two of you weren’t in a real relationship. you weren’t like tom cruise and nichole kidman – the two of you were just fucking. no strings attached. 

but of course there were strings attached. you’re the kid sister to his friend and bandmate, josh; at first minghao thought he would be fine keeping it a secret. he didn’t need to take you out on dates and show you off like you were the best thing since bon jovi. the two of you were content in each other’s arms, naked chest against naked chest, legs intertwined as you dozed off. 

minghao, however, wasn’t stupid.

he knew there were strings attached to the both of you. he knew that it was a bad idea, fucking his bandmate’s little sister. every time he kissed your warm mouth, he knew he was betraying josh’s trust. it wasn’t fair of him to to that to josh, and it wasn’t fair of him to put you, josh’s sister, in a position to lie to your own brother. 

so minghao took initiative and broke off the relationship. 

he wasn’t stupid, and he knew the first time he would see you after breaking up with you would be hard. he knew it would be. it’s hard for real couples, for couples that hold hands as they walk down the street and talk about what to name the cat they’re going to adopt. he had imagined it would be hard, to some degree, to see you. the two of you might have steered away from such topics as rings and shared apartments and other things that left the fantasy of forever in your minds, but he knew you. he knew how you sighed after he kissed the space under your ear, he knew how you looked fresh from the shower with your face shining from the heat of the water. he knew how you looked when you concentrated on painting your toes, how you looked when you begged him to see clueless at the theater because josh thought it would be stupid and you didn’t know who else to ask. 

he knew you, and perhaps that was worse than dating you. 

he knew you, and you knew him, and minghao isn’t stupid but he didn’t know that seeing you again would hurt so much. 

you look beautiful. you always do, according to minghao. you’re sitting on that old couch josh and him spent an hour trying to shove into the garage for their band practices. you’re wearing ridiculous clothes, baggy comfy pants and the ugly oversized sweater with the worn collar and checkers and stripes on it. you’re talking to soonyoung, hands waving excitedly as the two of you laugh. your beauty bubbles out with every breath of laughter, seems to radiate in your chest like a little star, and minghao knows that even if winona ryder was in the room with them he would still choose you as the most beautiful. 

you catch sight of minghao. you shoot him a grin, large and inviting, as if he hadn’t made you cry last week. you give him a little wave. “hi, minghao!”

and then you turn back to soonyoung, your knee pressed against his. 

it’s so ridiculous; he’s ridiculous. minghao feels his stomach twist, as if someone was wringing it like a wash cloth after doing dirty dishes. you’re beautiful and radiant, and you spoke two words to minghao before turning to soonyoung, as if minghao wasn’t anyone particularly special. 

he can’t help but stare at you. you lift a hand, and, in a move he recognizes as you flirting because you’ve done it to him when you want him to fuck you, you tuck your hair back behind your ear. you are wearing small pearl stud earrings and immediately minghao recognizes them as the ones he bought for you a year and a half ago, right before the two of you started fucking. 

you tuck your hair back behind your ear and soonyoung watches, his mouth parted a little, and minghao feels like he needs to punch something. 

“funny, isn’t it?” josh says, appearing at minghao’s side. josh runs his tongue over his lip ring, pulling at the sleeves of his plaid jacket. “it looks like soonyoung’s got a crush on my kid sister.”

“yeah,” minghao says, throat tight. he watches as soonyoung edges slightly closer, his thigh now pressed firmly against yours. you don’t move away. minghao wants you to move away, or better yet, slap soonyoung. 

minghao isn’t a violent person, either. he isn’t violent, nor is he jealous. but once he also had thought he was above the lure of lust, was above giving into the craving of needing your body against his, dick stuffed in your pussy and his mouth dominating yours. 

maybe you just had some sort of power over him that no one else did. maybe it’s like that movie practical magic, and you’ve placed a spell on him, bewitching him. 

“i think he’s going to ask her out soon,” josh carries on, as if he’s ignorant to the way minghao is one step from having a crisis. “i saw the drive-in is going to be playing jurassic park. i remember when it first came out and how much she loved seeing it at the theater. it’ll be a good chance for soonyoung to ask her on a date.”

minghao scoffs. “you know he’s scared of that movie. whenever we bring out the vhs he runs.”

josh shrugs. “if he likes her as much as i think he does, i think soonyoung will be fine.”

“and you’re okay with it?” minghao turns to josh, putting his back to you and soonyoung. “you’re totally okay with soonyoung dating your sister?”

josh shrugged, twisting his mouth a little in thought. “well. i think – i think he really likes her, you know? he’s not just gonna fuck her and leave her hanging around until he wants her again.”

minghao’s mouth sours, and he bites back a venomous remark. that’s what his relationship with you was like, wasn’t it? he has no place to try and insert himself between you and soonyoung’s blossoming relationship.

“you know how soonyoung is, though,” minghao says, despite himself. he folds his arms in front of him, drumming his fingers against his bare skin. he sees the little flower tattoo on his ring finger, the one he got after you spent an evening at his apartment drawing flowers into your lisa frank notebook with glitter pens. “he’s flighty. he’s never stayed with a chick longer than a month. what if he breaks her heart?”

josh hums. “i can’t keep her locked away in the house forever, hao. she’s grown. she can make her own decisions. and if that is soonyoung, the same soonyoung who refuses to drive without everyone wearing seatbelts and insists on someone holding his hand as he gets a tattoo, then i’m fine with that.”

minghao huffs. he walks away from josh, knowing that josh is right. you are grown and can make your own decisions. for a year and a half, that was minghao. you chose to go to his apartment, chose to get on your knees and offer your mouth. you chose to lay by his side, fingers gently tracing the vine tattoo that climbed up his left arm as minghao murmured about the future. for a year and a half you chose minghao, until he took that choice away from you. 

and now you were sitting at soonyoung’s side on an old, musty couch, laughing at some stupid joke. 

minghao grabbed his bass off of its stand, bringing the strap up around his neck. his fingers find the strings naturally, absentmindedly plucking out the beginning of u2’s “one”. on the body of his bass, down towards the bridge, is a strawberry shortcake sticker that you had gingerly pressed onto his instrument. 

josh joins minghao, calling back to soonyoung. jihoon and vernon come through the door leading to the kitchen, each of them holding a jolt cola. 

“finally,” minghao sighs, glaring at the two other men. “come on. practice started ten minutes ago.”

soonyoung stands from the couch, still talking to you. you’re looking up at him with a smile, eyes sparkling. 

“kwon soonyoung!” minghao snaps. he stops playing the bass, narrowing his eyes at soonyoung. “come on! just because you have all day doesn’t mean the rest of us do. why don’t you fucking respect the rest of us and stop flirting and get the fuck over here.”

josh sucks in a breath next to minghao but doesn’t say anything. soonyoung gives you a small wave, and then he’s jogging over. he glances at minghao, murmuring a small apology. 

minghao doesn’t care. he’s watching you. you lean forward, elbows on your knees, tilting your head and eyes on minghao. your sweater – that overly large, horrible sweater – is loose at the collar, and as you lean forward the hole widens and gapes and falls, giving minghao a view of the valley between your tits and the top of your black silk bra, and all that skin above it. 

and he remembers. minghao remembers what it was like to press his mouth to your skin, to hold your tits in his hands and feel their weight and warmth. he remembers being between your warm thighs, remembers how soft your body was and how he always seemed to sink into it. 

you stand. “well, i’ll leave you guys alone so you can practice.”

minghao watches as you leave, the hem of your sweater covering your ass. he remembers you walking from his bed wearing an overly large nirvana shirt, how the hem tapped against your ass as you walked away and to the kitchen. 

and here’s the thing: minghao isn’t stupid. 

he broke things off with you. he isn’t with you anymore, doesn’t have the privilege of getting horny and jealous of you. he doesn’t get to act on his frustrations when he sees you taunting him, when he sees you getting your petty revenge for breaking up with you. you’re stirring something up with soonyoung, and he doesn’t get to veto that, doesn’t get to act as if he has any say in your life. 

after all, he’s the one that made sure he wouldn’t. he’s the one that made sure to draw the line between the two of you. 

practice starts, and minghao is somewhere else entirely. he gets the order of the songs mixed up, starts playing basket case before live forever. he loses all of his picks and has to borrow from vernon, and his mind keeps slipping back to you. 

an hour passes like that, with minghao not really there. he’s between your thighs, face pressed against your pussy; he’s in your arms, heels digging into his back as you urge him to go deeper. he’s everywhere but there, everywhere with you. 

eventually minghao loses another pick, and josh sighs from the front. he goes over to the speaker and dials it off, frowning at everyone. “i’m thinking we should take a break. we’re not doing our best, and everyone seems really scattered right now. let’s break for supper and come back and really put work in.”

the others nod, turning off their instruments or, in jihoon’s case, setting down his drumsticks. “we need to get focused,” jihoon agrees, serious. “we’re not going to keep maintaining gigs if we’re fucking around like this. we need to be serious about what we’re doing. we need to be bringing our everything to every practice. none of this bullshit.” 

josh nods, setting his guitar back in its case. his case, just like minghao’s, is decorated with stickers you’ve slapped on. besides strawberry shortcake there’s lisa frank, rugrats, pokemon. there’s squiggly lines and smiley faces and flowers, all the signs pointing to you. 

“honestly,” joshua says, voice grave, “if, by some fucking miracle, the black rose calls back and says they want us to perform for them, i’ll have to turn them down.”

soonyoung protests, brow furrowed. “come on! this is just one practice we’ve fucked up. it’s not like we’re always fucking around. let’s just take a break, clear our heads, and come back at it. this isn’t something that needs to be repeated or stressed over.”

“i’m thinking about a triple decker pizza,” vernon says, prompted by no one. josh rolls his eyes, grinning, and the band begins to split into groups for food. 

“where you wanna go?” soonyoung asks minghao. he’s blinking innocently at minghao, completely ignorant of the absolute sin going through his mind. he doesn’t know that minghao thought about punching him only an hour ago, doesn’t know he’s been fantasizing about the way your thighs felt under his fingertips while fumbling his fingers over the bass strings. 

“i think i’ll just run home and grab something,” minghao lies, setting his guitar on its stand. soonyoung pouts, nodding. 

minghao lingers behind the others, lying to josh about misplacing his keys and promising to lock the house behind him. you were doing your homework, josh said, and he didn’t want you to be disturbed. 

minghao waits until soonyoung, whom always seems to be the last one to leave, pulls out of the driveway with vernon jamming out in the passenger seat beside him, and then he’s moving. 

he knows the way up to your bedroom as if it was his own. he goes up the carpeted stairs, past the various pictures of you in flouncy dresses and huge bows as babies, past the awkward family photo with you and josh pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, wearing matching sweater vests. he flips on the mickey mouse lightswitch at the top of the staircase, and then he’s opening your bedroom door. 

your room is your sanctuary. the bedroom walls are painted a soft lilac from your childhood, covered in posters from spice girls to nirvana and aerosmith. there’s beanie babies hanging over your mirror, a troll doll on your dresser. your room is littered with comics and cd cases, all of your cds stacked in small piles around the stereo. you’ve got backstreet boys playing from your stereo, and minghao doesn’t even have it in him to make a comment about it. 

meanwhile, you – 

you are on your bed. you’re still wearing that sweater, but that’s all. your blankets are on the floor, pillow stuffed underneath your hips. your entire lower half is bare, one leg extended out and the other bent. the room has the faint, barely-there smell of cunt, and it’s more intoxicating than any drug. 

you meet minghao’s eyes sheepishly, hands smoothing down your thighs. “missed you,” is all you say, fingers slowly dragging across your thighs and towards your center. 

minghao is across the room in record time, pulling off his bomber jacket and throwing it to the ground. “we don’t have a lot of time,” he says, hands pulling up the hem of his shirt to zip down his pants. “the others just went to eat.”

“then you better hurry,” you say, eyes sparkling. you don’t make any comments about him stumbling back into your bed after breaking everything off. instead you spread out your legs, your hands making quick work of your sweater and bra, and minghao falls onto your bed. 

“i’ve prepared,” you say as he settles between your thighs. he can’t help but run his hands over your skin, treasuring the feel of your skin beneath his. this was his favorite place on earth, he realizes; between your thighs, skin to skin. 

“you’ve prepared?” he echos, raising a brow. you nod, biting down on your lip. “been waiting for me, is that it?”

“you or soonyoung,” you say, grinning at him. 

minghao scowls at you, pinching your skin between his fingertips. “shut up,” he commands you. “don’t wanna hear you say his name ever again.”

you laugh at him, reaching out. you lace your fingers around his neck, bringing his face down to yours. you press a quick, close-lipped kiss to his mouth. “sorry,” you say, voice still light and giggly. “couldn’t help it.”

minghao growls, and then he’s lacing his hands in your hair and smashing his mouth back to yours. he pries open your mouth with his tongue, delving in and reclaiming that familiar space. he can’t believe he’s gone over a week without kissing you – it’s a sin, he’s sure, to not kiss you and have you whimpering underneath his touch. it’s a greater sin to not kiss you than it is to be kissing his friend’s little sister, surely. 

he sucks at your bottom lip, moving his hands down your thighs. they’re sticky on the inside, no doubt from when you prepared yourself earlier. when he moves his hand deeper between your thighs it’s wetter, warmer, stickier, and he thinks that this is a heaven of it’s own. you sigh against his mouth, and then he’s ducking his head and moving his body, mouth slipping from yours and skimming down over your chin and along your throat. 

you whine, and he can’t help but chuckle against your skin. he suckles at your throat. you open beneath him so wonderfully, it’s a wonder he was ever able to separate from you at all. 

minghao moves down your body, kissing each and every spot he missed. the top of the valley between your tits, the skin of your shoulder. he mouths at your nipples, slipping his hand up between your legs so his fingers brush at your pussy lips. 

you shiver beneath him. he laps at one of your nipples with his tongue, fingers dipping and sliding your cunt. he doesn’t apply any real pressure,  just content with teasing you and hearing those whines and moans he missed. 

“hao,” you groan out, fingers moving to his hair. you tangle your fingers in his locks, pulling softly. “hao –”

he shushes you, and then his fingers are slipping into your cunt. you moan out, head tipping back. he slips two into your hole, biting down at his lip as your pussy contracts around him, trying to suck his fingers in further, desperate for his touch. 

your cunt is hot around his fingers. it’s not as tight as it would have been if you hadn’t prepared, and it’s easy for him to slide his two fingers down to the base, brushing his fingertips against your core.

“fuck,” he sighs, pressing his face against your stomach. he breathes in, inhaling your scent. you’re so wonderful. you smell wonderful, feel wonderful. he wants to devour you; he can’t imagine why he ever left you. 

he slides his fingers from your cunt, drawing a high whine from your lips. minghao clicks his tongue at you, and then he’s pushing three fingers in. you shudder, cunt clenching so tight around his digits that he can’t move. 

“easy, baby,” he mumbles, his free hand going to your leg. minghao pulls your leg over his shoulder, nose pressing against your thigh. he can feel your skin against his eyelash as his breathes you in here, too. “gotta be easy and good for me.”

you let out a long breath, eyes sliding shut. your cunt loosens around his fingers, and as a reward minghao moves down further between your legs. he presses his face to your cunt, the smell of your pussy surrounding him. 

he knows he should hurry. he knows his band will be back soon. but that doesn’t stop minghao from running his tongue along your clit, doesn’t stop him from tasting this part of you. he missed it so much – missed your cunt, how it smelled and felt and tasted. 

your thighs clench around his head, but he continues. minghao scissors his fingers in you, not focused on stretching you but instead making you feel good. he laps at your lit in broad strokes, and then he’s sucking at your little bean, a loud squeal escaping your lips. 

“quiet!” he hisses, though he feels his lips twitching up at the corner. he does it again and again between licks of his tongue, feeling your body shake beneath his and little sounds of ecstasy escape your lips. 

“hao!” you whine out, fingers digging slightly into his scalp. “gotta – gotta hurry, josh –”

you couldn’t manage a full sentence, high moans and squeals escaping your mouth and interrupting your words. but minghao understood all the same, and he was pressing one last kiss to your pussy before he withdrew. 

he wiped his hand off on the sheets, and then he was pushing his pants and boxers down to his knees. he fisted his shirt with one hand, raising it and keep it away from your soaking cunt as he moved close. 

you plant your feet on the bed, tilting your hips up for him. you’re so good, he thinks. you’re perfect. and you’re his. 

minghao pressed the head of his cock against your cunt, watching as your entire body seemed to freeze in anticipation. you were so ready for him, so eager. you were biting down at your lip, eyes large and watching, and minghao couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t feeling the same way. 

he crowded down over you, releasing his shirt and moving his hand to cup your face. minghao rolled his tongue into your mouth, the noises of your wet mouths meeting making his cock throb with anger.

he fucked into your cunt, a deep groan escaping you. your pussy was tight, despite preparation, but warm and wet and minghao slowly slid deeper and deeper. your body took his cock easily, as it always had, and he knew that the two of you were meant for each other. 

“hao,” you moan out, lashes fluttering. you speak against his mouth, breath hot. “feels good, hao. want it. missed you so much, hao.”

“i know, baby,” he mumbles, hand sinking into your hair. he slides until his cock is buried as far as it can go within you, your pussy clamping down on his cock. he wanted to move, wanted to immediately begin fucking you. instead he held back, hand twisting in your hair. “i missed you too.”

you bite at your lip, and then you’re tightening your legs around his waist. minghao takes this as permission, and he begins drawing his hips back. the slide of his dick against your walls feels so good, feels perfect, all slick warmth that makes his toes curl and eyes flutter. 

he can’t believe he left you. he can’t believe he ended this. he’s so fucking stupid – 

minghao fucks back into your cunt, and it feels like coming home. he begins setting a slow, deep rhythm that makes you arch up around him, mouth wide and eyes pinched shut. he just looks at you, takes in the shape of your mouth and your lashes, just looks and adores you. 

his hand moves from your hair to your ear, and he traces the shell of your ear as he grinds into you. he follows the curve, adoring. he thumbs at your earlobe, just touching you, when he touches that pearl earring. 

and minghao thinks back. he thinks back to how you had tucked your hair behind your ear for soonyoung, how you had acted all cute and coy for him. how you had taunted minghao. 

his hips slow to a stop, and you whine for him. for a moment he just focuses on your earrings, staring. 

“you’re such a bad girl,” he growls out, and then he’s slamming back into your pussy, the sound of skin hitting skin loud. you cry out, startled, and then he’s setting a punishing, brutal pace. 

“you’re so bad,” he hisses, hand moving down to your throat. he doesn’t choke you, just places his hand against your throat. “teasing me like that with soonyoung. so fucking bad. wanted me to get jealous, didn’t you?”

you whimper, eyes rolling back as he fucks you. each thrust into your cunt is wet and loud, and he fucks you knowing that you’ll feel the ache hours later. 

“wanted me jealous of kwon soonyoung,” minghao murmurs, and he’s ducking his head to bite at your neck. you cry out, cunt tightening around his dick. he bites and licks and sucks, marking your neck as his. 

because you are his. he was a fool to think otherwise. you’re his and he’s yours, and he’ll show kwon soonyoung. 

minghao pulls out – you whine – and he flips you around. minghao moves to his knees, pulling you up and back so you’re on all fours. he enters you with a rough thrust, and then he’s resuming his hard pace, chasing out each sting of skin slapping skin, seeking that pain-pleasure. 

“you’re mine,” he says, hands tight around your hips. he watches your ass jiggle with each thrust, some animalistic urge to take coming over him. “you’re mine, angel. fucking mine and no one else’s. got it?”

you nod against your pillows, arching your back and pushing back to him. you fuck back onto him, meeting each thrust, and minghao can’t help but feel satisfied. 

as if you’d ever do this for kwon soonyoung. as if you’d ever let him fuck you like this, as if you’d ever give yourself over to kwon soonyoung as eagerly as you do minghao.

“you gotta cum,” minghao commands, slapping at your ass. you cry out, fingers twisting in the sheets. “gotta cum around my cock, baby. milk me.”

he reaches down, grabbing his shirt and pushing it up out of the way. his fingers slip into your cunt, fluttering around where the two of you are connected to grind down on the gummy area surrounding your clit. you whine, and only a couple of thrusts later you’re tightening around his dick. 

“that’s it,” minghao says, biting down on his lip. “gush around my dick, angel. come on, cum for me.”

your moans rise in pitch as you cum, and he fucks you through it. he fucks into your pussy as it quivers, fluttering around his dick. once you’re finished, whining from oversensitivity, minghao pulls out of your pussy – your warm, tight, delightful pussy – and fucks into his hand until he’s shooting out warm stripes of cum, painting your back white. he feels fuckin amazing, adrenaline and lust and something he can’t quite name rushing through his veins. 

he pants, watching as his cum taints your skin. you’re so beautiful like this, stained with him. he says as much, rubbing his hand over your ass and back. 

a car honks from the street. minghao curses, and then he’s flinging himself off of the bed. he grabs his bomber jacket, hesitates, and then quickly wipes himself down. 

“i’ll wash it,” you promise, and he ducks down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your mouth. 

“good girl,” he murmurs, moving to press a kiss to your temple. “such a good girl for me.”

he darts for the bathroom after leaving your bedroom, flicking on the goofy lightswitch. he looks in the mirror. he looks – well, he looks like he just spent the last half hour fucking someone. 

but not just anyone, he thinks, grabbing his shirt and flapping it to try and get some fresh air against his skin. he spent the last half hour fucking you. 

vernon looks at him weirdly as he hands minghao a few slices of pizza. “been busy?”

minghao shrugs, pressing his hair back from his face. “went jogging a bit to try and clear my mind of all it’s shit. need to bring everything to practice.”

vernon looks like he doesn’t believe minghao, but vernon, also, doesn’t care. so minghao watches as his friend grabs a soda from the fridge. “cool,” is all he says, and then vernon begins slurping at his drink. 

soonyoung enters the room with his own pizza, setting it on the counter. “i made sure to get some you like,” he says to minghao. 

minghao feels, slightly, like he should feel guilty towards soonyoung. soonyoung, after all, has a crush on you. and minghao just fucked soonyoung’s crush. 

then again, minghao thinks, it’s soonyoung’s fault for getting a crush on you when you spend every other day getting your brains fucked out by minghao. 

joshua enters his house with a large grin, holding a plastic cup in one hand. “you’ll never fucking guess who called.”

“president clinton,” soonyoung says, raising a slice of pepperoni pizza to his mouth. “wait. better yet. monica lewinsky.”

“no,” josh says, “cut it out. i’m talking about the fucking black rose club! they called! and they want us for next thursday!”

“well,” minghao says, a grin taking over his face. “it isn’t a friday or saturday performance, so the club won’t be too busy.”

“but it gets our name out there,” josh agreed, clapping vernon on the back. he looks so sincerely happy, lip ring glinting in the artificial light of the kitchen. “we’re getting on the map.”

minghao raises vernon’s soda in salute towards josh before drinking it and handing it back to vernon. “things are looking up,” minghao says.

minghao isn’t stupid. he knows they’ll need to work their asses off for the next week in preparation of playing at the club. he knows this is only one step on the mountain of success, only one step towards their goal line. he knows he’ll need to talk to you, sincerely. he knows he’ll need to apologize, knows he needs to explain everything. 

yes; minghao isn’t stupid. 

but, he thinks, watching as you come down the stairs, fresh from a shower, he is awfully lucky. 

[happy74827]

I Want To Be Your Lover

[Colt Seavers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve always felt something for Colt, resorting to a friendship as he is completely unaware. But when he comes knocking at your door… it’s hard to not connect reality to fantasy {GIF Creds: @colt-and-jody // Please go and watch the edit they made of Colt + Jody. Literally Amazing 🤩}.

WC: 2199

Category: Slight Fluff + Spice/Lime, First Kiss, {TW: Mentions of Murder}

Obsessed… I’m so obsessed with him…

FALL GUY SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

『••✎••』

His hands grasped your face as he pulled you close, your heart pounding, breath quickening. The way he could pull you up onto him without warning and how it was so effortless. The way he'd hold your thighs around him as he made out with you, his hands traveling up your thighs, then under your shirt, touching your bare back, your waist, your chest.

Then he'd lean into your ear, those stupid lips kissing the bottom of it, gently, delicately, but firm and knowing. It was the way he'd whisper something so unserious that would almost turn you off him for a minute, but then he was smiling with those stupid dimples, eyes sparkling like the stupid sea, and you couldn't help yourself from melting all over again.

That’s what you believed about Colt Seavers. That was the dream, the fantasy, the perfect little love story between the two of you; that was the life you'd created in your head. He was the love, the life, the future.

But the sad truth was, it was only a dream because the real Colt Seavers was painfully oblivious.

He would laugh, smile, and give you that wink that was meant to be sexy but was actually kind of stupid, and then he'd be gone, and you'd be left with that aching in your heart.

The one that showed the fact that you were a friend, nothing more. A good friend, a best friend, someone to be close to, someone to talk to, but not someone to love. Not the way you loved him.

So you would often find yourself in your head, where it was safe, where there were no consequences. Because in your mind, Colt did notice you, he did care, and he did love you back. In your mind, he'd wrap his strong arms around you and kiss you with all the passion that you'd wanted for so long.

In reality, you'd be walking along beside him, listening to his voice, laughing at his jokes, and wishing that he would see you, the real you, and not just the friend.

And then, one night, it was as though the angels had heard your prayer.

You were sleeping, probably dreaming of Colt if you were honest, when you were awoken by knocks at your door. At first, you thought it was your imagination, or the wind, or whatever, but it happened again, and you groaned, throwing the covers off you and shuffling your way to the front door.

When you opened it, you were surprised to see Colt standing there, looking as if he had gone through hell and back. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the most pitiful expression on his face.

You stared at him for a moment before speaking.

"Colt…?” You still couldn’t believe it was him. “What’re…what're you doing here?"

Colt shrugged and looked down. "Can I… uh, spend the night? Here?"

Your mind immediately went straight to the gutter. The two of you, alone, in your home, late at night, and no one around.

Yes, yes, yes.

But you weren’t completely lost to him. You were still aware of the situation and the fact that you had no idea what was going on.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Don’t you still have a hotel room? Since you’re working?"

He started at you, blinking, while you waited for an answer. He seemed almost taken aback by your response, but he didn’t seem surprised.

In fact, his expression turned a bit sheepish. If it weren’t for the fact that it was late and that you were so confused, you would have found it adorable.

"You haven’t watched the news yet, have you?" He asked.

You frowned. "No. Why?"

“Good, that means you’ll let me in."

Before you could reply, he took the opportunity to step inside. You watched him, eyes wide, as he made his way into your kitchen, opening the refrigerator, pulling out a drink, and grabbing a slice of pizza from your leftover box.

It wasn't until you heard him groan that you snapped out of it.

"Colt? What are you doing?"

"Eating,” he said with a mouth full of pizza. He was sitting on your kitchen counter. “God, I miss this, and I don’t know why."

Sometimes, your crush on him was questionable, especially times like this.

"That's great," you rolled your eyes. "But why are you here? And what about the news?

He paused for a second and then looked at you, eyes soft, a small, apologetic smile on his face. It almost melted your heart.

You didn’t even realize the fact that he was soaked until that moment. And was he… was he bleeding?!

"Colt, are you—”

"I’m wanted for murder, which, to set the record straight, I did not do," he answered, taking another bite of pizza.

"Wanted for—what?!" You practically shrieked.

He held his hand up to stop you and finished his bite of pizza before speaking again.

"I know, I know. Crazy, right? This pizza, by the way… amazing. Where did you get it from? Dominos? This… This is what heaven tastes like, I think. It's gotta be.”

You were stunned. Speechless. Absolutely flabbergasted.

He didn’t even seem to notice your distress as he hopped down from the counter and threw the now-empty pizza box into the garbage.

"Long story short, the world thinks I’m dead after Tom — who turns out to be even more of an asshole than I thought — tried to have me killed to be the fall guy of his murder. Didn’t work, obviously, but it's not like he knows that."

He continued talking, but at this point, you had zoned him out. Your head was spinning, and you could barely keep up with him as he paced around your kitchen.

"So, anyway, I got away, and now I have to stay hidden and all that jazz. Hence, why I'm here, I couldn’t go anywhere else. I figured you would let me crash here tonight. I hope that's cool. And hey, if not, then that's fine; I can… find a ditch of something to sleep in, or a hay bail, or a cow shed, or whatever. It's cool."

You still couldn’t process it. None of it made sense. You weren't sure if you were dreaming or not. Maybe it was a nightmare. You had been thinking of Colt all night, and now he was here, and everything was insane.

You weren’t even sure if he had stopped talking or not or if he had noticed the fact that you were practically catatonic.

You needed to lie down. You needed to think. You needed to…

You were pulled out of your thoughts by Colt waving his hand in front of your face. A normal behavior for him, but somehow, right now, it sparked something inside of you.

He dropped his hand when he noticed the stare you were giving him. But it wasn’t just any stare, no. It was one that said a million things at once.

And you were sure he saw it because he, too, had a look. One that was much different than the one he normally gave you. One that was a bit more… serious.

His eyebrows were furrowed together, he had a frown on his lips, and his eyes were softer but also darker and deeper. They were the eyes of someone who had gone through some shit. Real shit.

It was a look you'd never seen on him, and you were sure the look you gave him was a first for him, too.

Different reasons, of course.

And for a moment, you had forgotten that this was the real Colt Seavers. Not the one from your fantasies, not the one from your dreams.

But the real Colt.

Which meant you had to take a moment to collect yourself. Acting out and getting all crazy and lovey-dovey wasn't something he needed right now.

"You… can stay. Of course you can," you sighed. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed, is all."

Colt's serious face didn’t drop, but he did nod, understanding.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for barging in here and acting all crazy. It's just I had nowhere else to go, and I figured… you'd be the one to understand."

You smiled softly. "Don’t worry about it, Colt. Seriously. You can’t even kill a bug. So, a murder charge is the last thing I'm worried about."

The corner of his lip twitched into a slight smile. "Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a rat?"

"No. No, you did not."

"Yeah, it didn’t end well.”

“For the rat or you?" You grew a grin on your face.

“I’ll leave that to your imagination," he teased, glancing up at the ceiling. It gave you a chance to examine his face. Messed up and bruised, but it was still him—still your Colt.

"So… the rat won?"

"He put up a good fight, I'll tell you that."

"Did you cry?"

"Nope, I was a total badass."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. Taylor Swift would be so proud."

"I know she would."

"She'd probably write a song about it."

"Well, duh. Of course, she would. How else would she immortalize our love story?"

It was at this moment that your brain and your heart finally got in sync, and you realized exactly what was happening.

By the time you looked at him, just to see if his tone matched his expression, Colt was already staring at you. And even though he was smiling as he normally would, his eyes were different.

You couldn’t make it out, but something was there. Something that wasn’t usually there but was now, and it wasn’t a nice feeling. It made you feel uncomfortable.

It was the same feeling you had when you caught him talking to girls but then flashed his smile at you. When he'd call you his 'best bud' and then hug you for a little too long.

This was that feeling, but worse. So much worse.

You’d see this part in your dreams, but they usually had a happy ending, one that included a kiss. Well, more than a kiss.

You’d take the initiative, and he’d go along with it, slowly becoming more and more in control until it was him, him, him.

And in the dream, you'd kiss him and feel him on you, his hands traveling up and down your body, his breath hot against your neck, his lips leaving marks all over your skin.

But when you opened your eyes, usually you were back in bed, the fantasy ending. And it was hard not to feel sad.

But, for some reason, when you opened your eyes this time, Colt was still there. And his hands were still touching you, and his breath was still hot, and his lips were still kissing you.

You weren’t sure if this was reality or not. You had dreamed about him so many times it was hard to tell the difference.

But the longer you kissed, the more it felt real.

You had no idea how you got there, how it had happened. All you knew was that Colt's hands were grasping your face, your hands were in his damp hair, his mouth was against yours, and the whole murder thing was forgotten.

And it was a good kiss, too. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl, your body tremble, your mind go blank, and the only thing you could focus on was the craving for more.

It was a desperate, needy, passionate, hungry, messy kiss.

When Colt pulled away, you were breathless, and your head was spinning. Your lips were numb, and you could barely stand, but Colt had an arm around your waist, holding you up, his other hand still touching your face delicately, tenderly.

"That was the best pizza I've ever had," he breathed out. "Ever. In my entire life."

It was at this moment you knew for a fact that this was the real Colt and the real you. And you were both awake, and it was happening.

Colt Seavers, the boy or man you'd loved forever, had finally opened his eyes.

And you were going to kill him.

You were going to actually, truly murder him.

He couldn't kiss you like that and say something stupid like that?

But before you could get a word in, he was kissing you again, and you were melting, and all anger had vanished. A lot of power this boy had over you.

This time, the kiss was different. More controlled, calmer, sweeter.

He took his time and savored every second. It was a lot more intimate, and the hand on your face was gone. Instead, it was on your neck, tilting your head upwards, and his other arm was around your waist, keeping you close.

When you were left breathless, he didn't pull away. Instead, he continued kissing you, his lips traveling down your jaw to your neck.

You gasped, feeling his tongue on your neck and his hands roaming your back. It was the exact fantasy you'd imagined for so long. Except this was so much better.

Because it was real.

It usually takes me about two to three fics before I fully “understand” the character’s personality… and Colt turned out to be MUCH HARDER to write about (I kept rewriting this from the beginning at least 10 times). So, apologizes if you this sucks and is totally ooc 😬😬

I half-heartedly blame it on the fact that my memory is garbage and I’m too broke to rewatch it in theaters.

But, nonetheless, I’m happy to add and help populate the growing fandom — even if this isn’t up to par.

And to everyone who is still reading this, thank you for making me not feel alone with my Fall Guy obsession 🥹🫶

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 5

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The fifth time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — when you finally decide you've waited long enough to tell him what he means to you.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word (sending directly to the rest because Tumblr isn't cooperating)

Author’s Note: Things are heating up!!! As you can tell, this chapter is a bit longer, and I can promise you, it's got a lot of good stuff in it :D By far my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have, and I appreciate all your kind words and support so much!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

A week after you’ve made an official friendship declaration with Colt Seavers, you’re back on the dim, grimy underground train station set, getting ready to watch him throw himself in front of a moving train.

At the moment, Colt is standing on the other side of the train tracks, and you’re watching him from a considerable distance across the set. You have every reason to be there — this is the set you’ve been working on day and night for the last month, after all — but you’re not the least bit worried about any of your props or decorations. All you care about is making sure Colt pulls off one of his most dangerous stunts yet.

It’s been a strange week for you. On one hand, you’re glad that Colt knows you have some feelings for him, and that your friendship has been able to carry on without becoming awkward. His sincere, unexpected apology only made your feelings stronger, but you’re trying to ignore that.

All the same, being “just friends” is the slowest, most excruciating torture you’ve ever known. For one whole week, Colt has not done a single thing that could be interpreted as overly flirtatious, just as he promised he wouldn’t so you could be spared the pain. No subtle touches, no saucy looks, no double-edged words. It’s kind of him, really.

It also hurts like a razorblade on a third-degree burn.

Still, it’s better than nothing. As long as you can have him in your life in some way, you’re satisfied to try to quell these overwhelming feelings that threaten to break free at any moment. You’re in love with him — you know that now if you never knew it before — but you just have to be content knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way. That you have to love him as you’d love a friend.

So here you are, being a supportive friend as he casts himself headfirst into a dangerous situation. This stunt involves standing in for the film’s star, Tom Ryder, whose character is supposed to be shackled to a railroad track directly in the path of a moving train, only to break free just in time. Colt’s job is to pretend to be shackled down and jump up in plenty of time to clear the path of the moving train, which is, to your great dismay, not a prop in the slightest.

As the camera crew makes their last arrangements to start filming this shot, Colt turns from fiddling with a handcuff prop to catch your eyes in the crowd that has gathered to watch. He smiles when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting and throwing his trademark thumbs-up high above his head.

Your heart speeds up at the sight of Colt’s smile, and you wave back at him in what you hope is an encouraging manner.

“Hey, relax,” a female voice says in your ear. You turn to see Holly grinning at you as she walks back to the cameras that are already in position. “He’s done this kind of thing a million times.”

You cut your eyes at her with a smirk. “I’m not worried,” you insist.

Holly lifts both eyebrows and laughs at you, always able to read what you’re really thinking. You laugh with her, glad to feel the knot in your stomach loosening a little. Holly gives your hand a quick squeeze in encouragement before taking her place at the lead camera station.

When you look back at the set, Colt is already in position, crouched down on one knee with his hands behind his back. You know he’s not actually tied down, but even seeing the fake handcuffs almost makes you wish you hadn’t come to watch.

Elijah Gordon, the director, is shouting some instructions at the crew as they make their last-minute preparations. He’s already cued the train to start moving, as it takes nearly half a mile to get the desired speed for the shot.

“One minute, people!” Gordon bellows, situating himself on a camera dolly high enough that he can see the action below. “We’re doing this in one take, or we’re not doing it at all. Colt, remember I want it to look real!”

Colt grins up at Gordon, his face smeared with fake dirt and his teeth shining like a white band through the grime. “It is real, Gordon!”

Gordon gives a curt nod, then listens to a voice over the walkie-talkie. Though your mind is focused on watching Colt, you can’t help the creeping disdain that you always feel when it comes to Elijah Gordon. The man is a phenomenal director, but he’s also the most callous, self-centered, inconsiderate person you’ve ever known. Knowing Colt’s life is more or less in Gordon’s hands makes you feel queasy.

The train whistle pierces the echoey tunnel chamber, and Gordon lifts his megaphone to shout, “Roll cameras!”

You put both hands over your mouth, dreading having to watch the scene play out. Colt looks entirely confident where he kneels on the railroad track, but you can’t help wondering what he feels in moments like this. Does he get scared? Does he lose faith in his own abilities? Does he ever doubt that the stunt will work perfectly? Can he afford to think like that?

A second train whistle stabs your ears, and you can feel your heart beating faster than ever before. You feel like you’re the one lingering on the tracks.

You can see the train now, and your eyes flit back to Colt, whose face is mostly hidden by the bandanna tied around his forehead. His muscles are tensed, ready to spring away at the perfect second. Gordon is shouting directions, his voice barely audible above the racket of the approaching train. He holds up his hand high in the air, signaling to Colt to stay in position.

The train eats up another hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred. Gordon’s hand doesn’t budge, and Colt keeps his eyes on the director for his cue to move.

You can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, and it takes all your willpower not to screw your eyes shut. You keep them open as if caught in a trance, bouncing back and forth between Colt and the train as if you’re watching a tennis match.

The train rumbles closer and closer, now near enough that you can see the face of the man driving the engine. You hold your breath, waiting for Gordon to throw his hand down in a signal to Colt.

But Gordon’s hand doesn’t move. Another screeching whistle. The train is less than a hundred yards away now.

You know he should have given Colt the signal by now — you were there for the days of blocking and planning that went into this scene. Suddenly your lungs constrict as you realize Gordon is pushing Colt for a few more seconds on the tracks, long enough to make the film audiences gasp.

“Stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice is drowned out by the roar of the train. Your feet are carrying you in a sprint before you even register your own movement. Two hundred feet away now.

“Gordon, stop it!” The director can’t hear you, but Holly does, whirling around and grabbing you by both arms to stop you from getting any closer to the set. You can see Colt’s eyes get wider as he realizes that Gordon isn’t lowering his arm.

Everything in your entire being is shuddering, wanting to shut down, wanting to scream, to explode into action, but Holly beckons for two other crew members to help hold you back. All you can do is watch as the train draws closer and Colt waits for Gordon’s signal. One hundred feet.

“Holly, make him stop!” you scream at your friend, whose distressed expression tells you you’re not alone in your confused panic.

At the last second, with the train less than fifty feet away, Gordon throws his hand down, and Colt is already in motion, somersaulting off the track and into the safety zone as the train — all forty tons of it — whizzes over the space that Colt occupied seconds ago.

Holly and her two crew members hold you back a second longer, and when the red light on the camera flickers off, you break past them and run as fast as you can onto the set. You can barely see where to step as you climb over the platform and down into the dingy, darkened train tunnel, tears blurring your vision and your pulse hammering in your ears.

Colt is leaning against the wall of the tunnel, his face as white as a ghost. Several crew members have already gathered around him, but you shove past them and throw your arms around his neck, uncaring of what anyone might think. You can feel Colt trembling in your arms even as his easygoing voice whispers in your ear, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Once you’re satisfied that he really is alive, you pull back, framing his face in your hands and searching his eyes with what you know must be a crazed look. Colt doesn’t say anything more; the color is slowly returning to his face, and his nerves are calming down now that the adrenaline wears off. He doesn’t, however, loosen his grip on you, betraying how shaken he still is.

“Nice work, Colt,” bellows a voice from the train platform. “That was just what we needed.”

At the sound of Gordon’s voice, all you can see is red.

Setting your jaw, you turn away from Colt and stride back to the platform with more rage than you can remember feeling in your entire life. Every muscle in your body is quaking visibly, and your voice rings out loud and clear over the chaos in the set when you shout, “How dare you?”

Gordon turns from his conversation with a cameraman and gives you a nonplussed glance. When he realizes that your yell and your power walk are directed at him, he dismisses the cameraman to deal with you head-on.

“Something you want to discuss?” Gordon asks you, condescension dripping from his voice.

Behind you, you hear Colt making his way onto the platform, his calm voice assuring you, “Hey, it’s okay—”

But you’re not in the mood to be comforted. “It is not okay, Colt,” you shout, your eyes still locked on Gordon. Every eye on the set is directed at you, now that you’ve chosen to make a huge scene with Elijah Gordon himself. Colt pulls to a stop beside you, but your words are still pointed at Gordon. “How could you make him do that? How dare you make him do that?”

“There wasn’t any real risk, kid,” Gordon says flippantly. “Keep your bonnet on.”

“No real risk?” you demand. “Did we just see the same scene? Colt was trying to get off the tracks to stay alive, and you forced him to stay on longer so you could get a ‘closer call’ on camera.”

Gordon’s brows lower at that. “Again, not life-threatening,” he snaps. “If it were, Colt wouldn’t have finished the stunt, and I wouldn’t have made him do it.”

“You weren’t the one staring down the headlights of a train!”

Colt rests his hand on your elbow in an attempt to get you to calm down, but Gordon fires back at you immediately, “He’s a stuntman, my dear. In case you folks in the set decorating department don’t know what that is, it means he does stunts. Sometimes those stunts are dangerous.”

Gordon’s arrogance only inflames your anger more. “I am completely aware that his job comes with risks,” you shout. “But those risks shouldn’t come from a toffee-nosed director who thinks human life is something to play with like a deck of cards.”

You feel Colt stiffen beside you, and his grip on your arm grows firmer. “Hey, it seriously is okay,” Colt assures you. “Just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it, Colt. If that train had been a few seconds off count, you wouldn’t be part of this conversation. You’d be in pieces on the train tracks.”

Gordon raises his hands to cut in, replacing the harshness in his voice with honey. “Listen, my dear, let’s just keep a clear picture of who you are, all right? You’re here to make the sets look good. You do that very nicely, and I appreciate it. So why don’t you keep your little toffee-nosed opinions off the set where the actual movies are being made, okay?”

You feel a shift in Colt’s body language again, but this time, it’s directed towards Gordon. You stand your ground, shooting a steely-eyed stare at the director that would make any action star proud.

“I bet your producers wouldn’t appreciate hearing that you risked the life of their top stuntman,” you tell him softly.

Gordon laughs out loud at that, as do a few of the crew members standing around him. “Listen, sweetheart, the producers pay me to make their movies look good,” he informs you. His voice changes then, affecting a curious, offended tone. “Aren’t you the one who’s been on a little crusade lately about doing everything with practical effects? You want to change your stance and say I should do all the stunts in VFX? Your boyfriend will be out of a job if I do that.”

A few more crew members laugh, trying to reduce some of the tension that is radiating between you. You know you’re the only person who’s freaking out about Colt’s close call — it’s not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing before — but you can’t help feeling like this is important.

“You absolute scumbag,” you hiss at Gordon. “You seriously are going to play this off like it’s just part of the process? Colt almost died—”

Holly comes up on your other side now, setting a calming hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, just—”

“I bet your producers would have loved to hear about that—”

“You need to calm down—” Holly says more firmly.

“And don’t you dare try to throw my own words at me like I’ve supported you risking people’s lives for a cool shot—”

Colt’s voice now. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” you explode, your voice echoing through the train station. “I mean, am I seriously the only one who sees any value in your life?”

Your comment is heavy, and everyone seems to feel the weight of it. Gordon hesitates, his eyes flicking back and forth between you, Colt, and Holly as if to make sure he’s not about to be physically attacked. The usual buzz of the crew is dead silent.

Finally, Gordon clears his throat and says dismissively, “If you’ve got a problem with me, kid, talk to the studio and see if they care. I can promise you they won’t.” He takes one step closer to you, and in a lower voice adds, “And in the meantime, keep your mouth shut about my processes. You’re good at your job, and I’d hate for you to have to get kicked off set just because you can’t keep your personal life separate from your professional one.”

With that, Gordon whirls around and walks back to the cameras to review the shot.

You’re still trembling with anger, your voice drying up in your throat as you realize that everyone in the crowd is still staring at you. You’re not ashamed of what you said, but you’re embarrassed that everyone on set had to witness it.

Ducking your head, you pull away from Colt and Holly and start walking out of the train station set. Only when the warm afternoon air hits your face do you realize tears have been streaming down your cheeks.

Colt is just a few steps behind you, and you look at him wordlessly, trying to read his expression. There’s not a trace of anger or confusion in his eyes — just a deep gratitude and affection. He slings his arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the set.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The irony of that question isn’t lost on you. “This isn’t about me, Colt,” you state bluntly. You raise questioning eyes to him. “Does it really not bother you that he jeopardized you? Completely unnecessarily?”

Colt shrugs, his brow furrowing as he thinks. He seems so calm now, no traces of the panicky fear he couldn’t hide immediately after the stunt. “If I felt like it was unsafe,” he says carefully, “I would have jumped off the track no matter what he said.”

Another second, and it would have been too late.

“I know,” you acknowledge, a hint of emotion creeping into your voice. “I just… I don’t know. Just… seeing everyone act like it’s so casual and not important. Like your life doesn’t even make that much of a difference—”

“Hey,” Colt murmurs, stopping and turning you to face him so he can put both hands on your shoulders. “You are reading way too far into this, Picasso. No one is trying to eradicate my existence here.”

His tone is light and his eyes twinkling, and you know he’s trying to get you to laugh this off. But you just can’t.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just hate that it seems like I’m the only one who cares if you live or die. Including you.”

Your last statement makes Colt pause. You see the hesitation in his eyes as he mulls over what you’re implying. “Not true,” he replies at last, pulling you back under one arm as you resume walking towards the tents that have been set up for the crew.

“Really? Because you act like you don’t care.” Your voice holds no edge, no accusation. “You get more and more reckless with every stunt, and it just… it kills me to watch.”

You know you’re saying too much. You know you’re pushing the “just friends” agreement. But you can’t stop.

Colt takes his time responding to that. Suddenly, he seems to be really listening to the hidden meanings in your words, realizing that your outburst toward Gordon was indicative of something a lot deeper, something that you’re trying to communicate to him now. You can feel his steady heartbeat against your side, the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder. His steps are perfectly synchronized with yours.

“Look, I don’t have a death wish,” Colt explains at last, a serious note in his voice. “This is my job; I love the danger that comes with it. It’s like I said, both of us do our jobs because it’s our passion, no matter the risks.”

You shake your head. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was mad at you.”

Colt genuinely chuckles at that. “Believe me, it was obvious who you were mad at.”

“I guess I overdid it, huh?” You can feel some of the intense anger in your chest melting, and you let yourself release a slight laugh as you realize just what a spectacle you made: screaming at one of the world’s top directors on his own set.

“Maybe a little,” Colt confirms kindly. Once the two of you step inside one of the empty tents, he lifts his arm off your shoulders, and you turn to lean back against one of the wooden tables so you can face him. His face is still smeared with grime, and it suddenly reminds you of the moment you shared a few weeks ago, marking each other’s faces with your oil paints.

“I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it,” you concede, letting your gaze fall to the ground. “I just… felt like it needed to be said after literally everyone on set witnessed it.”

Colt nods, smirking at you and crossing his arms to lean against one of the structure beams. “Hey, I appreciated it,” he says with a wink. “No one’s ever challenged a director to demand safer working conditions for me.”

“Maybe it’s about time,” you shoot back, your heart speeding up.

“Maybe.”

The moment falls quiet. The tent is empty besides the two of you, and all you can hear is the sound of each other’s breathing and the gentle rustling of the wind against the flaps of the tent. Colt tilts his head back against the beam he’s leaning on, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. You can tell that this stunt took a toll on him, even if he’s not showing it.

Without warning, all the feelings you’ve been hiding for the last few months threaten to spill out of your lips. Maybe it was seeing him so close to death; maybe it was your impassioned rant; maybe it’s just what happens when you love someone with the desperation of a drowning person reaching for air.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt out, “I really do care about you, you know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes or lift his head back up. “Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

His tone is humorous, but you’re not letting it go now that you’re committed. It’s now or never. “No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I know we’re just doing the friendship thing, but either way, I really care about you.” Colt lifts his head to fix his eyes on you, and you choose your next words carefully so he won’t misunderstand your meaning. “If you ever think that no one cares if you survive the stunts or not, I hope you know it’s not true. There’s one person in the world who would probably go insane without you around.”

Colt doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t sound completely serious either when he responds, “Ah, you’d be fine.”

“Please tell me you don’t honestly think that.”

“Look, Picasso, I’m just one guy in the world,” Colt reminds you, shaking his head as if he’s explaining something very simple. “You’re going to meet thousands in your career, which I know is going to be super long and super star-studded. You’ve got everything in your life to look forward to.”

You frown at him, caught off guard by his seemingly off-topic response. “Colt, what are you even talking about?”

He swallows hard, looking off to the side and trying to disguise the emotion tinging his voice. “I’m just… trying to tell you not to put so many big expectations on me. I’m the kind of guy who can only let you down.”

Your heart plummets at his words, and suddenly everything falls into place in your mind. He does care. He’s always cared. He just won’t show it because he thinks he isn’t good enough. The most wonderful man in the world thinks he isn’t good enough.

“That is not true,” you declare, standing up straight for emphasis. “You’re the kindest person I know, and the smartest, and the bravest, and the funniest—”

“I think you’re confusing me with Keanu Reeves.”

“I’m not joking around, Colt. When I’m with you, I can just be myself, and I know you’re going to be there for me. You’ve seen me at my worst, but you act like you only remember me at my best. I know it sounds crazy, but I keep getting this feeling that everything in my life has led up to meeting you. Everything you do means so much to me. Every word you say, every minute we spend together is so, so precious to me. You are so precious to me.”

Your speech seems to stun Colt senseless. You have no idea where all that came from — you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to breathe until you had told him what you were feeling. Colt stands still as he processes your words, and you don’t regret a single one.

“Wow,” he finally whispers. “I have no follow-up for that.”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t need one,” you tell him. “I just… felt like I should say it.”

Colt mulls over your words again. You wonder if anyone has ever talked to him like this, if you’re really the first one who has ever looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky. How could I be? How is it possible that no one else has ever recognized you for the treasure that you are?

“It means a lot,” Colt replies softly. “Seriously, you… you have no idea. Thank you.”

You just nod in response, not sure where to go from here. Colt isn’t acting like himself, overcome by some emotion that you’re not sure of. You don’t know whether to reiterate your statements, or to wait for him to say something, or to just stand in silence together for awhile.

Colt finally breaks the silence. “You sure you’re okay?”

You almost laugh at that, some of the tension sliding out of the atmosphere. “Yeah,” you assure him with a smile. “As long as you are.”

He nods at you, his own smile returning in a quiet sort of way. You’re transfixed by the gentle light reflecting in his eyes, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, when he holds out both arms to you, lifting an eyebrow as an invitation.

You don’t hesitate for a second. Why should you, after you just confessed every secret thought in your heart?

You step into the warm circle of his arms, and he immediately lowers his forehead to rest in the curve of your neck. Colt seems so unsure of himself in this moment, in a way that you’ve never known him to be. He’s trembling slightly again the way he was after he had just leaped off the railroad tracks. You grip your arms around his neck even tighter, and Colt wraps his arms around you so tightly you can barely breathe.

In that moment, you know your assumption was correct. He does care about you as deeply as you do about him. You can feel it in his embrace, in his very heartbeat. Every time you move to pull him closer, he mirrors your movements, closing every inch of space that has ever separated you. The grimy film makeup on his face rubs off on your neck, but it’s the sweetest touch you ever felt.

Colt catches you off guard when he tilts his head just slightly to the side, just enough that his lips are resting on the side of your neck. His manner isn’t seductive or suggestive: it’s as if he’s just breathing you in, trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms. Your sensitive skin prickles at the sensation, and one of your hands finds its way up to thread in the ragged-cut hair at the base of his neck.

You can feel his impressive strength just by the way he holds you, but you can’t help marveling at the gentleness of his hands when he reaches up to stroke the back of your head, once, twice. When he cradles the base of your neck with all the tenderness of an old lover, your stomach twists itself into a knot. He’s killing you. It’s magnificent.

Colt finally lifts his head from your shoulder, his hand still resting at the back of your head. His thumb moves in lazy circles, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and his eyes drag up your face slowly until they meet your own in a gaze that burns hotter than a supernova.

“I’ve never told you,” you whisper, your breath filling the few inches between your faces, “and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I’m in love with you.”

The words are hardly out of your mouth when Colt squeezes his eyes closed, a look of pain crossing his face. “Don’t. It’s not worth it,” he whispers back.

“It’s too late for that,” you tell him, tears choking your voice. “You don’t have to feel the same way. I just needed you to know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes, just shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in love with me,” he says softly, heartbreakingly. “My destination is a dead-end, and you deserve better than that.”

“Colt, I—”

“It’s better if we don’t go this route,” he tells you, opening his eyes so you can read the seriousness in his words. “You’ve got the most amazing future ahead of you. You’re going to be a lot better off without me dragging you down.”

Your heart constricts at his words. “Don’t you dare try to be noble about this,” you murmur, lifting your hands to frame his face. “You could never drag me down, and I couldn’t care less about what you think I ‘deserve.’ All I care about is you. All I want to do is love you, no matter what happens. If you really don’t feel that way about me, just say so. But if you feel as strongly for me as I do for you, please tell me. Please don’t break this off before we have a chance to even try it.”

The look that wells up in Colt’s eyes speaks to you in a language you’ve never understood before. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s searching for some hint that your words aren’t true, some way he can talk you out of your feelings. Realization dawns in his eyes as he reads the message you’re saying in everything but your words. I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time. You will always be enough for me. My heart is so full of you it barely even feels like it’s mine anymore.

He doesn’t kiss you — the distance between your lips and his feels like an interminable distance — but he lowers his face to yours in a way that is so tender, so intimate that all the breath leaves your body at once. He lets his cheek rest against yours, his beard brushing your skin softly, gently. You let your arms wrap around his neck again to pull him closer, nuzzling the side of his face with yours so he feels your meaning: I don’t ever want to let you go.

When his lips brush against your jaw, right below your ear, you can’t suppress your sharp intake of breath. You feel his hands resting on your waist, pulling you close against him, and you can hear his breath coming raggedly. He’s so different when he’s like this — no false confidence, no alleviating jokes, just the passion he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

You slide your fingers into his hair, and you can feel him react to your touch instantly. He raises his face from where he’s been resting it against yours, savoring in the contact every slow inch he moves. His eyes are closed when he brings his face level with yours again, his breath ghosting over your lips in a way that is so effortlessly tantalizing. It takes all your strength not to tip your head back and drown in his kiss.

With his hand still resting on the back of your neck, Colt pulls you in close one more time, letting his forehead touch yours gently. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent that envelops him — pine needles, cinnamon, and something salty. One moment more, just enough to savor how it feels to be wrapped up in the very essence of him, and Colt pulls back, releasing you from his hold.

“I just can’t do it to you, Picasso,” Colt says, his voice hoarse and strained. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart plummets at his words. It wasn’t enough. All of it wasn’t enough to convince him of your love. Your words are the opposite of what you want to say, but you know there can be no other response. “If that’s what you want,” you answer quietly. “I’ll respect it.”

“I know.”

You take a few steps back, trying to ignore the agony that is so obvious is his voice. Colt still looks like he wants to snatch you back into his arms and beg you to repeat the confession you just laid at his feet, but he doesn’t. He’s too strong, too stubborn, too sure he’s truly doing the right thing by letting you go. You don’t try to talk him out of it. You love him too much to try to change his mind.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You take care of yourself,” you murmur with a sad smile. “I mean it.”

“I will.” Colt doesn’t even attempt a smile back, the ache in his heart obvious on his face. His gaze wanders over your face for a moment longer, and then he turns and ducks out of the tent.

Once he’s gone, all you can do is bury your face in your hands and weep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 6