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Key: * - Ongoing Series; ** - Smut
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Aaron Taylor Johnson
White Light* -- Ghost Romance, ATJ x Reader
Dave Lizewski One-Shots -- Mostly college/adult Dave.
Tangerine One-Shots -- Standard warnings for drugs, smut, and violence.
Count Vronsky x Socialite!Reader (Request)
Bubblegum Bitch -- Dave Lizewski x Bimbo!Reader
WIP: The Craft of the Muse -- Writer!ATJ x Singer! OFC
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Chris Evans (No longer writing for)
Koala-ing -- Fluff/Comfort, CE x Plus-Sized!Reader
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Danny Ramirez
Warped*: Part I, Part II -- Jake Seresin x Reader x Mickey Garcia
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Dev Patel
Wildflower -- Prince!Dev x Witch!OFC
Work/Wife Balance** -- Office Affair, Dev x Reader
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Glen Powell
Warped*: Part I, Part II -- Jake Seresin x Reader x Mickey Garcia
En•mi•ty — Russ Holliday x Assistant!Reader
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Henry Cavill (No longer writing for)
Flora -- Meetcute, Writer!HC x Reader
Heavy Weight -- Hurt/Comfort, Boxer!August Walker x Reader
Undone** -- Vampire!HC x OFC (Note: Henry's character is called James, but it IS HC.)
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Jon Bernthal
The Girlfriend Experience** -- Frank Castle x OFC
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Oscar Isaac
The Next Great American Epic** -- Professor!Oscar x Reader
summary: stack moore is a man that hates the idea of settling down. he loves indulging in as many women as possible just because they throw themselves at him. but eventually, he meets his match in annie, a woman who doesn't need him and makes sure he knows it. after confronting her, she keeps touting that once he gets with her, he won't ever want to leave; he encourages her to make good on her words—and practice what she preach.
cw: smut, edging, oral!sex, sassy!annie, they're shameless whores, no mention of elijah, use of the nword
a/n: based on Barry White's Practice What You Preach!! my baby @aizawash0e tagged me in that one annie x stack edit (in october.... sorry) ifykyk, so all thanks to her! and thank you @lilbitt for your replies on my last annie x stack!!
masterlist
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The sun was high in the sky, sweeping over the flat plains of the Mississippi Delta. The air permeated with the scent of soil as Annie worked her garden slowly. She wasn't in a rush to do anything. It was the first Monday of the month, so as usual, she had no customers to tend to. Her shop was closed, and her mind was empty enough to just feel at peace in her garden, alone and with her plants.
She hummed a soft tune, some crooning blues song she had a tendency to hear pouring from the horn of her phonograph. She swayed her hips as her garden hoe ruffled the ground beneath her, cutting at weeds.
She was at peace—calm for the first time in a week.
Annie heard the truck even before it turned onto her property. He always had a tendency of pushing that gas way too hard when coming down the main road. He said he like to lived life on the edge—that he liked feeling the breeze on his face—but the woman didn't understand it. He was so loud that everybody and they mama would’ve been able to hear the man coming if Annie didn't live deep in the woods.
"Now, you lookin' too delicious to be out here playin' in the dirt," she heard his voice whistle from the other side of the yard. It was sickly sweet, tempting with an edge of greed. The sound of it sent shivers down her since, but she kept her head down to hide the slow grin he brought out of her. His feet landed slyly atop gravel as he trekked her way.
"You see anybody else out here to do it," she threw in his direction, hoe still knocking at the ground, tone strong and sharp. The question made his grin strengthen, the toothpick between his lips being dragged away by sly fingers.
"I would assist ya'," he started slow, purposely leaving openness in his tone, "if you let me." She could practically hear the smile through his words, but she didn't let them settle into her body like they had a tendency to do.
“So pretty boys like manual labor now,” she questioned, finally meeting his gaze. She scoffed as he attempted to cut her with his eyes and bring her down to her knees. It was something he did easily with any other woman in Clarksdale or Chicago or wherever else in the world he'd tried it—but Annie wasn’t like the women he’d dealt with before.
“I don’t mind gettin’ dirty. Not for you,” he admitted, golds shining at her from the height of the sun. He played with the toothpick between his plush lips, looking her up and down now. Annie could tell he was trying to be honest, but a player will always be a player in her book. “Why you stay dodgin’ me, baby?” Annie chuckled at that question—at how puzzled the man was to not be needed by a woman. It was quite comical.
"Every woman in the Delta den' had yo' ass, Stack” Annie condemned, leveling him with her intimidating eyes, but he just laughed away the unease she gave him. He saw their interactions as a game—a game he needed to win. Whether it be by being slick-mouthed or sweet, he was wedded to the idea of making the woman his. But Annie tutted at his smirk, rolling her eyes and pursing her lips. “You couldn't handle me even if I let you try, baby.” Her voice carried a comical lilt that was blooming somewhere in her chest.
She knew this routine. A man would chase her down just because they got a whiff of her unbothered nature. They'd talk about how they just wanted one chance, one night, one fling. And after that chance, they'd be stuck to her like glue.
It was inevitable. It came with being the type of woman she was.
It wasn't magic. Wasn't passion. Wasn't lust.
It was just Annie.
And she knew Elias Moore would fall down that same pattern.
The man laughed boastfully, not believing a single word she had to say. Her name was often thrown around town. Not because she was loose or had been kept by many men, but because she was just that damn magnetizing.
Part of the reason why he wanted a chance with her was to see what all the talk was about and to prove that he could have whatever woman he wanted. Even her.
"Well, what about that time in there on yo' couch," he sharply threw the woman’s way. His tone with agitating—prideful and arrogant in a way she didn't appreciate. It was one time. A moment of weakness when she was in between men because all of them had lost their mind's and thought she belonged to them. As weak as she may have felt about it, Annie was in control in every way; She always was.
The woman stopped working her hoe and slipped into the memory, both of them becoming intoxicated in what had occurred just a few nights before.
Stack sat on his haunches, knees pressed into the hardwood floor as Annie parted her thighs above him. She sat on the couch, spread out like the royalty she was, and he was destined to worship her. Her dress fanned out between her parted thighs, and she smoothly raised her right eyebrow at the man. A signal to worship.
Throwing the dress up over her legs, Stack admired the way her thighs perfectly guided him to her heated arousal. Annie was dripping through her panties, but her face remained calm—like Stack wasn’t even there, like she didn’t need anything he was about to give her, like she could send word to any man in the Delta and he’d come running.
Because Lord knows that's true.
It presented him with a challenge: make her scream and beg like no man had made her before. The only downside in his plan was that he was unaware that it was a losing battle; Because when his tongue fell upon her wet clit, throbbing and sweet against his lips, Stack was the one that ended up moaning incessantly, wanting more than his fill of her.
"That wasn't shit,” she growled in his direction, setting the heel of the hoe against the ground and leaning against the gardening tool. “You ate my pussy,” she confirmed, pretending to be indifferent with a shrug of her shoulders. “That's what you supposed to do.”
She rolled her neck at him, pouting in confusion at his appalled face. Elias' brows scrunched up, eyes dragging toward the side. She could see the words forming in his head, the idea he thought would poke holes in her statement.
"And what you supposed to do?"
Stack grinned wide, dimples breaking through his skin as he thought he’d gotten her, but Annie matched his grin with ease. She stepped forward, hoe punctuating her strides as she moved with a calculated purpose. Her eyes remained on his the entire time, unwavering. As she came to stand directly in front of the man, she dragged her attention down the length of his body. She purposely teased. She lingered too long near the seat of his pants.
Stack let her watch, let her analyze. She was like him in many ways—the closest match he'd ever met—but something about her gaze made him deliciously nervous. Her smile made unease settle within him, but he still wouldn’t allow his resolve to falter.
Her mouth finally opened as she focused back on his face, his dimples, his eyes. Her lips guided her words to his ears.
"I’m supposed to sit back,” she smiled softly, eyes burning, “and watch you beg for more.”
Stack sat beneath, knees aching in glorious recognition, mustache becoming drenched in her arousal, tongue lapping at her sweet, tangy essence. She was better than any woman he’d had before. Than any food he’d every tasted. And while he was a real cooze indulger, something about Annie on his lips was doing him in.
He hadn’t even had the full thing yet—just a few kisses and prolonged hugs here and there—but he was setting it up in his mind to make her his main girl. The one he came to when the nights were cold and the body needed to be warmed.
He could feel his soul caving to her, needing more of what she had to give. The taste of her on his tongue wasn’t enough. The scent of her against his face wasn’t enough. The feeling of her cumming deliciously by the hard work of his tongue wasn’t enough.
“Where you goin’,” Stack inhaled a deep breath trying to get himself back together after making the woman reach her orgasm no less than ten seconds ago. She had already pulled her panties back up her thighs and let her dress brush the floor again as she sauntered over to the front door.
“I’m assistin’ you on your way out,” she informed, one hand on her hip, the other gripping the door knob as she held it open.
“Quit playin,” the man laughed heartily. He palmed himself through his pants as he stood. He licked his lips, trailing his eyes over her soft curves, but when he reached her face, he realized how serious the woman was. He attempted to tuck his face into her neck, to kiss her pulse point and ease the crease between her brows. But he scoffed when Annie jerked her body back. “So you don’t want none of this dick?” He was utterly puzzled. Beyond confused. No woman had ever turned him down like this. No woman had ever allowed him to eat her out and then not beg for more.
“No, I don’t, Elias,” she rolled her eyes, looking at him like he was wasting her time even though her body was still buzzing with the remnants of the orgasm he’d given her. He definitely knew what he was doing in the cooze eating department, but that was besides the point. She’d gotten her nut, and that was all she needed. A quick li'l something while she was in between men. “Now get out my damn house,” she instructed once again, patience hanging on by a thread.
“I ain’t beg you for shit,” Stack growled, jaw tightening at her taunting words, but Annie just smiled that cunning smile. Her hand raised up, perfumed wrist wafting past his nose. The scent of elderberry and gardenia engulfed his senses, causing his eyes to glimmer at her. Her soft palm connected with his jaw, thumb gliding over his bottom lip.
“Oh, baby,” she chuckled. She leaned impossibly closer, lips brushing his ear. Her next words caused his breath to hitch. “I know you remember groanin’ my name while yo’ face was in it.”
“God, Annie,” the man moaned, gliding his tongue against her folds. He held her legs back, pushing them to their limit as he tried to get as deep in her as possible. He was panting in her pussy, sweat drenching his face as he cowered under her. “Please,” he groaned while nipping at her skin softly, “I need more.”
“And I need you to finish your fuckin’ job,” she demanded. Her voice was heavy with pleasure. The man was working her body good, fucking her cooze like he’d had the thing mapped out and studied. No man had been able to make her feel this good on the first try, and the way he was moaning into her made an idea pop into her head. Maybe I should keep him, she thought, immediately blocking that from her mind cause she didn’t need everything Elias came with. A hand cradled the back of Stack’s head as Annie began to ride his face to oblivion.
“Mhm,” she moaned, head tossed back on the cushion of her couch. Her eyes screwed shut as the thought kept popping up. She needed a better distraction, and his mouth wasn’t one of them. “You like the taste of this pussy don’t you?” The question wasn’t meant to give her something else to ponder, but it forced Stack’s breath to quicken. He grabbed ahold of her ass cheeks before speaking.
“Fuck, yes,” Elias pulled back enough to be able to moan against her. The vibrations crawled through Annie’s body, causing her back to arch off the couch. “Please, Annie. Fuck!” His hands clawed at her thighs and ass. His lower body scooted as close to the couch as possible as he devoured her.
He clung to her in ecstasy—her name spilling from his lips over and over again.
“Ain’t my fault I like to say yo’ name,” Stack grinned away the truth, looking at Annie from top to bottom. The woman tilted her head, eyes remaining on his as her chest brushed against him.
“I know you don’t be sayin’ them other heffas names like you say mine,” she postulated, shaking her head at the back and forth of their conversation. It was true. Elias never ran behind other women like he ran behind her, and she had only let him eat her out once. The man wouldn’t leave her alone—he’d show up at her shop, on the front doorstep of her home, somewhere out in town when he couldn’t find her otherwise—but she didn’t exactly dislike the attention. “You don’t remember half of them girls’ names anyway,” she added, knowing it to be a fact. And with that, Annie turned away and back towards her garden. She had weeds to excavate and a day to enjoy without the lustful eye of Stack on her.
But the man stayed watching from afar, toothpick between his fingers, smile on his lips, light in his eyes.
“You real different,” he started, sighing out a longing breath. Annie looked up at him again, raising her eyebrows questioningly like he meant something malicious behind it. But he caught it quick, easing her thoughts by providing her with an explanation. “Not in a bad way,” he started with a grin. “I like how different you is. It makes me what you more.”
“Well, you ain’t gettin’ more,” she responded smoothly, ignoring his presence as she worked. She refused to look at him. Refused to engage.
But the man just stood there, watching her pull out weeds and clip herbs like the professional she was. Annie could feel his eyes trailing down the line of her back, and heat rose where she could feel them. Turning toward him with an exasperated sigh, Annie grumbled what she felt he needed to hear.
“How many times I gotta tell you that you can’t handle me?” The question landed thickly between them, causing Stack’s smile to drop for just a second before he recovered. “The second you get a chance to really have this, you gon’ be stuck to my ass worser than you are now, and I don’t need no turned out nigga tryin’ to ruin my peace.” Annie took her solitude and tranquility seriously. With a job that involved burdening herself with other people’s lives and problems, she had to have a life of her own that made sense. Something quiet and practical, and Stack was anything but that. “You already annoyin’ me, and you ain’t even got shit yet,” she added as evidence, hoping it would shut him down, but of course it didn’t do much to ward the man off.
“So you sayin’ that cooze gon’ turn me out? Elias Moore of all people?” He looked at her with a squinted eye and an amused gaze, but Annie just kept working away at her garden, wanting the conversation to be over.
“I just said that, didn’t I?”
The man bursted out laughing, back hunched over as he attempted to catch his breath, heaving and gasping hard. He’d never been hooked on a woman like she was insinuating. He didn’t run behind folks. He didn’t chase. But beneath his laughter, something grew strong in his chest. She was telling the truth about his persistence lately.
Before she let him eat her out, he was always easing his way toward her, smiling all bright, asking for hugs and li’l kisses to get himself on her good side. And when they finally got to business, Elias was hooked on that shit like he’d gotten the opportunity to taste all of her.
Despite all of that truth though, Stack rolled his eyes with a chuckle.
“No offense, baby," he began, voice lilting. "Your foreplay blows my mind, and that cooze taste like straight honey, but ain’t no woman ever turned me out.” Annie shook her head, bending over to pick up some roots and weeds. She could still sense his eyes on her, and while it made a shiver run down her spine, she didn't let it show one bit.
“You gon’ learn yo’ lesson eventually,” Annie spoke as she stood back up to full height, chucking the weeds into her wheelbarrow, “but it ain’t gon’ be from me.” She whispered the words under her breath, aware that the man was straining to hear every word like they gave him life.
Stack cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side.
“Well, here I am, baby," he cooed, voice softening at the edges. "Practice what you preach then.”
Annie stopped her movements, her back to him before she turned around smoothly. She curled her finger, an indication for the man to come closer, and he swiftly obeyed. Stack walked toward her, legs striding slowly as his grin curled into something nasty.
“You change your mind, mama,” he wondered aloud. The toothpick between his lips lifted with his grin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as Annie looked at him like fresh meat. She came real close to his face again, breath coasting across his soft lips. Then she dragged that toothpick from between them.
“Elias,” she whispered between them, lips just barely touching his. The man swallowed thickly, leaning in to capture her mouth.
But Annie pulled away.
“Get the hell off my property.”
He stumbled—confused and taken aback. He'd never let a woman talk as recklessly as Annie talked to him. He'd never been turned down so harshly. But he brushed his shoulders off, yanking his toothpick from between her nimble fingers with attitude.
"I know you want me, woman," Stack countered gruffly. He started back towards the front yard, mind already running with ways to get Annie on his side. As much as he didn't realize it, he needed her. The little bit of her body and amusement that he'd been given had him obsessed.
He was ready to work for her in whatever way he needed to.
~~~~~
For almost a week, the two ducked and dodged each other—well, Annie was doing most of the ducking and dodging. She’d had enough of Stack and how he couldn’t seem to leave her alone.
He’d been randomly popping up at her home, knocking ceaselessly on the door until she opened it to shoe him away. He always ended up leaving as told, telling the woman he just wanted to see her pretty face. He had also been following her around town, lingering near the walls of her favorite stores, insisting that he pay for her items.
One day, while in town at Chow’s Grocery, Annie riffled through troughs of peaches, attempting to find the most ripe ones. As she rose the fruit to her nose to find the sweetest, she noticed a different scent making its way into the room: a scent she knew well followed by the laugh of the cunning, sly man.
The woman was swift to hid behind a shelf of preservatives while he talked to Bo. His tone was playful, edging on something more serious as the pair slipped into a back closet to talk more freely. Their voices became muffled behind the door, and Annie attempted to make her escape quick and unnoticed.
It wasn’t that she was afraid to see Stack—or to be seen by him. She just didn’t want to deal with the headache of shutting him down again. Elias Moore was persistent, something she appreciated about him very well, but every time he got to talking in her face and started whispering low and slow, she was brought back to the feeling of his lips on hers.
As much as she wanted to deny it, Elias was something sweet. Sweeter than any peach over in that trough. He talked sweet—like honey was falling into the space between them; He whistled sweet—vocal chords singing like an angel on high; And Lord knows he can fuck real sweet—bringing Annie to her peak of pleasure where the richest sugar flowed from between her parted legs.
She hated when she got to reminiscing like this. When she moved her body a certain way and could still feel him on his knees. When she heard that laugh somewhere across a room or behind a storage closet door and could feel a shiver run up her back in memory.
“Will that be all,” Grace asked as she rang the woman up. She was chuckling under her breath from what she’d just witnessed, finding it beyond hilarious the idea of Annie Laveau and Stack Moore.
“Yes, this is all,” Annie confirmed, sitting the rest of her items on the counter. Her mind was distant, having a hard time tuning in to the world around her when she could still her Stack’s sweet voice edged with something wicked just one room over. But then Grace’s laugh got louder, bolder, and heat rose to Annie’s face in embarrassment. She focused her eyes on the other woman, raising her eyebrow in question. “What’s so damn funny?”
“You,” Grace laughed, holding her stomach in hilarity. She didn’t mean any harm. She knew Stack well, knew Annie better, but the shock of seeing it all play out in front of her had hit the woman in a way she hadn’t expected. “You in here hidin’ behind shelves like Stack won’t come sniffin’ you out,” Grave cackled loudly, prompting Annie to shush her. Her eyes darted to the door, ears trying to pick up on any sign that he was coming. “Seriously, Anne,” Grace giggled, “even if you only gave that man one li’l whiff, he ain’t ever gon’ give you peace.”
“Stop ‘fore he come back out here,” Annie waved her hands in front of her friend’s face. Grace was very aware of the brewing situation between Annie and Stack. She’d seen things grow between them, knowing that neither of them were the relationship or settling down type. But even in her laughter, Grace saw something there that could be lasting—if they both just got out of their own way. Annie was too stubborn, and Stack was too suave; And they both thought they were better off without having a permanent relationship.
Annie kept looking towards the door Bo and Stack had retreated to, praying that her friend would hurry with ringing up her items so she could get the hell out of dodge.
But of course, fate has its way of playing games.
“Well, well, well,” she heard the voice croon behind her, and by the sound of it, the feeling of eyes along her backside, and the chuckling of her friend in front of her, Annie knew exactly who it was.
“Elias Moore,” she spoke, not really a greeting but an acknowledgment.
“Annie Laveau,” he smiled, face seeming different than usual. There seemed to be less of an act in his demeanor. He wasn’t making his eyes shine on purpose—though they still glimmered when he looked at her—and his posture was more inviting, more friendly and less like he was trying to get her to jump his bones. “You lookin’ good as always.” The compliment sent shocks through her, and her breathe quickened.
“Thank you kindly,” she whispered, feeling heat rise to her face.
“How much, Grace,” he pointed towards Annie’s bags of groceries, already pulling out his wallet. He stepped forward, gait wide and strong in a way that distracted her. Before Annie could stop him, let him know that she could manage herself, he was already paying for her things and helping to carry them toward the door.
Annie sent a scowl Grace’s way for holding her up when she could’ve been long gone before he even knew she was there, but her friend just laughed, sending a teasing wave as Annie followed Stack out the store.
“I don’t need your help, Elias,” Annie grumbled as he sat her bags in the backseat of his truck, holding the passenger door open for her to get in.
“I’ll be damned if I let you walk home in this hot ass sun with all these bags,” he condemned, leaving no room for her to retaliate. They stood facing each other, Annie’s face saying she wanted to curse him clean out, Stack’s face saying he wanted to kiss the scowl off her lips. “Come on now,” he whispered between them, low and easy so she knew he wasn't demanding anything from her. The tone still gave her room to decline if she wanted, though he hoped she wouldn't.
Annie looked down at the hand he held out to her, palm up and waiting for hers to join him.
With a reluctant sigh, she grabbed ahold of his hand, and he helped her into the cab of the truck, fingers tangling around hers unnecessarily. She sent him a look, head low and eyes forward, but he just grinned, trotting over to his side of the truck.
They rode mostly in silence. Stack was whistling a short tune—high and sweet—while looking over at Annie every now and then. He’d tap his foot and bob his head, before dragging his attention her way, and almost every time, he’d catch her gaze on him already, inquisitive and eager at the same time.
“Remind me of why you don’t want me again,” the man prompted playfully. He could feel the way she looked at him. It was edged with the same desire he had for her, but she just wouldn’t give in and he didn’t understand it. They matched each other—almost too much. They were similar in the way they sought out relationships: nothing more than little flings here and there. They both gravitated to each other no matter how hard she tried to deny it.
Annie huffed, shaking her head and crossing her arms under her heavy chest. She pulled her eyes back to the road, hoping to get home soon.
“Elias,” she cooed, using his given name smoothly. “I already told you. Once you get with me, you ain’t ever goin’ away, and I ain’t a woman to be kept.”
Stack scoffed, refusing to let defeat bloom in his chest. He gripped the wheel, facing the road again as he asked a question he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear answered.
“So you tell that to every nigga you get with?” It came out sharp, punctuated with unearned and unexpected jealousy that surprised them both. Annie quirked an eyebrow, looking at the man like he’d lost his ever-loving mind.
“Only the ones that ain’t got no sense,” she spat, turning her head toward him but keeping her body straight ahead. She didn’t want to appear inviting no matter how hard her heart thrummed for him. That bite in his tone, the jealousy neither of them ever thought would appear, set her body aflame.
“Well,” Elias began, voiced clipped from shock. He cleared his throat, pulling out the silly tone they both knew well. Vulnerability made him feel exposed, and it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Annie to see that—he just didn’t trust himself. So he put on that suave voice, easily sending chills through her body. “It ain’t my fault that I wanna learn them lessons you be tellin’ me about,” he chuckled sweetly, smiling wide and gleaming. “That li’l Louisiana accent of yours make things sound too good to my ear.”
“Mhm,” Annie hummed, shaking her head at how fast he had managed to shift the energy again. It was a feat, and his ability to do it impressed her.
The rest of the ride returned to comfortable silence.
Elias helped Annie with putting her things away. He sat jars into her shelves, herbs onto the countertop, and when they were both finished, he stood there, not knowing whether she’d make him leave or not.
“What’s your favorite meal,” she asked, throat bobbing with nerves. She stuffed the anxiety down to appear tall in her disposition, and from the outside, she seemed completely in control of her emotions, confident and steady. Stack visibly shuttered though, alarmed that she had asked such a personal question. They’d been very surface-level. He’d tease her, and he’d leave. They’d kiss, and he’d leave. He’d eat her pussy, and he’d leave.
It was routine and what the woman had wanted, just enough to tug at that line between the intensity of desire and the need to fully give in to temptation. But here she was asking him his favorite meal.
“Um,” he replied, thinking back in his mind. Elias didn’t cook, didn’t know how to, and when he did eat good, it was either at a dinner in town or over at some random woman’s home. Annie watched him rack his brain before his eyes perked up. “I like them smothered pork chops down at Ms. Mabel’s diner,” he informed, quirking his eyebrow at her. Annie looked offended for him. Mabel’s was no where near good dining. To her, the food lacked flavor and lacked love. There was no heart in it whatsoever.
“I can make it better than Mabel,” she informed curtly, huffing in disbelief and diverting her eyes. She walked toward the front door, holding it open like she always did when it came time for him to leave, and the man immediately fell in line with her authority. “Come over Sunday night,” she demanded with slick ease, “I’ll have you a nice dinner waitin’.”
Slow yet loud, a grin flooded his face.
~~~~~
Annie moved toward the front door, crushed red velvet dress cinching her waist as it dragged helplessly against the floorboards. Her phonograph was churning out slow Blues. Her kitchen perfumed with the scent of gravy and onions. The entire house sat on edge as she put her hand on that door knob, turning it to greet the man.
Stack wore a clean cut three-piece suit: red in color, lapels sharp, handkerchief standing at attention. She couldn’t help but to admire how well the man cleaned up. Elias never went out looking halfway decent, but he was shining like a star right there on her front porch, grin plastered across his face at the realization of them matching.
He stepped inside without any direct permission, eager to seek out the pot on the stove that held his dinner. But as he crossed the threshold of her home, his body immediately gravitated toward Annie, the waiting pot long forgotten.
“Damn, baby,” he groaned, pushing Annie’s body against the now-closed front door. The wood bit into her skin as Stack leaned into her neck. He took a deep breath of her, letting her honeyed scent fill his lungs and the sound of her soft whimpers flood his ears. “You look so good,” he commented, planting a kiss on her jaw. “You smell so good,” he added, kissing down her neck. “And, God, do you taste good,” he completed, licking a long stripe from the top of Annie's left titty to her collarbone.
“Elias,” she moaned, hips bucking against him at his greedy assault. Her hands tangled in the fabric of his suit jacket, trying desperately to hold on as he tasted her. It was always like this. She’d try to put on a brave face, but then he’d get to tasting on her, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in.
“I just can't get enough of you,” he swooned. The man lifted Annie into the air, her legs circling his hips as he moved toward the bedroom. Annie was dazed out of her mind, confused and thrown aback, but as they approached the back of the house, she began tapping his shoulder.
“Put me down, Stack,” she tried to convince unsuccessfully, not even wanting it herself. The man kept walking, grunting as he hoisted her up higher on his hips. “I made you dinner,” she reminded, looking back toward the kitchen as he ventured deeper into her house. “The least we could do is eat first.”
“That food’ll be there when I’m done wit’ you,” Stack commanded as he kicked her bedroom door in. The overwhelming scent of Annie flooded his lungs. “I’m too ready for you to teach me how to behave because apparently I don't know no better.” Sitting her on the edge of the bed, Annie looked up at him, eyes big and round yet somehow cutting through him at the same time.
She took in his attire, humming lightly at the way his suit fit so well. Her hands then joined her pursuit. Running her fingers along his thighs and across the bulge forming in his pants, Annie pulled deep groans from the man’s chest.
"I ain't say you was gettin' none of me tonight," she teased, licking her lips as she grabbed at the man's thighs, fingers fighting the urge to travel toward his belt buckle. She wanted it as bad as she was trying to convince herself against it.
Stack laughed lowly, looking down at her like she was the only sight he ever wanted to see.
"We both know what yo' plan was," he bantered, thinking back to how she'd invited him over, cheeks heating up in delight because she knew he'd obey her demand. There was no way in Hell this wouldn't have been the outcome. His fingers lifted her chin, forcing Annie's eyes on his. "While I'm thankful for the dinner and will be enjoyin' it later,” the man began, leaning into her face, breath drifting across her lips, “I got other things I'm wantin' to eat right now.”
Leaning down, Elias picked Annie up by her hips, throwing her back onto the bed. The woman let out a shocked gasp, looking around as she processed how she ended up in this position. She didn’t too much mind being picked up, but she didn’t want Stack thinking he controlled any situation with her in it. She lowered her eyes as the man removed his tie. He threw it onto a chair in the corner of the room before proceeding to remove his vest and unbutton his shirt.
“What makes you think you finna just be throwin’ me around, Elias,” Annie condemned, dragging her eyes over his sturdy chest and down his abs. The man was thick in all the right places, and she was ready to put that thickness to use.
“You liked it didn’t you,” the man chuckled his question, folding his shirt and vest and leaving it with his tie and suit jacket. As he began unbuckling his belt, he felt Annie’s hands halting him.
“Let me,” she whispered seductively, crawling toward the end of the bed. She settled on her haunches, thick thighs cushioning her body as she pulled his belt from the loops. The movements were slow yet tantalizing. One hand moved down the length of the man’s thigh, pulling a shiver from his body that he tried his best to keep at bay. Annie was always good with her hands. Always good with teasing him.
He’d been waiting forever it seemed to have her satisfy him, and he didn’t even know what he was in for.
“Don’t say I ain’t warn you,” Annie growled as she held his dick in her plush hands. Stack’s breath hitched for just a second as he fought to compose himself from the easy way she handled him, but when he felt her lips begin to kiss down the side of his length, the moan he let out was obscene.
When her lips wrapped around him for the first time, Stack felt his body levitating. It was like his feet were having a hard time staying planted to the ground. Annie’s hand gripped onto the front of his thighs as she sucked his dick with no help of her hands. The sound of her mouth around him was crude. The height of his moans was worse.
He could feel her tongue dragging along the underside of his length, stroking him each time she guided her mouth down to his base and back up to the top again. There, she swirled her tongue around him, moaning at how good he tasted—sweet and tangy.
Having him down her throat and watching the way his eyes fluttered back as he fought to keep his composure was making a smug smile appear on Annie’s face. She had never let him have her like this, and she could see the effects taking place already. Her hands had to practically hold the man up as his limbs turned to straight jello.
Elias was on the edge of something he’d never felt before. Months of being captivated by Annie, not even knowing how she could have him ready to melt, and he was for damn sure melting.
“Hol’ up,” he attempted to pause her assault as Annie began swallowing his dick like she never wanted to let go. He put a hand behind her head, gripping the hair at the base of her neck to slow her down, but it had the opposite effect. Moaning against him exuberantly, Annie’s body sprung into action, taking him in a way she hadn’t before.
Stack was close to the end, damn near ready to bust down her throat. He needed her to stop, but it felt too good to put in any more effort to halt her. He’d never felt so light yet grounded at the same time. It was like magic to him, a glorious sensation that gave rise to feelings he’d never experienced. He creeped closer and closer to his orgasm as Annie’s throat widened for him, her jaw slacking.
And just as he was about to cum—
She stopped.
“What the hell, woman,” Stack grumbled, blinking quickly in confusion—appalled. As he looked down at her, he found Annie with a smug grin on her face that said she knew exactly what she was doing.
“You looked like you was ‘bout to see God,” she giggled, rising up on her knees so that her face was eye level with his. She nearly moaned at the way his eye twitched. He looked worn out in the best way already—delicate and beautiful with an edge that wanted to run the whole show, but Annie reached between them. Her hands stroked his dick, covered in her spit. She leaned into his ear, cadence slow. “I need you to stay right here with me for a few minutes longer,” she moaned into his flushed, tawny skin. Her tongue tracked the length of his neck. Her lips met the shell of his ear. “I wanna finish you off proper.”
“Ain’t no ‘few minutes’ left in me,” the man shook his head. He’d closed his eyes when Annie started to whisper into his skin. It felt like she was speaking another language, putting a spell on him to make him bound to her in every way. But he wasn’t ready to admit that he had felt that way about her since they first met.
“You can wait a li’l longer, baby,” she cooed, working his entire length before settling at his tip. She stroked short and confident, making Stack shake from her control alone. The pressure was ridiculous. He was constricted by her hand, and he had no choice but to fall right in line with her command.
“Please, mama,” Elias moaned, holding Annie at her waist and pulling her in. His dick landed at the base of her stomach, heavy and still held up in her eager hand.
As she looked over his face, she went quicker, faster, and harder. Her empty hand held his jaw, keeping him in place as his head threatened to slip back. She liked watching the emotion pass across his face. The light would hit his golds with each moan, and his eyes would shine with something close to submission. Big, round, and drenched in tears he wasn’t ready to release just yet, the man’s eyes betrayed him. They showed his real emotions, and they proved that Annie was right.
He was being turned out right before her, and she’d barely done anything to him yet.
“Annie,” he choked, sobbing at how good her soft hands felt, and all the woman could do was grin filthily.
“Elias,” she moaned into his ear, holding a hand against his back as he shook violently. He responded with a small whimper of an acknowledgment, and it made her smile deepen. “Go on and cum for me, baby.”
The instructions were clear, short, and concise, but Stack didn’t need much direction anyway. He’d been holding back longer than he ever had, just wanting for her to let him have it, and when she did, he thought that was the end of him.
His eyes clouded over, and behind them, all he saw was bright flashes of light. His ears rang, sharp and incongruous—yet beautiful. His body locked into place. He wasn’t sure what was happening around him, all he knew was that he’d had the best damn orgasm of his life at the hands of a woman who told him to be careful with her.
He couldn’t even process the truth of that as he let his climax simmer in his body.
When he successfully returned to Earth, Stack found himself on his back—broad shoulders cushioned against the mattress, clothes piled up in a chair, body swimming with pleasure as he watched the woman above him.
“Elias,” Annie crooned sweetly, shedding her clothes like she had all day to tease him. She stood near the edge of the bed, attention locked on the man as she pulled her dress down her body. It slipped over her shoulders, skirting over her hips and down her thighs. She wanted him to watch as more of her skin was revealed, and with one call of his name, Stack’s eyes were wide open and glazed over.
“Damn, mama,” he groaned, leaning over to touch her. He propped his body up with his elbow, and as his fingers inched closer to Annie’s exposed thigh, she swatted him away.
“I gotta ease you into it,” she urged with a giggle, forcing his hands above his head and out of her reach. His muscles flexed against her palms, responding to the sound of her voice.
“Woman, I’ve touched you before,” he reminded, appalled at the insinuation. “I know what I’m doin’.”
“Oh, I know you do,” she huffed, smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as her panties landed at her feet, bra meeting them. “But still.”
Climbing onto his lap, Annie straddled Stack, knees sinking into the bed, wet heat meeting his already hardening dick. He had recovered quickly from his orgasm, and he was ready for her again. He took in the sight of Annie on top of him: Dark brown skin glimmering in the low light, hair fluffy and unruly near her edges, sweat blooming across her body.
She looked beautiful and unlike anything he could have ever imagined. Annie was all woman, and with the amount of people Stack had been with in his lifetime, Annie was the only one to have him this wrecked while barely having touched him.
He breathed deeply as she settled her body against his comfortably. He could feel her pussy dripping onto him, beckoning him to fill her, but something told him to just indulge in this moment. In the feeling of her pressed against him. In the heat their bodies created simply from touching. The simplicity of it was intoxicating, and he couldn’t get over how easily they fit together.
Elias grabbed Annie’s right hand, tangling his fingers with hers as he breathed through the waves she was giving him. They throbbed against each other, bodies thrumming in time.
Annie watched the man with a soft smile. She’d never seen Stack in such peace. He was quiet. His face was still. His body was still humming softly and loving every second of it without acting with haste and demanding more of her.
She placed her other hand on his jaw, asking lightly for the man to open his eyes, and when he obeyed, Annie began kissing his upper body.
Along his collarbone, she laid her hot lips against cool skin. She took her time—sometimes kissing gently, sometimes sucking a mark into his neck as a reminder. A reminder that he was hers now. A reminder that his body would never forget this feeling even if she refused to give it to him again.
“Annie,” he moaned when she sucked a little too deep, biting his flushed skin to add a new sensation into her assault. His hand that was tangled in hers reached to grab anywhere he could reach. He held onto her thigh, body shaking lightly at the feeling of her lips on his neck and her cooze fluttering against him. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He felt drunk off the little bit she’d given him, yet he desperately needed more.
The way his voice tore at the edges had her body ready to fold in on itself. She wanted him just as bad as he needed her, but she didn’t want to let him have it just because he moaned real pretty.
She wanted him to beg. To understand that he had already lost a part of the man he was. To realize that she had changed him completely.
Annie started moving her hips first, slow yet effective. She forced her cunt against his length, dragging her body against his just so she could see the way his jaw slackened in pleasure. His eyes rolled back to look up at her again, and they glossed over in that way Annie adored. It pulled a chuckle from her and made her grind down harder just so she could see more of that look.
Elias whimpered, still holding onto her hand and thigh, trying to remain grounded but losing his footing the harder she went.
Her pussy was warm, and her arousal made her glide so easily.
“Anne,” he whined, hips raising up just an inch before falling back to the bed. “I can’t take it.” His breath was heavy, chest caving in as he took large breaths. “Please,” he cried, well-groomed nails piercing her soft brown skin. “I’ll do anything,” he added. “I swear, mama.”
Leaning over his upper body, Annie braced herself on her palms, placing them both beside his head as she landed a kiss to his forehead. Then the top of his nose. Then his lips.
Elias felt like the life was being sucked out of him, but he was happy with it happening this way, with him underneath a woman—Annie at that. She wasn’t even fucking him fully yet, but he couldn’t get ahold of his bearings. He was finally starting to understand why she had niggas wrapped around her finger. He was started to understand that he was quickly becoming one of them.
That he may have been one of them for a long time.
“The fuck you doin’ to me, woman,” he groaned when his head started to feel like he was drowning in her. He grabbed at her ass, not controlling her movements but steadying himself and her. They were both shaking, moaning uncontrollably.
“I’m easin’ you into it, baby,” she laughed around a moan, just ending up whining against his lips as her clit rubbed against his tip.
If she were being truthful, Annie was just as concerned about herself as she was about him. Elias was thick—thicker than anyone she’d had before. And he was long—real long. She needed to make sure she was ready for all that dick, that her body was prepared to be filled to the brim and fucked silly.
Stack scoffed underneath her, becoming restless at the teasing but loving it all the same.
“That’s what you call this?” The question was raw, the man’s throat scratchy with need.
And all Annie could do was nod.
She nodded against his chest as she leaned into him, groaning against his skin. She was having a hard time fighting it herself. The sound of Elias’ moans in her ear had her ready to throw in the towel. The need for him to fill her came quick like a flash flood of arousal and desire running through her, and before she knew it, Annie was reaching behind her and lining the man up with her entrance.
They cried when they finally felt it: That stretch; That ache of needing each other but refusing to give in; That pull of heartstrings knowing that they were going to be tethered to each other when all of this was over.
There was no way in Hell Elias was going to let up off of Annie now that he got a chance to feel all of her. Eating her cooze was one thing. Seeing her on her knees was another. But this?
This was something he was going to hold onto with every bit of him.
Annie moaned into the man’s neck as Elias took over. His hands on her ass forced her hips into a roll now. It wasn’t the slow, teasing pace she’d set before, it was fast, punishing, punctuated with his need to please the woman and to feel her pussy throb around him.
“This what you been keepin’ from me,” he grumbled into her hair, meeting her hips with a thrust of his own. He stayed on tempo, face scrunched in pleasure as he talked them through it. “You been holdin’ out on me, knowin’ it’d be this good? Baby,” he laughed in disbelief, holding her tight, “I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere now.”
Annie whimpered, starting to fuck him back now that she felt more in control of her body. She couldn’t deny any of the things he’d said, especially that last part. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to let him go either. No one had ever been able to fuck her like this on the first go, but knowing how well he’d eaten her pussy, there should have been no question that Stack was good at what he did.
“Stack,” she moaned, grabbing at his biceps as his strokes quickened in need.
“Nah,” the man replied, shaking his head against hers. He pulled her chin out from his neck, looking her in the eyes. Both of their faces were flushed, eyes wet around the edges. He smiled at her when she made her eyes softer on purpose. “Say me name right,” he declared, wanting only to hear her crying his given name.
“Elias,” she cooed, no laugh, no giggle, no condemnation in sight—just pure pleasure.
They allowed themselves to fall into each other—Elias admitting to himself that she was right all along; Annie admitting to herself that he wasn't the only one that was going to end up sprung when the night was over.
Moaning loud and without reservation, they came one after the other. Annie was first, letting her body succumb to a pleasure she hadn't anticipated. Elias held her close as she broke apart in his arms, and she wasn't even ashamed of the way she cried out for him. Stack was next, cumming just as hard as she had with just as much gusto. He exhaled her name into the dense air of the room, loving the way it echoed around them.
“Fuck, yes,” Annie hummed softly, breath heavy in her chest. The feeling of him inside her bones was overwhelming in the best way.
She was on her hands and knees now, taking the place he had been in before. Her face was in the pillows, back arched as he fucked her from behind, nails grabbing at the bedsheets like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to Earth.
Elias was dripping in sweat, body caving to how good she felt. Her ass was connecting with his pelvis, the sound loud and reckless in his ears and hers. He groaned with each thrust of his hips, unable to keep the sound contained.
Annie was barely fucking him back now, but she still tried her best, grinding back against him in passion.
“Baby,” she struggled out, throat tightening around the cry. Her hips stopped working, locking up at the pleasure. She just needed a second to breathe, to get her body and mind back together from the emotions he was pulling out of her. “Wait a second.” The orgasm was coming fast just like his had earlier. She tried to pull away, to climb up the bed and calm herself down again, but Elias was wholly against it.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he groaned when she started to move forward. His hands gripped her hips roughly to keep her stuck in place, and he speed up his movements, fucking her into the bed.
Annie’s arch broke, making Stack collapse on top of her.
“I ain’t,” she cried into the pillows. She needed him just like this. Just this hard. Just this unrelenting. She reached behind her to touch his thigh, needing to feel their connection deeper. “You ain’t either,” she breathed softly, letting him melt into her as she slowly slipped away again.
“I’m not, mama,” Stack groaned too soft, tears building in the back of his throat. His strokes turned broken, falling out of the steady rhythm they had perfected. He leaned his face into the back of her neck, breathing in her scent, and sighing at the warmth of her wrapped tight around him. “I promise,” he purred, low and whispering.
The reassurance broke them both open again.
~~~~~
Annie and Stack couldn’t deny the intensity of what they had brewing between them. After that night together, tangled into the sheets of the woman’s bed, clothes long forgotten and heads swimming in pleasure, they were almost always connected in one way or another. People 'round town came to recognize that the pair belonged to each other. They could see it in small actions: How Stack's eyes perked up when he heard Annie's name; how Annie always stood back and let Elias open the door for her; how you couldn't see one without seeing the other half the time.
Stack swore he could feel her soul breathing inside his and vice versa. He said it was her “witchcraft,” that she’d put a root on him when he wasn’t paying attention and now they had become one. But he didn’t fully believe that himself—he just needed an excuse for how much he needed her in his body, full and breathing.
Annie tried her best to pretend that what she felt wasn’t real, but she knew better. Her ancestors told her better. She would pray at her altar, ask them questions about where her life was heading, and in each answer, Elias was there—someway, somehow.
They were glued at the hip, connected forever in a way they couldn’t have imagined, but it was like fate. Destined from the beginning.
The lesson Annie tried to teach Stack had completely backfired. In her attempts to warn him, she had fully miscalculated the hold he’d have on her. But even in the blunder and missteps, she couldn't be upset with how things had turned out.
Oh! This was back when I got the ick because he said he admired Jonathan Bailey's ability to maintain masculinity in Wicked: For Good. Because Elphaba floated with Fiyero in a scene reminiscent of Clark's floating kiss with Lois. And I guess most men would apparently feel emasculated in that position.
He specifically said, "Every man out there would think, 'There's no way you can look masculine and powerful and in control when you're being levitated by a woman.'"
Knowing that Russ and I would hypothetically have been in college at the same time helps a ton.
Because I know exactly how to write a white football bro who went to college at the tail end of the Obama administration into the early Trump administration lol
All protagonists are black! Please be sure to read content warnings before proceeding. As always my inbox is open for any questions/suggestions. Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in an update.
Buy me a coffee! ☕️ Make a request!
Key: * - Ongoing Series; ** - Smut
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Aaron Taylor Johnson
White Light* -- Ghost Romance, ATJ x Reader
Dave Lizewski One-Shots -- Mostly college/adult Dave.
Tangerine One-Shots -- Standard warnings for drugs, smut, and violence.
Count Vronsky x Socialite!Reader (Request)
Bubblegum Bitch -- Dave Lizewski x Bimbo!Reader
WIP: The Craft of the Muse -- Writer!ATJ x Singer! OFC
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Chris Evans (No longer writing for)
Koala-ing -- Fluff/Comfort, CE x Plus-Sized!Reader
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Danny Ramirez
Warped*: Part I, Part II -- Jake Seresin x Reader x Mickey Garcia
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Dev Patel
Wildflower -- Prince!Dev x Witch!OFC
Work/Wife Balance** -- Office Affair, Dev x Reader
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Glen Powell
Warped*: Part I, Part II -- Jake Seresin x Reader x Mickey Garcia
En•mi•ty — Russ Holliday x Assistant!Reader
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Henry Cavill (No longer writing for)
Flora -- Meetcute, Writer!HC x Reader
Heavy Weight -- Hurt/Comfort, Boxer!August Walker x Reader
Undone** -- Vampire!HC x OFC (Note: Henry's character is called James, but it IS HC.)
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Jon Bernthal
The Girlfriend Experience** -- Frank Castle x OFC
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Oscar Isaac
The Next Great American Epic** -- Professor!Oscar x Reader
I’m not sure who will read this, but I thought it might be good to share.
Life update:
I’ve taken a leave of absence from my job because of personal things. Don’t really wanna get into it. But part of my time off will involve writing more. I’d like to make a goal of posting more fics/chapters/one shots here.
Goals for my time off:
-Finishing White Light
-Updating Warped
Starting small for now. But baby steps.
As always, my inbox is open for requests! Or if you want to say hi!
Pairing: Russ Holliday x Assistant!Reader
Warnings: Mutual toxicity, mention of drugs, drinking, implied su*ci*al ideation, lots of f-bombs, nickname ("Bee"--welcome to the Bee-verse, Russell!)
Description: He's unbearable when he's drunk...
a/n: I love toxic, depressed assholes who kinda sorta want to be better.
En·mi·ty (n.): the state or feeling of being actively opposed or hostile to someone or something.
“Do you hate me?”
Your fingers stilled on the keyboard at the strained question. In the midst of drafting a letter of apology for the newest scandal to hit TMZ, you’d forgotten that he was still in the room with you. Lit only by a few candles and low lamps, his dimly lit living room somehow felt colder. He leered silently from the couch at a muted screen displaying his college football highlights, occasionally taking a deep swig from an unlabeled clear bottle. You could see the flashing lights from the video reflected on his chiseled, unreadable face, which remained still aside from the occasional swallow or clench of the jaw. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if in deep introspection.
It was the quietest he’d been in days.
Gentle rainfall bounced against the windowpane and punctuated the silence of the evening with just the two of you. Which was a rarity, as there was often a myriad of vaguely familiar people hanging around the apartment for free coke and booze. Free to them, anyway. Russ always seemed to owe someone, somewhere, something. The debt and bills were piling up. And you could see the ceiling inching closer with each unnecessary card swipe or trip to the strip club.
“You’re taking a pretty damn long time to answer the question,” he said, taking another swig and still avoiding eye contact as you sat behind the desk only a few feet away, “which is probably the answer. So thanks for that.”
“I mean, look, you don't really pay me to like you,” you responded with the most courteous professionalism you could muster, considering the circumstances of today’s visit. “But you are fine sometimes. A bit impulsive. And egotistical. And a bit entitled. Like, I’ve got this letter I have to draft apologizing to Dairy Queen for your TikTok Live antics.” You let out a deep sigh and tightly shut your eyes. “Trashing the place because the Blizzard fell out of the cup when you turned it upside down was really childish, by the way.”
You almost expected him to laugh or toss a sarcastic, semi-charming comment your way in response. Instead, he just continued to sit, sardonically watching his nineteen-year-old self celebrate a touchdown in the end zone. The much younger, blonder version of Russ took his helmet off and pointed to the crowd in victory before flexing his muscles in the face of one of the opposing team members.
“What an obnoxious little fuck.” He muttered to himself, loud enough for you to hear though you’re unsure if he intended you to. He pressed the bottle to his bottom lip and slurred, “No wonder your life ends up going to shit. You deserve every minute of your misery.”
Your eyes flickered from the tipsy man on the couch, back to the screen, and you shut the laptop on the desk in record speed.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” he scoffed. “Everything is…fucking peaches.”
Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you furrowed your brows in response. You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, because you knew the question you wanted to ask, but had no idea whether the response would be a nonchalant shrug of the shoulder or a table flipped. His eyes locked onto you for the first time that evening as you approached the couch and sat beside him, gently taking the bottle from his bruised fist. Before he could open his mouth to speak, you softly rested a hand on his arm.
“Talk to me,” you whispered to him.
“Oh for FUCKS sake, this again?” He threw his hands in the air and leaned back into the couch cushions, laughing humorlessly, “I don’t know how many times I’ve gotta say that I’m Gucci. I got that sponsorship coming down the pipeline with Liquid Death--”
“That was just a free shirt.”
“I got that deal with…uh…fuckin’…” He snapped, trying to remember, “That fuckin’ TikTok dude. The one selling the Labubus.”
“Russ--”
“My DMs are flooded with brand deals! I was on People’s Sexiest Men Alive last year. Or was it the year before? Whatever. I’m on fire. Don’t do that. Don’t you look at me like that, I swear to Christ.”
He rose from the couch and paced in front of you. Back and forth. Back and forth. His smug teenage grin remained frozen on the screen behind him basking in the radiant green glow of Oregon University’s stadium lights, blissfully unaware of what the next decade would bring. You could feel the frown pulling at the corners of your mouth.
“There you go again,” he crossed his arms, then decided to drop them to his sides, then finally tangled one of his hands in his messy darkening hair now that the artificial blond was beginning to fade, “Stop looking at me like I’m a fucking charity case. Or a hasbeen. Like you pity me. I’m Russell Fucking Holliday. Nobody pities me.”
“I wasn’t pitying you.” You replied softly.
“I see it written all over your face.” He gestured in your direction, “‘Poor fuckin’ Russ, ruined his career because he can’t control himself’.”
“I don’t think that about you.”
“I don’t need pity.”
You sighed, “I’m worried about you.”
He suddenly snorted, the cocky veneer returning with a vengeance, “There’s nothing to be worried about, you’re just being dramatic.”
At this, you eyed him incredulously, “Then why did you ask me if I hated you?”
Russ paused his pacing to stare at you, his expression perfectly still. As if he’d forgotten how this conversation began in the first place. He coolly shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, feigning nonchalance. But the facade crumbled almost immediately when he met your gaze.
“Dude…I don’t fucking…I don’t know.” He crossed his arms over his chest again, defensively.
Brief flashes appeared in your mind’s eye. Scattered pills. Empty whiskey bottles. Smudged lines of white and a running engine in a closed garage. You could almost hear your own screaming as firefighters broke the garage door down and pulled his pale, unconscious body from his car.
You stared at each other as his response hung in the air between you. Because he very well knew the answer to your question.
“Russell.”
A smug smirk graced his face. “Bee.”
“Don’t call me that.” You countered, pensively folding your hands together in your lap. “Is it getting bad again?”
Simmering silence.
His brows furrowed, and you saw the mask of cool indifference--perhaps muted fear-- creeping up again, “Can you just…stop? You don’t have to do all of this shit. I know you’re only here because I pay you. If I didn’t, you’d be somewhere else. Doing whatever meaningless thing you do.”
You rolled your eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions, “Classic Holliday. Deflect, attack, repeat. Maybe try being honest for once. Or, I don’t know, try a fuckin’ therapist. And no, Russell, Svedka and Tito’s don’t count as therapists.”
A spectrum of emotions crossed his face. “You are so…you’re fucking annoying.” He sneered through gritted teeth, “You’re always just fucking obnoxious. And then you wonder why--” he cut himself off and took a deep breath, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Why what?” You asked. You could feel the corners of your mouth twitch, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, “Why? What? Russell?”
“I’m not gonna say it, because then I’ll be the bad guy again. Like I always am in your world.”
“Oh!” You nearly bellowed, mirth laced in your tone, “Another thing to cross off the Russell Holliday checklist. ‘I’m not a dickhead, everyone else is just too sensitive to my blunt honesty’. Great job.”
In the blink of an eye he was next to you on the couch with a shit-eating grin, leaning close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath. “Maybe if more people were blunt with you, you would stop getting ghosted by every person you talk to. How did that last thing go with… what’s his name? Did he stick around long enough to tell you, or did he just immediately block you?”
Your eye twitched. “Fuck you, Russell. Fuck you.” Your voice wavered with anger, which only made you more upset because he loved getting a reaction out of you. The daggers in your gaze made the grin slip from his face.
“That was low, my bad.”
“Yeah, your bad, you stupid drunk asshole.”
The tension in the room was palpable, all because you had the audacity to care about his mental state. He looked apologetic and deeply uncomfortable as you mentally toyed with the idea of kicking him off the couch. After all the years you’d known him, you would think you would be used to all this. But you weren’t twenty-two anymore.
“You’re the only one who cares,” he sighed, “other than, you know, my old man. And even he seems sick of my shit, not that I blame him. God no. I’m just… God, Bee, I’m so fuckin’ tired. I’m sick of this shit. I want to unzip all of this and disappear. Just wipe all this off.” He gestured to his face and arms, every distinctive feature he had. “I wanna go somewhere no one knows me and just fade away.”
Some of the anger dissipated as he leaned into the cushions beside you, both of you staring at his younger visage on the massive television.
“Why did you ask me if I hated you?” You asked.
He silently flexed his fingers and ran a hand over the tattoo on his inner forearm. You assumed he was deciding whether to tell the truth or evade it again.
“I just need a reason to disappear.” His voice cracked slightly. “You hating me would make it easier. And I wish you did.”
His emotion felt like a vice around your heart. You still avoided eye contact, unsure you could do so without crying.
“Don’t stay here in LA for me. Not if that’s not what you want.”
He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You piss me the fuck off maybe 75% of the time, but for some strange reason, I can’t let you go.”
You couldn’t really tell if he was talking about you, or the city you both grew disillusioned with. But you finally chanced a glance at him and found him staring with an unreadable expression. Longing? Sadness?
“Is it getting bad again, Russ?”
“Jesus,” he said, “No. It’s not, Bee. I’m good. I’m fine. Look at me.” He gently grabbed your chin and turned your head to face him, “Look at me. I’m good.”
All you could see were the dark circles beneath his eyes, the sallow skin, the sheen of unwashed hair. He wasn’t doing well.
“Will you tell me if it gets bad again?” you whispered, gently grabbing his wrist. He followed the motion with his eyes, something flickering across his features before he pulled his hand away.
“It won’t.”
“Russ, promise me.”
“I promise.” He gave you a small smile, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Your eyes roamed his face, searching for any indication he might finally admit what you already knew.
Nothing.
“And for the record,” you said, as you began to rise from the couch, “I don’t do this because you pay me. Because you barely pay me enough.”
He snorted, some of the lightness returning to his demeanor.
“You could have any part-time gig in the industry and you’re sticking with me. Seems like a shit deal.”
You stretched your arms over your head and you could hear your joints crack. You chose to open the balcony for fresh air. The rain finally stopped, with the sole evidence of it being the sound of cars passing below his balcony on the wet pavement. Crickets chirped, the moon brightened the sky, and you took a deep breath of the cool, early fall air.
“We did love each other once,” you said over your shoulder, “So it’s not so shitty.”
Pairing: Russ Holliday x Assistant!Reader
Warnings: Mutual toxicity, mention of drugs, drinking, implied su*ci*al ideation, lots of f-bombs, nickname ("Bee"--welcome to the Bee-verse, Russell!)
Description: He's unbearable when he's drunk...
a/n: I love toxic, depressed assholes who kinda sorta want to be better.
En·mi·ty (n.): the state or feeling of being actively opposed or hostile to someone or something.
“Do you hate me?”
Your fingers stilled on the keyboard at the strained question. In the midst of drafting a letter of apology for the newest scandal to hit TMZ, you’d forgotten that he was still in the room with you. Lit only by a few candles and low lamps, his dimly lit living room somehow felt colder. He leered silently from the couch at a muted screen displaying his college football highlights, occasionally taking a deep swig from an unlabeled clear bottle. You could see the flashing lights from the video reflected on his chiseled, unreadable face, which remained still aside from the occasional swallow or clench of the jaw. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if in deep introspection.
It was the quietest he’d been in days.
Gentle rainfall bounced against the windowpane and punctuated the silence of the evening with just the two of you. Which was a rarity, as there was often a myriad of vaguely familiar people hanging around the apartment for free coke and booze. Free to them, anyway. Russ always seemed to owe someone, somewhere, something. The debt and bills were piling up. And you could see the ceiling inching closer with each unnecessary card swipe or trip to the strip club.
“You’re taking a pretty damn long time to answer the question,” he said, taking another swig and still avoiding eye contact as you sat behind the desk only a few feet away, “which is probably the answer. So thanks for that.”
“I mean, look, you don't really pay me to like you,” you responded with the most courteous professionalism you could muster, considering the circumstances of today’s visit. “But you are fine sometimes. A bit impulsive. And egotistical. And a bit entitled. Like, I’ve got this letter I have to draft apologizing to Dairy Queen for your TikTok Live antics.” You let out a deep sigh and tightly shut your eyes. “Trashing the place because the Blizzard fell out of the cup when you turned it upside down was really childish, by the way.”
You almost expected him to laugh or toss a sarcastic, semi-charming comment your way in response. Instead, he just continued to sit, sardonically watching his nineteen-year-old self celebrate a touchdown in the end zone. The much younger, blonder version of Russ took his helmet off and pointed to the crowd in victory before flexing his muscles in the face of one of the opposing team members.
“What an obnoxious little fuck.” He muttered to himself, loud enough for you to hear though you’re unsure if he intended you to. He pressed the bottle to his bottom lip and slurred, “No wonder your life ends up going to shit. You deserve every minute of your misery.”
Your eyes flickered from the tipsy man on the couch, back to the screen, and you shut the laptop on the desk in record speed.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” he scoffed. “Everything is…fucking peaches.”
Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you furrowed your brows in response. You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, because you knew the question you wanted to ask, but had no idea whether the response would be a nonchalant shrug of the shoulder or a table flipped. His eyes locked onto you for the first time that evening as you approached the couch and sat beside him, gently taking the bottle from his bruised fist. Before he could open his mouth to speak, you softly rested a hand on his arm.
“Talk to me,” you whispered to him.
“Oh for FUCKS sake, this again?” He threw his hands in the air and leaned back into the couch cushions, laughing humorlessly, “I don’t know how many times I’ve gotta say that I’m Gucci. I got that sponsorship coming down the pipeline with Liquid Death--”
“That was just a free shirt.”
“I got that deal with…uh…fuckin’…” He snapped, trying to remember, “That fuckin’ TikTok dude. The one selling the Labubus.”
“Russ--”
“My DMs are flooded with brand deals! I was on People’s Sexiest Men Alive last year. Or was it the year before? Whatever. I’m on fire. Don’t do that. Don’t you look at me like that, I swear to Christ.”
He rose from the couch and paced in front of you. Back and forth. Back and forth. His smug teenage grin remained frozen on the screen behind him basking in the radiant green glow of Oregon University’s stadium lights, blissfully unaware of what the next decade would bring. You could feel the frown pulling at the corners of your mouth.
“There you go again,” he crossed his arms, then decided to drop them to his sides, then finally tangled one of his hands in his messy darkening hair now that the artificial blond was beginning to fade, “Stop looking at me like I’m a fucking charity case. Or a hasbeen. Like you pity me. I’m Russell Fucking Holliday. Nobody pities me.”
“I wasn’t pitying you.” You replied softly.
“I see it written all over your face.” He gestured in your direction, “‘Poor fuckin’ Russ, ruined his career because he can’t control himself’.”
“I don’t think that about you.”
“I don’t need pity.”
You sighed, “I’m worried about you.”
He suddenly snorted, the cocky veneer returning with a vengeance, “There’s nothing to be worried about, you’re just being dramatic.”
At this, you eyed him incredulously, “Then why did you ask me if I hated you?”
Russ paused his pacing to stare at you, his expression perfectly still. As if he’d forgotten how this conversation began in the first place. He coolly shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, feigning nonchalance. But the facade crumbled almost immediately when he met your gaze.
“Dude…I don’t fucking…I don’t know.” He crossed his arms over his chest again, defensively.
Brief flashes appeared in your mind’s eye. Scattered pills. Empty whiskey bottles. Smudged lines of white and a running engine in a closed garage. You could almost hear your own screaming as firefighters broke the garage door down and pulled his pale, unconscious body from his car.
You stared at each other as his response hung in the air between you. Because he very well knew the answer to your question.
“Russell.”
A smug smirk graced his face. “Bee.”
“Don’t call me that.” You countered, pensively folding your hands together in your lap. “Is it getting bad again?”
Simmering silence.
His brows furrowed, and you saw the mask of cool indifference--perhaps muted fear-- creeping up again, “Can you just…stop? You don’t have to do all of this shit. I know you’re only here because I pay you. If I didn’t, you’d be somewhere else. Doing whatever meaningless thing you do.”
You rolled your eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions, “Classic Holliday. Deflect, attack, repeat. Maybe try being honest for once. Or, I don’t know, try a fuckin’ therapist. And no, Russell, Svedka and Tito’s don’t count as therapists.”
A spectrum of emotions crossed his face. “You are so…you’re fucking annoying.” He sneered through gritted teeth, “You’re always just fucking obnoxious. And then you wonder why--” he cut himself off and took a deep breath, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Why what?” You asked. You could feel the corners of your mouth twitch, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, “Why? What? Russell?”
“I’m not gonna say it, because then I’ll be the bad guy again. Like I always am in your world.”
“Oh!” You nearly bellowed, mirth laced in your tone, “Another thing to cross off the Russell Holliday checklist. ‘I’m not a dickhead, everyone else is just too sensitive to my blunt honesty’. Great job.”
In the blink of an eye he was next to you on the couch with a shit-eating grin, leaning close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath. “Maybe if more people were blunt with you, you would stop getting ghosted by every person you talk to. How did that last thing go with… what’s his name? Did he stick around long enough to tell you, or did he just immediately block you?”
Your eye twitched. “Fuck you, Russell. Fuck you.” Your voice wavered with anger, which only made you more upset because he loved getting a reaction out of you. The daggers in your gaze made the grin slip from his face.
“That was low, my bad.”
“Yeah, your bad, you stupid drunk asshole.”
The tension in the room was palpable, all because you had the audacity to care about his mental state. He looked apologetic and deeply uncomfortable as you mentally toyed with the idea of kicking him off the couch. After all the years you’d known him, you would think you would be used to all this. But you weren’t twenty-two anymore.
“You’re the only one who cares,” he sighed, “other than, you know, my old man. And even he seems sick of my shit, not that I blame him. God no. I’m just… God, Bee, I’m so fuckin’ tired. I’m sick of this shit. I want to unzip all of this and disappear. Just wipe all this off.” He gestured to his face and arms, every distinctive feature he had. “I wanna go somewhere no one knows me and just fade away.”
Some of the anger dissipated as he leaned into the cushions beside you, both of you staring at his younger visage on the massive television.
“Why did you ask me if I hated you?” You asked.
He silently flexed his fingers and ran a hand over the tattoo on his inner forearm. You assumed he was deciding whether to tell the truth or evade it again.
“I just need a reason to disappear.” His voice cracked slightly. “You hating me would make it easier. And I wish you did.”
His emotion felt like a vice around your heart. You still avoided eye contact, unsure you could do so without crying.
“Don’t stay here in LA for me. Not if that’s not what you want.”
He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You piss me the fuck off maybe 75% of the time, but for some strange reason, I can’t let you go.”
You couldn’t really tell if he was talking about you, or the city you both grew disillusioned with. But you finally chanced a glance at him and found him staring with an unreadable expression. Longing? Sadness?
“Is it getting bad again, Russ?”
“Jesus,” he said, “No. It’s not, Bee. I’m good. I’m fine. Look at me.” He gently grabbed your chin and turned your head to face him, “Look at me. I’m good.”
All you could see were the dark circles beneath his eyes, the sallow skin, the sheen of unwashed hair. He wasn’t doing well.
“Will you tell me if it gets bad again?” you whispered, gently grabbing his wrist. He followed the motion with his eyes, something flickering across his features before he pulled his hand away.
“It won’t.”
“Russ, promise me.”
“I promise.” He gave you a small smile, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Your eyes roamed his face, searching for any indication he might finally admit what you already knew.
Nothing.
“And for the record,” you said, as you began to rise from the couch, “I don’t do this because you pay me. Because you barely pay me enough.”
He snorted, some of the lightness returning to his demeanor.
“You could have any part-time gig in the industry and you’re sticking with me. Seems like a shit deal.”
You stretched your arms over your head and you could hear your joints crack. You chose to open the balcony for fresh air. The rain finally stopped, with the sole evidence of it being the sound of cars passing below his balcony on the wet pavement. Crickets chirped, the moon brightened the sky, and you took a deep breath of the cool, early fall air.
“We did love each other once,” you said over your shoulder, “So it’s not so shitty.”
