#and this was the song i was listening to when i found out as well

[girlusional]

Can you get out of the room? - LADS

You asked him to leave the room so you could change your clothes, but he reminded you that you both were married and had children. (I saw some couples doing this on TikTok).

pairing: Zayne x You, Xavier x You, Rafayel x You, Sylus x You, Caleb x You (Female reader)

warnings: pet names (babe, love...), sex mention, suggestive phrases

w:1576k

Zayne

It was a lovely Sunday evening. After a long week, you finally had a chance to have Zayne with you again, a rare occasion due to his hard work in the hospital. 

He was reading a book on bed, waiting for you to get ready so you can go out to eat at your favorite restaurant. The bedroom was very peaceful, the only noises being the cars outside and the My Little Pony opening song coming from the living room, where your daughter is. 

You just got out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, when you saw him reading and decided to test something you saw on the internet.

“Love, can you get out of the room, please? ” Your voice sounded innocent as you began to open your drawers. “I need to change my clothes”.

You turned to look at him and saw that he was staring at you over his glasses, looking confused. “Pardon?”

“Well, I need to put on some clothes and I am a bit shy to change in front of you.” You said, squeezing your arms around your body to keep the towel covering you. “You know… I am a bit embarrassed.” 

A playful smile appeared on your lips as you saw his frowned face.

“I don’t understand why you want me to leave the room.” He answers, closing the book and taking his glasses off. Then he stood up, walking towards you at a slow pace. His shirt has the first two buttons open, and his belt is open as well.

“Because I don’t want you to look.” He almost laughs at your answer, looking at you, dumbfounded.

Suddenly, he called your daughter's name, who appeared at the door after some minutes. She was only four and was wearing a blue dress, matching Zayne’s shirt color, ready to go out with you, so she looked at you a bit confused when she saw your body still wrapped in the towel. “Mommy is not ready?” 

“Mommy is being difficult.” Zayne forces a sad expression, walking towards the little girl and patting her head. “Tell her to hurry up.”

“Hurry up mommy!” Your daughter runs again to the living room and Zayne smiles, looking at you. 

“Do I have to remind you how babies are made?” You blush slightly when he smiles mischievously, leaning against the door. “But once you asked, I will leave the room and make our little angel company”.

Xavier

It was your time to take a shower, so Xavier was taking care of your son while you were enjoying your bath, massaging yourself with the liquid soap. When you ended your bath, you walked to the bedroom and saw Xavier with the baby in his arms.

“Babe, can you get out of the room?” The blonde man looked at you, confused. 

“Why? Did I do something wrong?” You opened a tender smile to him and chuckled, getting some clothes in the drawers. 

“No, of course not. I just want to change my clothes.”

Xavier looked at you, then his eyes found the baby in his arms. One moment later, he looked at you again. “You know… that I already saw everything, right?” 

You blush, looking away to cover your face. “Shut up… I just need some privacy…”

“If it is something with your body, stop overthinking. You are as gorgeous as ever.” You looked at him, and for a moment you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or to throw a pillow on him. 

It was just a joke, a prank that you saw some couples doing on the internet, you didn’t know he would say something like this.

“And don’t you remember what happened fifteen minutes ago that woke him up?” You widen your eyes, feeling your cheeks getting hotter.

“Xavier!”

You two listened to the baby laughing, and you couldn’t help but smile too.  “You… silly.” Xavier opened a warm smile at your words.” 

He kissed your forehead before he began to walk away from you. “I will get his pacifier. Maybe he can sleep again, and we can…” Xavier glanced at you.

That 's it. You got a pillow and threw it at Xavier, making him run out of the room, laughing out loud.

Rafayel

One morning, Rafayel was helping your son with the art homework, and both of them sat on the carpet of the bedroom.

You saw that cute and pacific scene in front of you and smiled, seeing your husband so excited to teach your little boy. A perfect time…

“That's it, my little bubble, now if you mix yellow and red…”

A perfect time for a prank.

“Babe, let's go to the swimming pool… it's so hot today.” You say, innocent, seeing your son's eyes shining bright with the excellent idea.

The boy closed the notebook and ran to his own bedroom, and Rafayel chuckled.

“Fine, let's relax a bit, maybe after that he can sleep early and I will have you just to myself.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around your waist, giving your neck a peck.

“We will have a lot of fun, but now can you get out of the room? I need to put on my bikini.”

Rafayel frowned, confused. “What? Why do I need to get out?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling softly. “I am feeling a bit shy today, so I didn't want you to see.”

The artist raised an eyebrow at your comment.

“Love, do I have to remind you how we made that little boy?” He kissed your cheek. “It was raining when I held you and…”

“Shush!” Your face was almost burning up, as red as a tomato. “I remember.”

He chuckled again, caressing your hip slowly.

“Good, then I don't have to remind you about how…”

“Daddy! Where are my swim goggles?”

Rafayel stopped, looking at the door.

“Have you looked in your drawer?” He answered, looking at you. “I will help him.”

Sylus

It was your birthday and Sylus promised a “family day” to you, as you asked for. 

While you were drying your hair, he was helping your younger daughter to dress up. A moment later, he walked into your bedroom and saw you choosing an outfit. 

“Love, can you get out of the room?” Sylus frowned. “Why would I?”

“I want to change my clothes, so I will need to take off the one I am wearing.”

Sylus looked at your covered body, then at your face. “It’s not a big deal. You can change in front of me.”

“No, I am embarrassed.” You answer, lying. You just wanted to test the prank you saw on the internet.

“Embarrassed of what?” He scoffed.

“Changing my clothes in front of you.” He blinked, totally confused, then called three names, making his deep voice reach all the house.

Two children runned into your bedroom, the twins, who were already dressed up, then your younger daughter walked in slowly, since she was still learning how to walk.

“Trust me, kitten, I saw your body a lot of times already.” 

One of the twins frowned, saying “Ew! Mommy and Daddy are flirting!” You looked at the kid, poking his nose. “We are not!”

Sylus was smiling charmingly. “Of course we are…” He walked towards you and held your hand, giving it an affectionate kiss.

“Will we have another sibling?” You almost choked when the child said it out of the blue. “What? Where did you get this idea from?”

“Daddy told us that to make a baby he has to kiss your hand…” One of the twins said. “I want one more sister!” The other said as well.

You looked at Sylus, who was trying to hide his smirk against your hand. 

“Everyone… get out of here!” You shouted at them. Sylus laughed, holding both of the twins in his arms when he escaped from the bedroom, letting just you and your daughter. “Can you believe it?” You ask the little girl, who smiled cheerfully. “No, you are not going to have a new sibling.” You said, picking her up. 

Caleb

“Captain Marshmallow to Captain Daddy, are you listening to me?” You frowned, amused, as you saw your daughter and your husband playing spies in your bedroom, rolling on the bed and running around the room.

“I am, Captain Marshmallow. Leader Mommy just arrived from work. We need to greet her.” Caleb said as he picked the little girl in his arms. “Let's go.”

You smiled, kissing the girl's head before doing the same with Caleb's lips. “How are my ‘Captains’?” The question was almost a joke, but you saw your husband laughing.

“She watched a lot of movies.”

“Daddy! We can use the bubble guns to play!" The girl ran out of the room, letting you and Caleb all alone.

“How are you, my dear?” He hugged you tightly.

“Tired, but I am good.” You smiled, feeling a bit better. “I need to change my clothes, can you get out of the room, babe?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why? It's not like I never saw you naked before, you know…”

You poke his arm, blushing. “I just need some privacy.”

He laughed, seeing your daughter running back to the bedroom with two bubble guns on hands.

“I will give you ten minutes.” He winks, looking at you. “So hurry up, or I will have to keep you here for more than that.”

[captain-huggy-bear]

I was watching the video where the Utah team were asked their Karaoke song, Clayton's being Wagon Wheel. Then I listened to it and then I realised that I think he'd call you mama when you're pregnant (tbh I think he'd sometimes call you it even if you're not pregnant or a mum) Also I'm less than 200 away from 1000, should I do a celebration? Maybe prompt lists or something idk? Let me know what you think baring in mind it'll probably take me 500 years to write everything anyway lol Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You feel like a very sick, very achy whale. That's really the only way to explain how being 7 months pregnant felt. You were dealing with feeling sick every day, baby deciding she wanted to twist and turn at all hours and kick you at every opportunity. She was heavy as well causing your back to ache, your ankles to swell and your entire body to hurt.

You're just trying to grab something to eat but have to stop halfway to the kitchen, hands pressing to your back, leaning in such away that your bump presses out further. You're starting to get fed up with this pregnancy stuff and Clay hates watching you feel so wrong in your skin every day...even as he thinks you look the most beautiful you ever have, carrying his baby.

Hands are sliding over your lower back, long sturdy fingers pressing into the tense muscle there as Clay presses his chin to your shoulder, having spotted your discomfort a mile off. He knows this pregnancy is being rough on you and he's trying his best to be attentive, supportive even when he's away on a roadie.

"How you doin', mama?" Even as you're annoyed at him for getting you pregnant and putting you in this position, you can't help but relax into him, shoulders pressing back against his chest as his hands move around to your belly, rubbing across the taut fabric of your t-shirt there. The moment you found out you were pregnant Clay had started calling you mama more than he called you baby, a shift that melted you ever single time. Even when you were irrationally and hormonally angry at him.

"Everything hurts and your baby is making me sick." You moan at him, huffing and annoyed even as your body relaxes into him, putting your weight back on him. He just huffs out a laugh at you, knowing you're not actually upset with him and that even if you were he has no right to be upset about that. Not when you're dealing with all the aches and pains of giving him a baby.

"My baby? Mama, you cannot blame me entirely for her actions." He says this even as she kicks you under his palms as if she knows exactly where his hands are and aims for them. You're almost certain she'd be a penalty box baby.

"You put me in this position."

"I know...I know." He hushes you, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He feels bad on some level for how uncomfortable you are, even as he's happy you're having his baby, "What's hurting the most right now?"

"My back, your baby is a fucking giant. Big ass head." It's ridiculous you think, that he's only 5ft 10 and yet his baby feels like a giant. You can't even begin to contemplate how large she'd be if he'd been someone like Michael...it makes you shudder in dread. God help his future partner if she decides to have a baby with him.

"C'mere, mama." He's pulling you back against him even as you start to resist his movements, trying to pull away from him unsure what he's about to do and overly suspicious of his motives. You don't want any of his hairbrained schemes right now, you're too uncomfortable for it.

"Clay..?"

"Come here. Trust me, baby." You stop resisting until he's pressed flat against your back, hands sliding over your bump and underneath with a softness, a gentleness that always surprises you. For a man who can shoot a puck at 90mph he can be astoundingly gentle.

It's almost a shock, the good kind, how Clay's large hands cup your belly from underneath and lift until he's taking the brunt of the 10lbs you're certain your baby is going to end up being.

"Oh..." You sigh back into him, relaxing so completely that you're almost jelly. Head leaning back onto his shoulder, eyes closing. It's instant relief from some of the back pain and the aches, all of that weight lifted from you by his hands so easily because to him the weight is nothing, but then he's not carrying it all day, every day.

"That feel better, mama?" He mumbles it against your temple, pressing intermittent kisses there as he watches the way you ease into him, the smile of relief on your face. You're his baby too, his first baby, and you're important, as important if not more than his baby baby. Taking some of the pressure off you, helping you feel good? That's more important than anything else.

"Mmmmm...yeah, much better." You're so soft against him, pliable, boneless. Clay feels a certain sort of pride at the fact he's able to help like this, that he can take some of that pain and pressure away even for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry she's being mean to you..." God, he can't wait to meet her, but he also hopes she's not as difficult once she's here. Terrified she's going to be a hellion that has him pulling his hair out from stress. All she's done is spend the pregnancy kicking you, keeping you awake at night and making you vomit while making you crave food you hate and be unable to stomach foods you love. If anyone should get an award for patience and resilience it's you.

"She's going to be a handful...but I love her anyway." You smile as he kisses your temple again, firm enough you can feel it, but not too rough that it'll jar you.

"You're going to be the best mama, baby."

"I hope so..." You mumble as he eases your belly back down. Pulling you to lay on the couch with your swollen ankles in his lap. Fingers massaging against the swollen skin as you lean back into the couch pillows.

"You worried?" He watches you, assessing you as he works his fingers into the arch of your heel, pressing at tense little spots. You're biting your lip worriedly as you watch him, gone into that spot in your head you go to sometimes, even as your hand strokes across your belly in an attempt to sooth the baby who's started kicking you again.

"Mmm, just get scared sometimes that she might hate me," There's this part of you that's terrified you won't bond with your baby, that no matter how hard you try she won't love you back...or worse that you'll mess up, do something that makes her hate you.

Clay's hand smooths up your calf to the back of your knee, his eyes impossibly soft as he looks at you. A gentle reassuring smile pulling at his lips.

"Not possible, mama. Promise she's going to love you as much as I do."

And you believe him. In that moment, it's hard to imagine that Clayton's wrong. He knows you better than anyone else, the only other person who knows your baby almost as well as you do. Knows what makes her kick, how best to get her to settle so you can sleep and what foods stop her making you vomit. In that moment you can't imagine that he could possible be wrong and it makes you want to cry because all you want is to be a good mum to your baby, to be a good partner to Clay, to have it all work out.

"...thank you."

"Anytime, mama."

[nnight-dances]

PICTURE YOU

PAIRING: karina x fem!reader (reader has periods)

GENRE: fluff, smut (explicit, but not too much?)

TROPES: karina comes back home with a bob and you go crazy essentially. also yeah this is the same universe as CASUAL

LISTEN TO: picture you by chappell roan

NOTE: lol not me breaking the hiatus with this karina fic on a random friday... but come on you can't blame: just look at her!!! actually lost my mind when i saw the new hair reveal like???? have u considered my feelings??? also yea i guess i just associate my karina fics with chappell roan songs now sorry. also also i have been in a crisis once again trying to figure out if i'm bi or just a lesbian so perhaps that is where this fic came from maybe perhaps! anway, pls enjoy <3

in your defence, you were on your period. and you'd been burn out after the past few weeks straight from hell at college. you'd lost sleep almost every single night and you didn't remember the last time you'd felt the rush of anxiety not be there in your veins. all that to say, you were in a specially fragile mental state when karina came home with a bob. 

at first you didn't even recognize her. you'd looked up from your phone where you'd been mindlessly scrolling to take your mind off the stress and then back down, thinking it was weird that a random chick had entered your room. you'd pinned it to be one of karina's friends but as soon as you said karina's name in your head, your neck snapped back up to look at her: "karina?" 

the girl burst into laughter at your shocked exclamation, the ends of her hair hitting her neck. "yes, it's me, jagiya. did you not recognize me?" she's still laughing but you feel something like a fainting spell coming on, with the way your vision blurs and your heartbeat threatens to explode. 

"jagiya?" karina's voice is speckled with doubt now, crossing your shared room to stand closer to your bedside where you lay. her cold fingertips greeted your bare shoulder, "do you not like it?" 

you can't speak for the longest time, just staring back at your girlfriend in utter shock. karina is starting to interpret your silent shock as horror when you finally break the stillness, hand on her jaw bringing her lips to your hungry ones. you devour her, lips overpowering hers as you slip your tongue into her mouth with the kind of force that has karina gasping. 

it is her hand at your chest that stops the kiss, her eyes wide with flustered amusement. "i'm guessing that means you like it?" 

"rina," your voice is a whisper, so drenched in longing that it surprises your own ears, "you're divine. i don't can handle this." you feel weak all of a sudden, falling to your pillow with a huff, but eyes never leaving karina.

"i'm sorry i didn't think a haircut would get you this worked up," karina laughs, climbing up your bed, shuffling into the space between your legs. "but i'm not complaining. you've never kissed me like a starving woman before."

you groan, "don't tease me. i'm just– look, you're already like the hottest person on this campus and if that wasn't enough of a nightmare, you've gone and gotten yourself a bob. now i'm gonna have to fight off the bitches who didn't know you were gay!" 

"did you just say nightmare–"

"yes. i have to live knowing that i've outdone myself with my very first college girlfriend. i'll never reach these heights again."

karina runs a hand through your hair with a smile, "who says you won't always have me?"

you give her an incredulous look, "really? with this bob, it'll only be hours before there's a line of lesbians outside our door begging for your number."

"well, that's too bad," her hand's found its way up your shirt somehow, "i'm taken."

you hum an acknowledgement. then, you sit up to face her, cupping her face in your hands. slowly, you kiss her. longingly. fiercely. 

you pull away to rest your forehead against her, your hand busy exploring the new form of her hair. it's thrilling, the way you can access her neck so much easier. your fingertips rest at her strong shoulder and your lips trail their path, lingering at the valley between her jaw and her throat. you place a soft kiss there and then feeling the tremble of her nervous breath, you go in with more bite, leaving a mark. 

you feel karina's hand clutching at the material of your shirt, the squeezing a pleasant reminder of the way you were making her feel. "i might just be the luckiest girl to exist," you mumble, making your way down to her collarbones. karina's response is a guttural moan, her hand against your waist pushing you closer to her chest now. 

"mhm, there's one way to shoo your fangirls away," you chuckle, admiring the patchwork of blooming bruises on karina's neck. she's flushed, and even better, speechless. 

"you're killing me, y/n," karina whines, clawing at your shirt to take it off. you shake your head, stopping her movements. 

"no, you're the one that's killing me," you complain, lifting karina's tank top before she can protest. "let me at least show you how you make me feel." 

you really do devour karina that afternoon: her toned body spread over your sheets like a dream that you couldn't afford. but it was real. you know because you took your time with her, touching and feeling every inch of her warm body flush against yours: the little hairs on her skin dancing against your hot touch, and the veins running hot to greet your touch. 

you've just traversed the landscape of her abdomen when she sits up, eyes blown out with pleasure. "y/n, i think i'm gonna pass out if you keep at it." 

you look up from between her legs with a grin, "really? then you've just started to understand how i feel–" 

before you can continue your adminstrations, she tugs you up, lips beckoning yours. "let me eat you out," she asks softly as she pulls away from the kiss. and you relish in the sound of her begging you to let her please you, the actual goddess in between your arms. 

"as much as i'd love that," you peck her nose, "'m on my period, babe."

"you know i don't care," she starts and then shivers when your hands find the hem of her panties. 

"don't worry 'bout me, rina," you assure her, "let me make you feel good today, 'kay?" she nods, coming apart so easily while you talk her through it, showering her with praises like there was no end to it. and you'd do it for the rest of your life. watching karina's skin pulse under your touch and the way her eyes were hooded by her short hair, in the end it was always worth it. 

[bleakmidwinter00]

Beyond The Spotlight

The Oscars red carpet was a river of flashing cameras, designer gowns, and an electric current of anticipation. As Lucy O’Connor stepped onto the carpet, she felt the weight of the moment settle over her like a second skin. The fabric of her teal gown clung elegantly to her frame, the silk straps delicate yet secure against her shoulders. The open back of the dress exposed just enough to be daring, the fluidity of the material catching the light with every step. Silver heels elevated her stride, her chestnut waves cascading down her back in soft, effortless waves.

The cameras snapped, a few voices calling her name - some tentative, as if they were still getting used to saying it. She was no Hollywood regular, no seasoned industry name. A year ago, she had been performing in small venues in Dublin, writing songs that lived in the quiet corners of the internet. And now? Now she was here. At the Academy Awards. Nominated for Best Original Song.

Lucy turned slightly, offering the photographers the shots they wanted, her posture poised yet natural. But just as she found her rhythm in the moment, the atmosphere shifted.

A ripple moved through the crowd. Then a wave. And suddenly, the flashing intensified, the energy becoming something entirely different. The press went wild.

Cillian Murphy.

A rare sight on the red carpet, his appearance tonight was enough to make seasoned reporters scramble for their best angles. He moved past the growing crowd, stepping onto the carpet with an effortless sort of presence. Dressed in a classic tuxedo, his bow tie loose at his neck, he looked entirely at ease - unaffected by the chaos he had just caused.

Lucy took a breath, resisting the urge to glance over. She wasn’t the type to be starstruck. But there was something about knowing she was directly in front of him, following the same path into the heart of the ceremony, that made her pulse tick just a fraction faster.

As she moved forward, she felt the weight of an unseen gaze.

Cillian stood back in the line of arrivals, watching as the woman in the teal dress stepped forward. He didn’t know her, but the way she carried herself - calm, composed despite the whirlwind around her - made him take a second look. Her hair caught the light as she turned slightly for the cameras, and there was something distinctly unmanufactured about her presence.

She was next in line for the interview section. As she approached the microphone, he listened - not because he was supposed to, but because something about her made him want to.

"Lucy, this is your first Oscars, and you're nominated for Best Original Song. Tell us about this incredible journey."

She smiled, her Irish accent warm yet steady. “It’s been a whirlwind, to be honest. A year ago, I was writing songs in my bedroom in Dublin. To be here now, with a song that’s connected with so many people - it’s surreal.”

“And this song, ‘Never Let Me Go’, has become a defining piece of the movie. Did you know, when you wrote it, that it would become this big?”

Lucy let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Not at all. When I wrote it, I was just trying to be honest. The film is about love, loss, and the weight of memories, and I wanted the song to capture that. It’s about holding onto someone, even when you know you have to let go.”

Cillian’s gaze remained fixed on her, his interest piqued by the way she spoke. She didn’t have the polished responses of Hollywood veterans, didn’t seem rehearsed or over-prepared. There was something refreshingly real about her.

The interviewer nodded. “And tonight, you’ll be performing it live.”

“Yes.” A flicker of nerves flashed in her eyes, though she masked them well. “It’s my first time performing on a stage this size, so no pressure.”

The interviewer laughed. “Well, we can’t wait. Lucy O’Connor, everyone.”

As she stepped away from the microphone, she turned slightly - and that was the moment her eyes met his. Lucy looked away first, stepping aside as he moved forward to take her place.

As the crowd filtered inside the Dolby Theatre, the grandeur of the space settled over Lucy in a way that made the moment feel even more surreal. She and her brother, Jamie, followed the ushers to their seats, the hum of conversation and excitement filling the air around them.

Jamie, dressed in a sharp black suit with a relaxed air about him, nudged her lightly as they sat down. “Not bad, eh?” he murmured, glancing around.

Lucy exhaled, smoothing her hands down the fabric of her dress. “Yeah, not bad at all,” she said, but there was an underlying tension in her voice. The weight of the night was pressing down on her now. It was one thing to walk the red carpet, to do an interview, to smile for the cameras - but sitting here, waiting for the ceremony to begin, knowing she would have to get up and perform in front of the entire industry? That was something else entirely.

Jamie seemed to sense her nerves because he leaned in slightly. “You’re gonna be brilliant, Lu. You always are.”

She shot him a grateful look. “Thanks, J.”

As she settled into her seat, adjusting her dress so it draped neatly around her legs, movement across the aisle caught her eye. Him.

He was sitting in the section across the aisle, a couple of rows from the front. A prime seat. Of course, he was a Best Actor nominee - one of the biggest names of the night. He belonged up there, among the legends and heavyweights of the industry. But despite being surrounded by Hollywood’s elite, he didn’t seem caught up in the pageantry. His tuxedo was sharp, but the loose bow tie at his neck gave him a slightly undone look, a quiet refusal to be overly polished. He sat with an ease that suggested he had done this countless times before, yet there was something in his expression - a certain focus, an awareness of the moment - that made it clear he didn’t take any of it for granted.

As if feeling the weight of her gaze, he turned in his seat, glancing up the aisle and for the briefest moment, their eyes met.

It was fleeting. A second, maybe less. But there was something in his expression - curiosity, recognition? - before he turned his attention forward again.

Lucy swallowed, pressing her lips together. Focus. She had bigger things to think about than whatever that had been.

The night kicked off as expected - an extravagant opening number, followed by a cascade of awards in the technical categories. The room was alive with excitement, each win met with enthusiastic applause, some more anticipated than others.

Across the aisle, Cillian sat, quiet and composed. He listened attentively to each speech, though he rarely reacted beyond a slight nod or a murmured word to the person seated beside him. If he was nervous about his own category coming up later, it didn’t show.

The ceremony continued, moving swiftly through major awards and live performances. Lucy listened intently as another Best Original Song nominee took the stage, their performance met with thunderous applause. It was a reminder - her time was coming. Soon, she would be walking up there herself, stepping onto that stage under the weight of millions of watching eyes.

Suddenly, a gentle nudge to her arm pulled Lucy out of her thoughts. She turned to see a production assistant crouching slightly beside her seat, headset in place, clipboard in hand.

“Lucy, we’re ready for you backstage.”

Slipping gracefully from her seat, she adjusted the folds of her gown as she stepped into the dimly lit side aisle. The production assistant guided her swiftly through the rows and toward a discreet exit near the stage. She kept her head high, shoulders back, even as her pulse drummed a little faster.

As she passed the front rows, she caught movement in the corner of her eye. A glance - subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable. Cillian. He had turned his head slightly, following her movement with quiet curiosity. Their eyes met for a split second. Not long enough for anything more than a brief acknowledgment, but something about the way he looked at her - calm, assessing, as if he were seeing her for the first time - made her spine straighten just a little more.

Then, just as quickly, she was gone.

Backstage was a flurry of controlled chaos. Crew members moved with silent efficiency, headsets buzzing with last-minute cues. A makeup artist did a quick touch-up to her lipstick, while another person checked the small in-ear monitor she would be wearing.

“Two minutes,” someone called.

Lucy took a slow, deep breath. She had prepared for this. She had rehearsed, refined, and visualised every second of this performance. The stage was set, the orchestra was ready, and soon, the lights would go up, and it would just be her and the music.

“Thirty seconds,” a stagehand signalled, motioning her toward the entrance to the stage.

The lights beyond the curtain shifted, the applause from the last segment fading into an expectant hush. The host’s voice echoed through the grand hall, introducing her and the song that had brought her here tonight.

Lucy stepped forward, feeling the warmth of the stage lights before she even saw them.

Then, as the first delicate notes of ‘Never Let Me Go’ filled the air, she took her place at the microphone, inhaled deeply, and let the world fade away. The notes were delicate and haunting as the piano echoed into the vast space of the Dolby Theatre. Lucy’s voice came in soft, almost fragile, weaving through the melody with an intimacy that made the enormous room feel impossibly small.

The song built slowly, a quiet ache embedded in every lyric. She sang of love slipping through fingers, of holding on even when time was cruel, of memories that refused to fade. Her voice was tender but sure, laced with raw emotion, threading seamlessly through the delicate instrumentation.

As the music swelled, so did she. The quiet ache transformed into something deeper, something urgent. Her voice lifted, soaring with controlled power, the intensity growing with each line. Every word pulsed with emotion, her conviction pouring into every note as she let herself get lost in it.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her body moving instinctively with the rhythm. The orchestra rose behind her, the strings trembling, the piano striking through the stillness. The power of her voice now raged through the theatre, commanding the space, holding every single person captive in the palm of her hand. And then came the peak - the moment the song had been leading to. She closed her eyes, tipping her chin slightly upward as she held the final note, drawing it out, her voice ringing with raw intensity. It wasn’t just a performance - it was feeling, unfiltered and unrestrained, radiating through the room with staggering force. The sound reverberated, soaring, lingering -

Then, just as seamlessly, it softened.

The fire simmered, dissolving into something gentler, the echo of her voice fading into a whisper as the last few notes of the piano carried her to the end. The music ceased. The lights dimmed. Silence hung for the briefest moment.

And then - thunderous applause. The audience erupted. Lucy exhaled, her chest rising and falling as the weight of the moment settled over her. For a second, she was still, standing in the dim glow of the lights, the rush of adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

From her place on stage, she could see the faces in the front rows - some standing, others clapping with admiration.

And just across the aisle, in the second row from the front, Cillian Murphy sat, watching her.

Unlike the others, he didn’t immediately join the standing ovation. He sat there for a moment longer, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes - something that made her chest tighten just a little.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hands and clapped. Not just polite applause. Something deeper. Something real.

Lucy inhaled sharply, her heart still hammering, and then turned away, slipping off the stage as the lights shifted back.

The host reappeared, seamlessly transitioning the audience back into the flow of the ceremony, but she barely heard the words. Instead, she stood just off to the side, out of sight, pressing a hand lightly to her stomach as she tried to steady her breath.

It had gone by so quickly. One moment she was stepping into the lights, the next she was lost in the music, pouring herself into every note, and now - now it was done.

She swallowed, exhaling through her nose. It had gone well. She knew it had gone well. But still, the nervous energy remained, tangled with the sheer magnitude of what she had just done.

A gentle hand on her arm snapped her back to reality. “Lucy, we’ll take you back to your seat now.”

She nodded, grateful for the guidance as she was ushered down a discreet hallway, back toward the theatre’s seating area. The distant hum of applause from the audience behind her slowly faded as she made her way back toward her section.

And then, as she stepped through the side entrance into the dim glow of the theatre, she felt all the eyes that flicked toward her.

A few whispered words of admiration passed between people as she moved down the aisle, a couple of familiar faces offering small, approving nods as she passed. She kept her head high, her expression composed, but beneath it all, her pulse remained rapid, her mind still caught in the echo of the song.

Jamie was already watching for her, standing slightly as she approached. “Bloody hell, Lu,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was insane.”

She let out a soft, breathless laugh as she slid back into her seat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head as he clapped her on the shoulder. “You absolutely killed it.”

She barely had a moment to absorb that before movement across the aisle caught her attention. Cillian. Still in his seat, but now turned slightly, watching her. There was no grand expression of praise, no exaggerated reaction. Just him, looking at her with that same steady, unreadable gaze. And then…just the slightest nod. Barely perceptible, but there.

Acknowledgment.

Lucy held his gaze for a fraction longer than she meant to before she looked away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she shifted in her seat.

As the night unfolded, Lucy tried to settle back into her seat, but the lingering adrenaline from her performance made it impossible to fully relax. She followed the rest of the show with polite attention, applauding the winners, exchanging quiet remarks with Jamie, but beneath it all, a steady hum of anticipation coursed through her. Because her category was coming.

And then, finally, it did. The camera panned to the stage as the presenter - an acclaimed composer - stepped into the spotlight, the golden envelope in hand.

“And now, the nominees for Best Original Song.”

A reel of clips played on the massive screen above the stage, each song accompanied by scenes from the films they had been written for. Lucy barely heard the others, though she knew each track had its own powerful place in the lineup. Instead, she braced herself as the unmistakable opening notes of ‘Never Let Me Go’ filled the theatre once more, this time intertwined with scenes from the movie.

Her breath caught as she watched herself appear on the screen - her voice soaring over the imagery of the film’s most poignant moments. The montage faded, the applause swelling as the final nominee was announced. And then came the moment. The envelope was lifted. A delicate pause. A slight smile from the presenter.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

A heartbeat stretched.

“Never Let Me Go – Lucy O’Connor.”

For half a second, everything stopped. The Dolby Theatre erupted into applause, the cameras cutting to her face as she sat frozen in shock, wide-eyed and breathless.

Jamie was the first to react, grabbing her arm with an excited shake. “Holy shite, Lucy! You won!”

A stunned laugh escaped her lips before it truly hit. She had won. She had won an Oscar.

The moment jolted to life around her, and she stood shakily, her hands pressed to her chest in disbelief. The cheers were deafening, faces turning to her with admiration, some rising to their feet in applause. She barely processed it as she made her way down the aisle, the train of her teal gown sweeping behind her. As she passed the front rows, she caught movement in the corner of her vision.

Cillian was still seated, still composed - but clapping. Watching her. And this time, there was something unmistakable in his expression. A quiet sort of recognition, maybe even admiration. Then she was climbing the steps to the stage, accepting the golden statue with trembling hands, stepping up to the microphone as the room settled into an expectant hush.

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I…I don’t even know where to start.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the audience.

“This is… surreal,” she admitted, her Irish accent thick with emotion. “I never thought a song I wrote in a small apartment in Dublin would bring me here. And to be part of a film as moving as this - I just feel incredibly honoured.”

She swallowed, gripping the statue tighter.

“To everyone who believed in me, to the director who trusted my music to help tell this story, to my family…”

She looked out towards Jamie who was grinning through watery eyes. “- I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Her gaze briefly flicked over the crowd, catching familiar faces, before she exhaled.

“And to anyone out there dreaming of this moment - of making music, of telling stories - just keep going.”

A final round of applause rose as the orchestra cued the exit music. Lucy took one last look at the audience before stepping away, the weight of the Oscar in her hands making everything feel a little more real.

As she made her way backstage, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

*****

As the night wound toward its climax, the final few categories brought a renewed wave of anticipation through the Dolby Theatre. Lucy, still settling into the reality of her own win, tried to focus as the last awards were announced. Best Director, then Best Actress - each met with roars of applause and emotional speeches that carried the weight of careers built over decades.

And then, finally - Best Actor.

The murmurs in the theatre quieted as the presenter, a legendary actor himself, took the stage with a knowing smile. This was the moment so many had been waiting for. The camera panned across the nominees, their faces appearing on the massive screen above.

Cillian’s name was read second.

His face filled the screen, his expression composed but unreadable, as the clip from his nominated performance played. The intensity in his eyes, the rawness in his delivery - it was no surprise he was a frontrunner. The scene ended, fading into the next nominee, and Lucy found herself sneaking a glance at him across the aisle. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t shift in his seat. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her knee as the final nominee’s clip played. Then came the pause, the stretch of silence as the envelope was lifted, the anticipation thick enough to press against her skin.

“And the Oscar goes to…” The presenter opened the envelope, taking only a beat before reading the name. A smile flickered onto his face.

“Cillian Murphy.”

The Dolby Theatre erupted.

The applause was deafening, people rising to their feet almost immediately. Lucy felt her own hands come together, the energy of the room practically vibrating through her. Across the aisle, Cillian exhaled, a barely perceptible shift in his expression - surprise, maybe, or just the weight of the moment settling in.

Then he stood.

Lucy watched as he shook hands with those around him, accepting quiet congratulations as he made his way down the aisle. For the first time all night, the composed exterior cracked just slightly - just enough to reveal something real beneath it.

*****

As the ceremony wrapped, the winners were ushered backstage in waves, the buzz of excitement still thick in the air. Lucy stood with Jamie as an usher motioned for her to follow, guiding her through the side exit toward the winner’s lounge, where the engraved Oscars were being returned to their recipients.

She walked with purpose, though the weight of the night still hadn’t fully settled in. Every now and then, someone stopped her with a handshake or a quick word of congratulations - a producer, a fellow musician, even a few actors she had admired for years. It was surreal.

The energy inside the room was different from the main show - looser, more celebratory. The winners were scattered throughout the room, some holding their Oscars, others caught up in conversation. Staff moved efficiently, returning the now-engraved statues to their recipients.

A crew member spotted her and motioned her over. “Lucy O’Connor?”

She nodded, stepping forward as they carefully handed her her Oscar - now engraved with her name, solidifying the moment. She traced her fingers over the inscription.

Best Original Song – “Never Let Me Go” – Lucy O’Connor

A slow exhale left her lips. This is real.

Jamie leaned over her shoulder. “Now that’s something.”

Before she could respond, the room shifted slightly, another presence moving into the space beside her.

Cillian.

He was being handed his own Oscar, though he accepted it with quiet ease, his fingers running over the engraving much like hers had just moments before. Lucy felt her body still slightly. They had been in each other’s orbit all night - on the carpet, inside the theatre, in those passing glances. But now, standing side by side, awards in hand, there was no avoiding it. He glanced over at her, his blue eyes sharp even in the softer lighting. A beat passed.

Then, a small nod. “Congratulations.” His voice was calm, steady.

Lucy met his gaze. “You too.”

Another pause, heavier this time. She wasn’t sure why - maybe it was the weight of the moment, maybe it was just him - but something about this didn’t feel like just another passing exchange. Jamie, oblivious to whatever was unfolding, clapped his hands together. “Alright, this calls for drinks, yeah?”

Cillian barely reacted, his attention still on her for a second longer before he turned slightly, adjusting his grip on his Oscar.

She turned to Jamie, levelling him with a look. “Get me a gin and tonic, will you? I can’t stomach any more champagne.”

Jamie scoffed, shaking his head dramatically. “Gin and tonic? After winning an Oscar? God, Lu, have some dignity.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I’ll have dignity when I have a gin and tonic in my hand.”

Jamie smirked, clearly not done with his teasing. “Of all the drinks you could have, on a night like this - you go for a G&T? No whiskey? No fancy cocktail with a sparkler in it? No…”

“Just do it before I start full naming you in front of all these people,” she warned, arching a brow.

His smirk faltered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She tilted her head. “Try me.”

Sensing he wasn’t going to win, he huffed and turned away, heading towards the bar. Cillian, still relaxed beside Lucy, suddenly looked amused. “What’s his full name?” he asked, intrigued.

Lucy glanced over, ensuring he was out of earshot and then leaned toward Cillian, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“James Francis Patrick Oisín O’Connor,” she revealed, her Irish lilt wrapping around each syllable with a teasing edge.

Cillian, mid-sip, nearly choked on his drink. He swallowed quickly, blinking at her in surprise. “Jesus, that’s…a lot.”

Lucy grinned. “I’m convinced my mam hated him at birth after putting her through a thirty-six-hour labour.”

Cillian winced. “Christ.”

“Me, on the other hand?” She gestured to herself with mock satisfaction. “Out in three hours. One middle name.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “Well, I’d say you must have been the favourite, then.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” she quipped. “I like to remind him of that daily.”

Cillian smirked, taking another sip, eyes still on her. “I can see that.”

Lucy met his gaze, the easy banter settling between them like something familiar, something comfortable. And for a moment, the rest of the room - the buzz of the night, the fact that they were two Oscar winners standing here in the heart of Hollywood - faded just a little. This, whatever this was, felt effortless.

The moment between them hung in the air, light and unspoken, until the arrival of Cillian’s co-stars subtly broke it. A few of them - fellow cast members, still riding the high of their Best Picture win - approached with easy grins, calling his name, asking if he was coming to one of the after-parties.

Lucy glanced at them briefly before turning back to him, her expression composed, unreadable.

“Enjoy your night,” she murmured, her voice smooth, effortless.

Then, with a quiet grace, she turned away, her body shifting so that her back was now to him, exposing the smooth, bare expanse beneath the cascade of her chestnut hair.

Cillian’s breath slowed slightly, his glass poised near his lips but forgotten for a moment. The line of her dress dipped dangerously low, the silk clinging elegantly to her frame, the exposed skin a whisper of temptation.

His colleagues were talking - he knew they were talking - but for a brief second, his mind wandered elsewhere. The thought came unbidden, slipping through his consciousness like something inevitable.

The image of his hand trailing up her spine, fingers tracing the delicate ridges of her back, shifting her hair over one shoulder so his lips could find the nape of her neck. He could see it - feel it, almost - the warmth of her skin under his touch, the slow, deliberate press of his mouth against the soft dip where her neck met her shoulder.

And then, lower - his fingertips teasing over the short zip at the base of her spine, the smallest tug, the promise of something unravelling. Heat flickered through him, a sudden, visceral thought he hadn’t been expecting. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself back to reality, to the conversation happening around him.

“Mate, you coming or what?” One of his co-stars nudged his shoulder lightly.

Cillian blinked, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’ll…yeah.”

He took another sip of his drink, steadying himself as he willed the thought away.

But even as he forced himself to focus, to answer, to move, the image of Lucy O’Connor’s back - of the way she had turned from him so effortlessly, unknowingly leaving that vision behind - lingered in the quiet recesses of his mind.

*****

The after party was exactly what he had expected - loud, glamorous, and filled with the kind of energy that came from people who had just spent the night winning, losing, or pretending not to care about either. Cillian had reluctantly agreed to come, not because he particularly wanted to, but because saying no had felt like too much effort after the rush of the night.

Now, he sat at a small table, half in the shadows, nursing a whisky as the world moved on around him. Conversations swirled, laughter rang out, champagne flowed endlessly, but he remained apart from it. Detached.

His fingers wrapped around the glass, the amber liquid catching the low light, but his mind was elsewhere. He thought back to her performance.

‘Never Let Me Go’

The way she had stood there, bathed in that soft, golden light, her voice curling through the theatre like something tangible. She had started soft, delicate - like a secret being told for the first time. And then, as the music swelled, so did she.

Her voice had commanded the space, raw and unrestrained. He remembered watching her from his seat, the way she had tipped her head back as she held the final note, eyes closed, completely lost in it.

It had been… captivating. Not just the song, not just the way she had performed it, but her.

And then, later, he had watched her win. Had watched the moment she realised her name had been called, the shock, the breathless laughter, the way she had held the statue in her hands like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

And he had felt something.

Something that still sat low in his chest, even now, as he swirled his whisky in the glass and let his mind wander back to the quiet exchange they had shared after. The moment in the winner’s lounge. The way she had turned from him, unknowingly leaving him with an image he hadn’t been able to shake.

Jesus. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He had no idea what to make of any of this. All he knew was that, in a room full of the biggest names in Hollywood, with music thrumming through the walls and expensive champagne being poured at every turn - he wasn’t thinking about any of it. Just her.

His eyes flickered toward the entrance as another wave of people entered the party. He recognised many of them instantly - actors, producers, faces from the film that had brought Lucy here tonight. The people she had thanked on stage. He took another slow sip of his whisky, but his focus had shifted.

Was she with them?

The thought surfaced before he could fully process it. He shouldn’t have cared. Shouldn’t have even been looking. But something about the way the night had unfolded - the moments that had built between them, quiet yet lingering - made him wonder. His gaze swept through the group, taking in familiar faces, until…

There.

A flash of teal, weaving between them.

Lucy.

His grip on the glass tightened slightly, a slow awareness settling in his chest. She was here. Her hair, still styled in those soft waves, caught the light as she moved. The dress -the same one that had already burned itself into his memory - clung to her frame, the low-cut back making it impossible to ignore. She wasn’t trying to be the centre of attention, wasn’t forcing herself into the chaos of the party, but even still, she stood out.

His eyes tracked her movements before he could stop himself. She greeted a few familiar faces, offering warm smiles, exchanging words he couldn’t hear over the hum of conversation around him. And then, as if sensing the weight of his gaze, she glanced up and their eyes met.

Then, just as quickly, she turned away, engaging in conversation with someone else, as if she hadn’t just caught him looking. Cillian exhaled, slow and measured, tipping his whisky to his lips once more.

*****

After a while, Cillian realised he hadn’t seen her in a while. It wasn’t something he’d consciously realised until he glanced around the party and found that the familiar flash of teal was missing from the groups still celebrating. The noise had thickened, the room growing warmer with every passing hour, but the absence of her in the crowd pulled at something he couldn’t quite name.

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair before reaching for his jacket draped over it. As he slid it on, he glanced at the others at his table.

“I’m gonna take off,” he said, voice low but firm.

Predictably, a few groans of protest followed.

“Ah, come on, man -”

“You just won an Oscar, have a bit of fun -”

“We barely see you at these things -”

Cillian smirked faintly but shook his head. They knew him well enough to know this wasn’t his scene. He’d shown up, made the rounds, done his part. But he wasn’t the kind to linger in these settings longer than necessary. He muttered his goodbyes, nodding to a few familiar faces as he weaved through the party. As he stepped out into the foyer, the air was marginally cooler, the energy more subdued.

That’s when he saw her.

She was perched on a stool at one of the many bars, a glass in front of her, but something was off.

Her face - so composed, so effortlessly confident throughout the night - was tight with tension. Not obvious, but he noticed. Her shoulders weren’t as relaxed, her grip on the glass a little firmer, her eyes flicking sideways every few seconds in a way that told him she wasn’t comfortable.

Then he saw him.

A man beside her, leaning in too close, his posture too familiar, his voice low as he spoke.

Cillian didn’t recognise him - some industry type, maybe, or someone who had slipped into the party with the right connections. It didn’t matter. What mattered was her.

And the way she clearly didn’t want him there. Cillian didn’t think. He just moved. And Lucy almost felt him before she saw him. The shift in the air, the quiet presence behind her - something solid, something safe. And then, just as the man beside her reached up, fingers brushing against her arm in a way that made her skin crawl, she felt something else.

A different touch.

He slipped his hand across the bare expanse of her back, warm and steady, his fingers tucking lightly into her side as if they belonged there. And for a split second, something flickered through his mind - this is exactly how I imagined it would feel when she turned away from me earlier.

Then, low, quiet, he dipped his head towards her. “Hey,” he murmured, voice calm, assured. “You ready to go?”

Lucy blinked up at him, momentarily confused, until she caught the look in his eyes. That quiet, deliberate expression, telling her to go with it. He was giving her an out. Relief washed through her instantly.

“Yeah, I am,” she answered smoothly, offering a small, effortless smile as she reached for her bag.

The man opposite them - who had, up until now, been pushing his luck - finally seemed to pick up on the shift. The way Cillian’s presence had changed the dynamic. The way Lucy, who had been politely but tensely trying to remove herself from the situation, now had a clear way out.

The man hesitated. Then, sensing the moment slipping beyond his control, forced a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

Lucy returned a brief, practiced smile. “You too.”

And then she stood, allowing Cillian to guide her away. His hand remained at her waist as they wove through the foyer, the touch not possessive, not forceful - just there. A grounding presence, solid and unwavering. He didn’t let go until they stepped fully outside, away from the mans watchful eye. The cooler air wrapping around them as the noise of the party faded behind the heavy doors.

Only then did he slip his arm away, stepping back slightly, hands sliding into his pockets. His blue eyes flickered over her, assessing.

“Sorry if I overstepped,” he said, voice quieter now.

Lucy let out a breath, smiling up at him. “No. I really appreciate it. I couldn’t seem to shake him.”

Cillian nodded once, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

There was something about the way he said it - simple, matter-of-fact, like he had been watching her for longer than she realised. Lucy tilted her head slightly. “How long were you standing there?”

His lips quirked slightly. “Long enough.”

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted - something unspoken but felt. Finally, she exhaled, glancing at the waiting cars lining the curb.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

Cillian nodded. “Yeah. This isn’t really my scene.”

She nodded, rubbing her hand along her arm, still feeling the phantom touch of the man she hadn’t wanted there. Cillian noticed the movement.

“Let me call you a car,” he said.

She hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he cut in, voice even. “Let me anyway.”

She studied him for a moment as he began pulling his phone from his pocket until her voice, soft and a little hesitant, made him pause.

“Umm…” Lucy started, shifting slightly on her feet. “Do you need to get back to your hotel…?”

His eyes flicked back to her, waiting.

She bit her lip briefly, then exhaled. “Can I buy you a drink?” A small, almost sheepish smile accompanied the words before she motioned loosely behind her. “Maybe somewhere a bit quieter… just as a thank you for…”

She trailed off, waving a hand toward the party they had just escaped.

Cillian didn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady, considering. She continued quickly, filling the space. “My hotel’s not far from here. It’s got a nice bar. Quiet…and I swear, I’m really trying not to make this as suggestive as it sounds.”

That made him smirk. Lucy laughed, shaking her head. “That was terrible, wasn’t it?”

Cillian let out a low chuckle, glancing down briefly before tilting his head back up at her. “A little.”

She groaned playfully. “Fantastic.”

Still, she looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He had planned to leave, to go back to his hotel, maybe have one last drink alone in his room before finally letting the night settle. But this felt different. This felt… interesting. He slipped his hands from his pockets, considering her for another second before he finally nodded.

“Alright,” he murmured. “One drink.”

Lucy’s eyes lit up, relief and amusement dancing in them.

“One drink,” she agreed.

The ride to her hotel was quiet but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered through the window, casting soft glows of gold and blue against the darkened streets. Lucy sat back, her fingers absently smoothing over the silk of her dress as she let the hum of the car settle her. Beside her, Cillian was relaxed, one elbow resting lightly against the edge of the door, gaze flicking briefly toward her before returning to the streets outside.

Neither of them spoke much, but something about the silence felt intentional - like neither of them wanted to break whatever unspoken thing had settled between them since stepping out of that party together.

When they pulled up outside the hotel, Cillian followed her inside, past the grand, quiet lobby and toward the dimly lit bar tucked in the corner. It was warm, intimate, with only a handful of patrons occupying the sleek stools and leather booths.

Lucy led the way to a small table near the back, where the low golden light barely reached, and slid into a seat. Cillian followed, unhurried, settling across from her just as a waiter appeared. He was young, bright-eyed, probably eager to please given the kind of clientele this hotel likely attracted. He stood a little straighter when he saw who had just walked in.

“Good evening,” he greeted, polite but clearly trying not to look too starstruck. “What can I get for you?”

Lucy smiled, glancing at Cillian before answering. “Gin and tonic, please.”

Cillian smirked slightly at that but said nothing. The waiter nodded before turning to him. “And for you, sir?”

“Whiskey,” Cillian said simply. “Neat.”

“Of course. I’ll bring those right out.” The waiter left quickly, disappearing behind the polished bar.

A beat of silence. Then, he leaned slightly forward, resting an arm casually against the table.

“So,” he murmured, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Tell me, Lucy O’Connor…do you always lure unsuspecting men to hotel bars after winning an Oscar?”

She grinned. “Only the ones who save me from creeps at parties.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head, but the warmth in his expression never faded. The drinks arrived then, set down in front of them with quiet efficiency. The waiter left them with a polite nod, leaving them in the soft quiet of the bar.

Lucy took a sip of her drink, the cool bitterness of the gin and tonic grounding her after the whirlwind of the night. The bar was quiet, the music low, the kind of place where people spoke in hushed tones rather than the raucous energy of the party they’d just left behind.

Cillian’s whiskey glass resting loosely in his fingers. He looked comfortable, if a little tired, but still present in a way she hadn’t expected. She had assumed he would’ve left the party and disappeared into the night, yet here he was - sitting with her.

“I have to admit,” she said, setting her glass down, “I didn’t think you’d say yes to this.”

His lips twitched slightly, amused. “To the drink?”

She tilted her head. “You don’t seem like the stay out late for a casual drink with someone you barely know type.”

Cillian hummed, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “I’m not, usually.”

Lucy ran a finger along the rim of her glass, watching him. “So, are you regretting it yet?”

Cillian met her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “No,” he said simply.

Her chest tightened slightly at that. Not in a nervous way. In a way that made her aware of him, of the way his presence settled so easily into the space around her. She took another sip of her drink, swallowing down the warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Good,” she murmured. “I’d hate for you to suffer through my company.”

Cillian smirked, his thumb tapping lightly against his glass. “I think I’ll survive.”

And just like that, the conversation stretched on, slipping into something that neither of them seemed in a rush to end. Lucy reached up, absentmindedly fiddling with the diamond earrings that hung from her ears, the soft glow of the bar’s lighting catching the sparkle in them. It was a small movement, something done without thinking, but Cillian noticed it. He noticed everything.

She took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze momentarily flicking away, lost in thought. And for a moment, he let himself look. Really look. She had the kind of features that lingered - elegant but not forced, striking without trying to be. There was a quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, but beneath it, there was something else. A depth, an awareness, a sharpness that he knew wasn’t just for show.

Her chestnut hair, still loosely curled from the night, framed her face in soft waves, a few strands slipping forward over her shoulder. Her skin was smooth under the dim lighting, her lips slightly parted after her last sip of gin, a faint sheen of condensation left on her fingertips from the glass. She was beautiful. That much was obvious. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way she held herself. The way she watched people, read them. The way she had handled that moment earlier - poised, even when she had clearly been uncomfortable. She wasn’t just someone who had landed in the middle of all of this. She was aware of it. Of the power in a glance, in a smile, in a carefully chosen moment.

And yet, right now, sitting across from him in this quiet bar, away from the flashing cameras and the spectacle of the night - she just seemed… real. Lucy felt his gaze then, like a shift in the air, and slowly looked back up at him.

“What?” she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

Cillian took a sip of his whiskey, letting the warmth settle before answering. “Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. But then, instead of pressing, she smirked and leaned forward just a fraction. “You stare a lot,” she mused.

Cillian smirked right back. “You fidget a lot.”

Her fingers stilled against her earring for a beat before she exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Fair point.”

She exhaled and leaned in slightly, propping her elbow against the table as she twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “So… tell me about you,” she said, her voice light, curious. “You’re from Cork, right?”

Cillian nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. “I am. Am I catching a Dublin accent from you?”

She smirked. “Born and bred.”

His lips twitched slightly. “Thought so.”

She tilted her head. “Still got family in Cork?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I live just outside Dublin now, but my family’s still down there.”

Lucy hummed. “You get back much?”

“As much as I can,” he admitted. “It’s home, you know?”

Her gaze softened slightly as she nodded. “Yeah. There’s something about leaving Ireland that makes you feel it more, doesn’t it? The second you’re away from it, you start feeling like you need to claim it, even more than you did when you were actually there.”

Cillian chuckled at that, tipping his glass toward her slightly. “Exactly.”

They slipped into easy conversation from there, the warmth of familiarity threading through it. They talked about family, about home, about the little things that made Ireland feel like Ireland - things only someone who had grown up there would understand. The corner shops, the rain that never quite stopped, the very specific sense of humour that Irish people carried like second nature.

It felt natural, effortless, like they weren’t two people sitting in a fancy hotel bar after one of the biggest nights of their careers. Just two people, talking. And for the first time that night, it felt like the world outside of this conversation didn’t matter at all.

They finished their drinks at an unhurried pace, the conversation stretching between them in a way that felt effortless, like they could have gone on for hours without noticing. But eventually, the glasses sat empty, the ice melting slowly at the bottom.

Lucy glanced down at hers, running her finger over the rim before lifting her gaze back to him. “I suppose that’s the one drink done,” she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Cillian smirked slightly, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his empty whisky glass. “It is.”

There was something lingering in the space between them - something unspoken but undeniable. The kind of thing that existed in the space between words, in the way her eyes held his just a second too long, in the way he hadn’t quite leaned back yet, as if neither of them was quite ready to walk away.

Lucy exhaled, glancing around briefly before looking back at him. “I’m glad you came.”

He studied her for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

Another pause, but this one felt different. Like they were standing at the edge of something, waiting to see if either of them would step forward.

Lucy tilted her head slightly, her voice softer now. “You heading back, then?”

Cillian considered that for a second longer than he probably should have. He should go. That had been the plan. But as he looked at her, sitting across from him in this dimly lit bar, her teal dress still effortlessly draped over her, her presence still as magnetic as it had been hours ago - he realised he wasn’t quite ready for the night to be over.

“I’d like to stay,” Cillian said, his voice low, deliberate. Then he leaned in just a fraction, the kind of movement that felt natural, unforced. His blue eyes held hers, steady and sure. “I mean, if you want to get another… or two…”

Her lips parted slightly, the suggestion settling between them, stretching out in the quiet space of the bar. She didn’t answer right away. She just watched him. The way he said it - not just as a casual offer, but as something intentional. As if he wasn’t just asking about another drink. As if there was an unspoken question layered beneath it, one that neither of them had quite put into words yet. A slow smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Well,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “It’d be rude to leave you sitting here alone, wouldn’t it?”

Cillian exhaled a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “Terribly rude.”

Lucy smirked, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, without another word, she lifted her hand to catch the waiter’s attention. As he approached, she glanced at Cillian once more. “One more?” she asked, teasing.

Cillian leaned back slightly, smirking. “At least.”

Lucy let her fingers drift from her collarbone to the silk strap of her dress, absently adjusting it as she spoke. “I never did say thanks for saving me back there.”

Cillian’s gaze flickered to her fingers for the briefest moment before lifting back to meet hers. “You don’t have to,” he murmured.

But she shook her head and without hesitation, she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. It was warm, steady - deliberate, her expression softer now. “I do.”

Cillian’s fingers tensed beneath hers for half a second, just barely, before he let them relax. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away, just let her touch rest there, solid and unspoken. Lucy exhaled softly. “I didn’t feel like I could do anything without making a scene,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, more real. “You couldn’t have appeared at a better time.”

Cillian studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something behind his eyes - something sharp, something knowing.

He turned his hand slightly under hers, just enough so that his fingers lightly curled around the side of her palm. “Timing’s everything,” he said simply.

The weight of the moment settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable. The bar, the people around them, the rest of the night - it all faded into the background.

All that existed was the warmth of her hand on his, the slow drag of her fingertips against his skin, the flicker of something unspoken hanging in the air.

Lucy suddenly straightened, as if catching herself, and slid her hand back, breaking the contact. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Cillian’s fingers flexed slightly where her touch had just been, the warmth of it still lingering against his skin. But he didn’t push, didn’t question it. He simply tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You don’t have to be,” he said, voice even.

She let out a soft breath, reaching for her glass again, though she didn’t immediately take a sip. Instead, she let her fingers rest against the cool surface, her gaze flicking somewhere past him, like she was trying to ground herself. The shift between them was subtle, but it was there. A moment of something real, something unguarded, slipping between them before she had pulled herself back. Cillian didn’t look away.

“Lucy,” he said gently, drawing her focus back to him.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. Instead, she just exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Cillian smirked faintly, leaning forward slightly, just enough to close the space between them again. “I think you do.”

Lucy’s lips curved into a soft smile as she lifted her glass, taking a slow sip. “Do I?”

Cillian didn’t look away, didn’t let the moment slip. His gaze remained steady, unwavering. “Mm hmm,” he stated simply, his voice low, confident.

Lucy arched a brow, intrigued. “Care to enlighten me?”

She smirked, taking another sip, the whisky settling warm in her chest. Cillian exhaled a quiet chuckle, rolling the glass between his fingers. “I could.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him, the tease still playing at the edge of her lips. “But?”

“But I think you already know,” he murmured.

Lucy let the words settle between them, the slow pull of something unspoken hanging in the air. She could feel it—the shift, the weight of his attention, the way he wasn’t just looking at her, but reading her.

She swallowed, the whisky lingering on her tongue, and smirked again. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Cillian smirked right back, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. “Not always.”

Lucy leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table. “But right now?”

He held her gaze, his smirk softening, his expression turning unreadable.

“Right now,” he murmured, “yeah.”

The way he said it - slow, deliberate - sent something warm curling low in her stomach.

And for the first time all night, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to tease him anymore. Lucy tilted her head, eyes glinting with something teasing, something challenging - but beneath it, there was honesty.

“What do you want me to say?” she murmured, her voice smooth, controlled. “You want me to tell you that I want you? That I’ve wanted you since the minute I saw you on that carpet?”

She watched him carefully, waiting for a reaction. And she got one. It wasn’t obvious - not something anyone else in the room would pick up on - but she felt it. The way his body stilled just slightly, the way his grip on his glass tightened, the way his gaze darkened ever so subtly, sharpening with something heavier than amusement. Cillian exhaled slowly, setting his whisky down with deliberate ease. He leaned in, resting his forearm against the table, his voice lower when he spoke.

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

Since the moment she had turned from him on that carpet, since the moment she had looked at him across the aisle in the theatre, since the moment she had let her hand linger over his - he had known. And the way he was looking at her now? Made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had felt it too.

Lucy nodded, the decision settling within her. Then, without breaking eye contact, she threw back the last of her drink in one smooth motion, the warmth of it burning down her throat.

She stood, slow and deliberate, reaching for her clutch. “I think I’m going to head upstairs,” she murmured, adjusting the strap of her dress slightly. “Might have a drink on the balcony.”

Cillian didn’t move, didn’t react - not outwardly, at least. But his eyes tracked her, watching as she stepped toward the bar.

She rested her fingers lightly on the counter, glancing at the bartender. “Can you just charge those drinks to room 648, please?”

The bartender nodded, and she turned back, meeting Cillian’s gaze once more.

There was nothing in her expression that was rushed, nothing uncertain. Just a quiet, knowing offer woven into the moment. Then, without another word, she moved toward the door of the bar. She didn’t look back again. She moved through the dimly lit hallway, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she reached the elevator. She pressed the up button, then stood there, exhaling slowly as she waited for the doors to open.

Her heart wasn’t racing - not quite - but there was a slow, steady anticipation curling low in her stomach. She could still feel him back in the bar. The weight of his gaze. The silence of his decision forming.

She hadn’t rushed. She hadn’t needed to look back. Because if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be because of a glance over her shoulder or a playful smirk. It was going to be because he chose to follow.

The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open. She stepped inside, pressing the button for her floor. She turned slightly, her eyes drifting across the lobby and there he was, standing at the edge of the bar’s entrance, his hands still in his pockets, his expression unreadable - but his eyes locked on hers.

For a second, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed away from the doorframe and started toward her. Lucy’s fingers hovered over the close door button, teasing, but she didn’t press it. She just stood there, watching him approach, and just as the doors started to slide shut, his hand reached out, catching them. He stepped inside, the space suddenly feeling smaller, warmer. Neither of them spoke.

As they got off the elevator on her floor, she walked towards her room, pulling her key card from her bag as she opened it up. She moved inside and held the door open just long enough for him to follow before she let it swing shut behind him, the soft click of the lock settling into the quiet space between them.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look back as she moved toward the mini bar, slipping easily into the room’s low, golden light.

Cillian watched as she lifted two glasses, her movements smooth, practiced, before she reached for the whiskey. The rich amber liquid poured easily into each glass, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound breaking the stillness.

Then, without a word, she stepped out of her heels, the soft sigh of her bare feet meeting the carpet making something flicker in his chest.

She lifted one of the glasses, turning toward him, her steps slow, deliberate. And then she was in front of him. Closer than they had been before. She held out the glass, and when he reached for it, their fingers brushed - just for a second, just enough for the warmth of her skin to press into his.

She took a slow step back, moving toward the balcony doors, the city lights casting faint shadows across the room. She reached for the handle, sliding it open. Without looking back, she stepped outside, the soft fabric of her dress shifting against her skin as she leaned against the railing. She felt him hesitate. Just for a second. But then, he stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he let the door slide shut behind him. The distant hum of the city stretched out below, a quiet contrast to the stillness between them.

He placed his glass down on the small table beside them, but his focus wasn’t on the drink. It was on her.

Lucy stood at the railing, her fingers resting lightly against the metal, her gaze somewhere beyond the skyline. Then, in one slow, effortless movement, she reached up, gathering her hair and pulling it over one shoulder.

His breath slowed. The smooth expanse of her back, already lingering in his thoughts since the moment he saw her in that dress, was now right in front of him - bare, inviting, the silk of the gown dipping impossibly low, revealing the delicate curve of her spine.

His eyes drifted, drawn to the subtle way her skin caught the light, to the way the fabric clung in all the right places. He flexed his fingers, shoving his hands into his pockets, resisting the pull - the urge - to reach out. The tension between them was no longer unspoken. It was thick, palpable, stretching with every second that passed in silence. And Cillian wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand there without touching her.

Eventually, his hand lifted, fingers reaching out, hovering just above the smooth expanse of her back. He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before finally touching. His fingertips ghosted over her skin, barely a whisper of contact, tracing along the delicate ridge of her spine. Lucy inhaled sharply. Not loud, not exaggerated - just a small, barely perceptible hitch in her breath.

But he noticed.

His fingers trailed lower, slow and deliberate, tracing down to the base of where her dress dipped before dragging back up again, his knuckles brushing lightly against her skin as if memorising the feeling. She leaned into it - just the slightest shift, the kind of movement that wasn’t obvious but was felt.

Cillian swallowed, his gaze fixated on the way her skin reacted to his touch, the way goosebumps rose in the wake of his fingers. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low. Rough. “You knew I’d follow you up here, didn’t you?”

Lucy exhaled, turning her head slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark with something unreadable. “I hoped you would,” she admitted, her voice smooth, steady.

Cillian let his fingers drift higher, brushing the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck, his thumb just barely tracing along her shoulder. Then, dipping his head slightly, his lips hovered – just- above her skin.

His breath was warm against her skin as he lingered, his lips lingering just above the nape of her neck. He had imagined this moment earlier - had felt the pull of it the second she turned away from him at the party, leaving him with the thought of tracing his mouth along the delicate curve of her spine.

And now, with her standing in front of him, her skin bare, exposed to the night air and to him, he finally gave in.

His lips grazed her skin - soft, deliberate. A barely-there kiss, more of a test than anything else, but the way Lucy inhaled, the way her body reacted to him, had something tightening in his chest. He felt the way she stilled beneath him, felt the way her breath came just a fraction sharper.

His hand, still resting against her back, splayed slightly, his fingertips pressing into the base of her spine as he traced another kiss, this time slightly lower. Lucy exhaled, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, offering him more. It was all the invitation he needed. His lips moved along her skin, trailing down the exposed curve of her shoulder, his breath warm against the cool night air. His fingers skimmed upward, teasing along the silk strap of her dress, as if testing how easily it might fall.

Cillian let out a slow breath, his lips still hovering just above her skin. His fingers traced idle patterns against her spine, his other hand still teasing the strap of her dress.

He let his fingers drift lower, his palm pressing lightly against the base of her back, his thumb skimming along the dip of her waist. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, letting his lips linger against her skin before pulling back just slightly.

“I thought the second I touched you,” he admitted, his breath warm against her skin, “I wouldn’t want to stop.”

Lucy turned in his hold then, slow and deliberate, until she was facing him, her back now pressed lightly against the railing. Her eyes searched his, dark with something unreadable.

“And do you?” she asked softly.

His jaw tensed, his fingers flexing slightly at her waist.

“Not even a little,” he admitted.

Lucy smirked, tilting her chin up slightly, her fingers trailing down the front of his shirt. “Then don’t.”

Cillian’s restraint snapped. His hand came up, cupping the back of her neck as he finally closed the space between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was anything but careful. Lucy’s hands slid up over his shoulders, her fingers tracing the tense line of muscle beneath his shirt before curling around the fabric of his jacket. She didn’t rush - she savoured, feeling the way his body reacted beneath her touch, the way his breath grew heavier against her skin. The fabric slipped down his arms, and she caught it, gripping it for just a second before turning and dropping it onto the chair beside them, her movements fluid, controlled.

His hands found her waist again, his thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles against her skin where the dress dipped low at her back.

Lucy moved slowly, deliberately, beginning to undo each button of his shirt with a steady precision that made Cillian’s breath grow heavier with every passing second. She didn’t rush, didn’t fumble - just took her time, letting her fingertips graze against his skin as she parted the fabric of his shirt.

When the last button slipped free, she exhaled softly, her breath catching slightly as she took in the sight of him.

Her hands, unashamed now, travelled over the firm lines of his abdomen, her fingers tracing the defined muscles, the warmth of his skin beneath her palms making something tighten low in her stomach.

Her touch was soft but sure, her fingers pressing lightly against his ribs, dragging lower, memorising every ridge, every contour.

Lucy’s gaze flicked up to his, her lips parting slightly, as if she wanted to say something - but no words came. Instead, she turned away from him slowly, her body shifting as she placed her stomach against the cool metal railing. The night air kissed her skin, a contrast to the warmth still lingering between them. She reached up, gathering her hair in one fluid motion, pulling it over her shoulder to expose the bare expanse of her back once more. Then, just as smoothly, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

Inviting.

Cillian’s breath caught slightly. His fingers flexed at his sides as his eyes traced the exposed curve of her spine, the delicate slope of her shoulders, the way the silk of her dress clung to her waist. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck once more, his breath warm against her skin as his hands found the small zipper at the base of her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he slid it down. The soft hum of the zipper lowering was the only sound between them, apart from the steady rhythm of their breaths.

Lucy remained still beneath his touch, her hands resting lightly on the railing, her body pliant, waiting.

His fingers slipped beneath the delicate straps of her dress, tracing over her shoulders as he touched her gently, coaxing her to turn back toward him. She did, moving effortlessly, until she was facing him once more, her eyes dark, expectant.

Cillian held her gaze as he gripped the straps, pausing for just a moment, giving her the chance to stop him. With one smooth motion, he pulled the straps down, letting the fabric slip over her skin, revealing her bare to him. His breath stilled. He had imagined - fantasised - about this moment in fragments all night, but nothing compared to the reality of her standing in front of him now, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the balcony.

Lucy exhaled softly, her fingers lifting to rest lightly against his chest, waiting for him to say something, to do something. Cillian swallowed, his voice low, rough when he finally spoke.

“You are,” he murmured, his hands sliding up her sides, his touch reverent, “fucking breathtaking.”

Lucy kissed him deeply, her body pressing against his as she gently guided him backward. He let her, following the movement, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin he could reach. His fingers reached behind him, fumbling for the sliding door, and with one firm push, he sent it open. The cool air of the balcony faded as they stepped inside, the dim glow of the hotel room wrapping around them. And then, just as smoothly, she pushed him onto the bed.

Cillian barely had time to react before he was sinking into the mattress, watching as she turned to the window. Her dress, still resting around her hips, swayed with the motion as she reached for the curtains, drawing them closed, sealing them in. When she turned back to him, her gaze was steady, unwavering. She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stopping just in front of him. He instinctively rested his hands on her hips, his grip firm as his fingers curled into the silk gathered around her waist. He tugged the fabric down inch by inch, letting it glide over the curves of her body before finally letting it slip past her hips, falling in a whisper of silk to the floor.

He pulled back slightly, his breath still uneven, his hands still resting at her sides. But when he looked at her, really looked, his eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

The entire night.

On the carpet, in the theatre, walking the stage, standing beside him at the bar -

She had been completely naked beneath that dress.

His gaze dragged slowly down her body, taking in every inch of her now bare before him, before flicking back up to meet her eyes. Lucy smirked, watching the realisation settle over him, a quiet, knowing satisfaction dancing in her expression. Cillian let out a slow exhale, his jaw tightening as his hands flexed at her waist.

“Jesus Christ, Lucy,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost wrecked.

She tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering behind her darkened gaze. “Problem?”

Cillian let out a low, breathless chuckle, shaking his head as he traced his hands over her bare skin, possessive now, as if he needed to make up for the fact that he hadn’t known before.

“Not even a little,” he admitted, voice thick with something deeper.

Then, in one fluid motion, his hands gripped her thighs, lifting her effortlessly before laying her down onto the bed beneath him. Her legs parted slightly, a silent invitation, as she propped herself up on her elbows, watching him. Cillian moved to stand at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to the buttons of his trousers. He worked them open, his movements unhurried but deliberate, the weight of her gaze making his pulse drum harder beneath his skin. He pushed the fabric down, letting them fall to the floor.

Lucy’s eyes flickered downward, her breath catching just slightly as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her gaze lingered, dark with something raw, something undeniable.

Then, lifting her chin slightly, she met his eyes again and said, without a hint of hesitation -

“And those.”

A demand. Not a request. Cillian exhaled sharply, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest, but there was nothing playful in the way he looked at her now - only heat, only want, only her. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, his movements slow, measured, letting her watch, letting her wait.

Then, without breaking her gaze, he pushed them down.

And from the way her lips parted, from the way her breath hitched just slightly, he knew he had her exactly where he wanted. He moved, climbing onto he bed, his hand drifted slowly, deliberately, trailing down the soft curve of her body as he deepened the kiss. His fingers traced over the dip of her waist, the smooth expanse of her stomach, before sliding lower.

Lucy gasped against his lips as he found her, his touch firm but teasing, parting her legs with ease. He groaned softly, feeling just how ready she was for him, how her body responded instantly to his touch.

“Fuck, Lucy…” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm, voice thick with something wrecked, something desperate.

She arched into him, her nails scraping lightly down his back as he circled his fingers over her with slow, torturous precision. Her head tipped back, exposing her throat to him, and he took advantage of it immediately, his mouth moving to her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin. Her breath hitched, her hips shifting beneath him, chasing more, and Cillian smirked against her skin.

“Patience,” he teased, his voice rough but playful, even as he applied more pressure, coaxing another gasp from her lips.

He moved down her body with slow, deliberate intent, his lips leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across her skin. His fingers never stopped moving, never stopped working her, keeping her on edge, keeping her breathless beneath him.

Lucy’s head tipped back against the pillows, her body arching as he pushed her legs further apart, settling himself between them. His mouth trailed lower, teasing along her stomach, his breath warm, possessive, as he pressed kisses down the soft inside of her thighs. She gasped, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly, urging him on.

Cillian smirked against her skin, lingering, savouring, dragging out the anticipation until he felt her legs tremble slightly beneath his grip. Then, finally, his mouth found her. Lucy let out a sharp, choked moan, her back arching as he devoured her, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her against him. Cillian groaned low against her, the sound vibrating through her body, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to her core.

“Oh my God, Cillian,” Lucy gasped, her voice breaking as pleasure surged through her.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him exactly where she needed him, her hips shifting instinctively toward his mouth, toward the devastating rhythm of his tongue. Cillian groaned in response, the vibration sending another wave of sensation through her. His hands pressed firmly against her thighs, keeping her spread open for him, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. He was relentless, his mouth working her with expert precision, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deep, consuming pressure that had her gasping, begging for more. Lucy writhed beneath him, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts, her body burning from the inside out.

“Cillian – fuck - ” she choked out, her back arching as she pulled at his hair, her thighs trembling against his grip.

He loved hearing her like this. Loved knowing that he was unravelling her completely, dragging her higher, pushing her closer. And when he finally slipped his fingers back inside her, curling just right, his name tore from her lips again, wrecked and desperate, as she shattered beneath him.

Cillian didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Not until he had wrung every last drop of pleasure from her, not until she was gasping, trembling, her body completely undone beneath him.

Only then did he finally pull away, his lips trailing back up her body, his mouth brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Say it again.”

“Cillian,” Lucy whispered into his ear, her voice soft but wrecked, still breathless from everything he’d just done to her.

Cillian exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against hers as he let himself feel the moment, the warmth of her skin against his, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way she still trembled slightly beneath him. His hands skimmed over her sides, slow and reverent, as if memorising every inch of her.

“Fuck, Lucy…” he murmured, his voice thick, raw. He exhaled sharply, his body tense above hers, his self-control dangling by a thread. But before he could respond, before he could even think, her hand slipped between them, wrapping around him, her touch firm, knowing.

Cillian groaned low in his throat, his forehead pressing against hers as his hips jerked slightly into her grasp, the sensation of her hands on him unravelling him completely.

“Lucy…” he breathed, his voice strained, wrecked, as he fought to hold onto the last shred of restraint he had left. She smirked, just slightly, her thumb stroking along his length, slow, teasing, torturous.

“Tell me you want me.” she murmured, her lips brushing against his, teasing but needing, too.

Cillian’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping her hips tight as he hovered over her, his breath heavy, uneven.

His lips barely ghosted over hers as he whispered, his voice low, possessive. “I need you, Lucy.”

Then, with one smooth, fluid motion, he guided himself against her, teasing her just enough to make her gasp, and then, he pushed inside. Lucy’s body reacted before she could even think - her hips lifting, meeting him halfway, her legs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling him deeper. A gasp escaped her lips, pleasure shooting through her like wildfire as her body adjusted to the stretch of him, the perfect way he fit against her.

Cillian groaned, his forehead nearly dropping to her shoulder, the sensation of finally being inside her too much and not enough all at once. His fingers tightened against her hips, holding her there as he tried to steady himself. Her hand slipped up, finding his cheek, her fingers curling against his skin as she forced him to look at her.

“Cillian,” she whispered, her breath hot, her eyes burning with something deep, something real.

His blue eyes flickered open, dark, wrecked, locking onto hers. He felt everything in that moment - the way she held him, the way her body clung to him, inviting, demanding. The way she needed him just as much as he needed her. Lucy swallowed hard, her thumb stroking along his jaw, her voice softer now, but no less certain.

“I want to see you.”

Cillian swore under his breath, something breaking in him at her words, at the way she was undoing him completely.

Then, with a deep, measured breath, he pulled back slowly - just enough to make her feel it - before thrusting forward again, setting a rhythm that was deliberate, intense, unrelenting. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, Cillian’s thrusts deep and relentless, pulling soft cries from Lucy’s lips each time he hit exactly where she needed him. Her nails raked down his back, her legs tightening around his hips as she gasped, her breath breaking apart with every movement.

“Cillian…” she gasped, her voice breathless, desperate. “Keep going, God - harder.”

Cillian groaned, his jaw tightening, his control hanging by a thread as he obeyed, gripping her hips and driving into her with more intensity, more force, pulling another sharp, wrecked moan from her lips. He felt the exact moment she unravelled beneath him, the way her body tightened, clenched, her back arching as her release hit her like a wave. She cried out, gripping onto him, holding him there as she shattered around him.

“Fuck, Lucy,” he growled, his rhythm faltering as the sensation of her pulsing around him nearly undid him right then and there. But he held on, barely, chasing his own release, his breath ragged against her skin.

Lucy didn’t let him think, didn’t let him slow. Her lips found his, kissing him deeply, hungrily. Then his cheekbones, his jaw, trailing kisses along his skin as he groaned against her mouth.

And then, as his movements grew erratic, as his restraint slipped entirely, she nipped at his earlobe, tugging lightly with her teeth before whispering, “Let go, Cillian.”

That was it. His breath caught, his hands gripped onto her, and with one final, deep thrust, he broke. His release crashed over him like a tidal wave, a guttural groan tearing from his lips as he lost himself in her completely, his body tensing, then shuddering against hers as he gave in.

Lucy held him through it, her hands soothing over his damp skin, her lips still pressing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw as his breath slowed, his body still pressed perfectly against hers.

Cillian let out a slow breath, his body still pressed against hers as he reluctantly pulled out of her, the loss of contact making them both ache just slightly.

Lucy exhaled softly, shifting onto her side as she pulled the sheet up over herself, tucking it beneath her arms. The silk of it barely covered her, but she wasn’t in any rush to fix it. She was too warm, too wrecked, too content.

Cillian moved beside her, mirroring her position, one arm bent beneath his head as he watched her, his expression softer now, calmer.

Then, out of nowhere, she laughed.

Not forced, not exaggerated - just genuine.

She shook her head, glancing up at him, her eyes still heavy-lidded from pleasure but shining with something else.

“I don’t understand any of this night,” she murmured, amusement lacing her tone. “I woke up this morning on my own, getting ready for an awards show I’ve spent twenty years watching on TV… and now…”

She gestured vaguely between them, her fingers brushing over his bare chest before dropping to the mattress.

“I don’t know how I got here.”

Cillian leaned in, pressing his lips to hers again, slow and lingering. “Don’t overthink it. Just…be here.”

They lay there, her wrapped up alongside him as he trailed his fingers up and down her spine. They spoke, about the night, about life back in Ireland, about anything until his hand shifted down around her hip, pulling her to him, his grip firm but unhurried, his hand slipping into her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as he kissed her. His other hand traced the curve of her waist, his palm warm against her bare skin, possessive in the way he held her.

He broke away just enough to murmur against her lips, his breath hot, voice thick.

“I knew from the minute I saw you,” he confessed, his forehead pressing lightly to hers, his fingers tightening in her hair, “I wanted you.”

Lucy’s breath caught, her hands sliding over his chest, holding him now, as if grounding herself. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her body still warm, still humming from the way he had touched her before.

Her fingers traced along his collarbone, her gaze locked onto his. “And now that you have me?”

Cillian smirked, but it was softer this time, something deeper lurking beneath it. His hand slid down, pressing firmly into the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

“Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers, “I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

Lucy laughed softly against his lips, the sound teasing, light, but cut off almost instantly when Cillian’s hand moved. He slid his fingers between her legs once more, finding her with ease, his touch confident, knowing exactly what she needed. Her breath hitched, the laughter melting into a sharp gasp as her body reacted instantly, her thighs parting just slightly to give him more.

Cillian smirked against her mouth, his fingers moving with slow, torturous precision, dragging through her heat before pressing exactly where she needed him.

“Not laughing now, are you?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but full of something darker, something wrecked.

Lucy swallowed hard, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders as pleasure curled through her, wiping away every ounce of composure she had left.

“Cillian…” she gasped, her body arching into his touch, chasing the friction, chasing him.

His lips found her jaw, his breath hot against her skin as he worked her open again, pushing her closer, his control over her absolute.

“Christ, I love the way you say my name like that,” he growled, pressing deeper, curling his fingers inside her in a way that had her breaking beneath him.

Lucy let her body surrender completely to him as she lay back against the sheets, her legs falling open, welcoming him in a way that left no room for hesitation.She wanted this. Needed this.

Needed him.

Cillian saw it and felt it, and with a slow, deliberate smirk, he rewarded her by slipping in another finger, stretching her further, his pace steady but relentless as he began to move down her body.

Lucy gasped, her back arching as her hands clutched at the sheets, pleasure surging through her at the added pressure, the delicious way he worked her body with ease.

“Fuck, Lucy…” Cillian groaned, watching her fall apart beneath him, completely open, completely his. He loved seeing her like this - raw, undone, completely at his mercy. His lips found her thigh, kissing, nipping, teasing as his fingers continued their slow, devastating rhythm. Her breath came in short, desperate bursts, her body trembling, chasing the release he was so clearly holding just out of reach.

“Cillian…” she gasped, her hands reaching for him now, her voice thick, pleading.

Cillian exhaled a rough chuckle, dipping his head lower, pressing his lips just above where she needed him most.

“Tell me what you want, Lucy,” he murmured against her skin, his fingers curling inside her just right, making her cry out. Her hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as she pulled him toward her.

“I want you,” she breathed, her voice wrecked, desperate.

Cillian groaned, his self-control shattering. Lucy continued to tug him toward her with a need that was no longer restrained, no longer teased…it was demanding. Her hips lifted to meet his mouth, seeking more, chasing the pleasure he was giving her, and Cillian let her…let her guide him, let her take what she needed. And fuck, he loved it.

His grip on her thighs tightened as he anchored her, keeping her exactly where he wanted, exactly where she wanted. His tongue worked her expertly, with the same relentless precision as his fingers had, flicking, devouring, sending shockwaves through every inch of her. Lucy gasped, her body shaking, her fingers tightening in his hair as she tried to hold onto something, anything, but she was already slipping, already teetering on the edge.

“Cillian…fuck.” she gasped, her breath breaking, her thighs trembling against him.

Cillian groaned against her, the vibration sending another wave of heat rushing through her. He could feel it…how close she was, how her body was already tightening around him, already there. And when she cried out his name again, her back arched, her breath catching as pleasure consumed her.

Lucy barely let herself breathe before she moved, shifting with purpose, determination, flipping the moment entirely as she pushed him onto his back. Cillian let out a rough groan, caught off guard for half a second, but fuck, he let her. Welcomed it. His hands went to her hips instinctively, but she wasn’t waiting for him to take control. Her lips crashed into his, claiming, tasting herself on his tongue as she straddled him, pressing herself against him with no hesitation, no patience.

Her mouth moved from his, trailing down his neck, her lips and tongue dragging against his pulse, his collarbone, the firm lines of his chest, lower.

Cillian’s head tipped back against the pillows, his breath coming in short, sharp exhales, his fingers twitching against the sheets.

And then…

Her mouth took him. His control shattered. Cillian swore, his fingers tangling in her hair, his back arching slightly as her lips wrapped around him, her tongue tracing, working him with zero teasing, zero hesitation…just pure, deliberate intent.

His thighs tensed, his grip tightening in her hair, his head falling back again as he struggled to hold himself together.

“Jesus, Lucy.” he groaned, his voice completely wrecked, his breath ragged as she kept him on the very edge, pushing him just far enough before pulling back, before denying him his release.

Cillian let out a breathless, desperate laugh, shaking his head, his fingers trailing to her jaw as she moved back up his body.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, his lips crashing into hers again.

Lucy smirked against his mouth. “Not yet.”

And then, with one slow, smooth motion, she sank onto him, taking him completely. Cillian swore, his fingers gripping onto her hips as his breath vanished entirely. She moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling her hips in a way that sent sharp waves of pleasure spiralling through both of them. Cillian’s hands roamed over her body, his palms sliding across her stomach, up to her chest, feeling her, memorising her, his fingers tracing every curve as she moved on him.

His thumbs brushed over her as he groaned low in his throat, watching her completely lost in the moment, her body rocking against him with effortless, intoxicating ease. Lucy’s breath came heavier, her hands gripping onto his chest for support as she set her pace, her thighs tightening around him. Cillian exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into her hips, his head pressing back against the pillows as he let her take what she needed, let her control this moment, let her ruin him.

“Fuck, Lucy…” he groaned, his voice raw, strained.

She smirked down at him, her movements steady but unrelenting, rolling her hips in a way that made his jaw clench, his breath stutter.

“You like that?” she teased, breathless, her hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

Cillian let out a strangled, breathless chuckle, his hands tightening at her waist. “Love it.” he admitted, his voice thick with need.

Lucy leaned down, her lips brushing against his jaw, her breath hot against his ear.

“Then don’t hold back.”

Cillian growled low in his throat, his control slipping entirely at her words.

And then, he flipped them, pinning her beneath him, taking her the way they both needed. Lucy gasped, her breath catching as Cillian hooked both of her legs over his shoulders, his grip strong, possessive, using her body for leverage as he drove into her. The angle sent a shockwave through her, pleasure shooting straight to her core, her back arching off the bed as she cried out, her fingers scrambling to grip onto something, anything.

Cillian groaned, his jaw clenching as he watched her unravel beneath him, completely open to him, for him. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he set a relentless rhythm, deep and devastating, pushing her higher, harder, refusing to let either of them breathe.

“Fuck, Lucy,” he growled, his voice wrecked, raw with need. “You feel so fucking perfect.”

Lucy couldn’t even form words, could only let out a strangled moan, her hands gripping onto his wrists, her nails biting into his skin as she took everything he was giving her. He shifted slightly, adjusting, and fuck, that was it.

Her head fell back, her body tightening around him, her thighs trembling as pleasure crashed over her like a tidal wave, ripping through her as she came apart beneath him, his name breaking from her lips.

Cillian felt it…the way her body clenched around him, dragging him closer to his own release. His grip tightened, his pace faltering as he chased it, his breath ragged, his rhythm turning desperate. With a strangled groan, his body shuddered, his grip on her tightening as he spilled into her, completely wrecked, his breath stuttering as he lost himself entirely.

He hovered over her, his forehead pressing to hers, his breath heavy, uneven, their bodies still tangled, still pulsing in the aftermath.

The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, both of them spent, wrecked and ruined in the best possible way.

[moodycowplant]

118. Whispers of Forever 💍💖

💖⬇️I highly recommend listening to the song to feel the moment better ⬇️💖

----------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚------------------------------------

After his conversation with Philip—the first real father-son talk they’d had in years—Conrad felt surprisingly at ease.

The weight that usually sat heavy on him had lessened, even if just a little.

As he stepped back into the room, he found Lana sprawled across the entire bed, sleeping peacefully.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. She was always the one to toss and turn in her sleep.

Sitting beside her, he simply watched her for a moment. She looked so peaceful, so at ease, and it filled his heart with warmth.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from her face, then leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

Lana moved and her lashes flickered, and—still half-asleep—she instinctively leaned into the kiss, deepening it.

Conrad pulled back slightly, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping,” she murmured, pulling him back in for another kiss. “And I’m glad you and your dad finally talked.”

His heart jumped at that.

He stiffened slightly with his mind racing back to the proposal.

Had she heard anything?

“So, you were snooping?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Did you hear everything?”

Lana smirked, still cupping his face in her hands. “Yes… I mean, no! I didn’t hear the conversation, but I came looking for you and saw you talking.” She paused with her eyes searching his. “It went well, didn’t it?”

Conrad let out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but… it was the first real one we’ve ever had. Believe it or not.”

“He’s trying, Conrad. Give him time.”

“I know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I am.”

A pause.

“How do you feel? Any strength left?” he asked as his fingers brushing her cheek.

“I feel good. Why?” she asked, eyeing him curiously.

“Then get dressed. There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

“What? Now?” Lana blinked in surprise. “Like… in the middle of the night?”

“Yep. The whole point is to be there by sunrise.” Conrad grinned, already pulling her up.

She groaned dramatically but grabbed her clothes. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” he teased her with a smirk.

----------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚------------------------------------

The drive was about thirty minutes, the quiet hum of the car was mixing with the occasional sound of Lana's yawn.

The night was still dark, and a thin mist hugged the ground, making it difficult to see where they were heading. But it was clear they had left town far behind.

When they arrived, Conrad wrapped an arm around Lana’s waist, guiding her forward along a dirt path.

The sound of rushing water filled the air.

“Conrad, where are we?” she asked, glancing around.

“You’ll see,” he said again tightening his grip slightly around her waist.

As they reached the end of the path, the view unfolded before them—a secluded lake, surrounded by towering red rocks, its surface shimmering beneath the starlit sky.

A waterfall cascaded in the distance, sending ripples across the water, and a light mist hovered just above the surface.

Lana gasped softly. “This place is… breathtaking.”

Conrad pulled her closer.

“This is Black Star’s and my favorite spot. After one of the worst fights I ever had with my mother, I ran away with him, and we found this place while exploring. We camped here for a couple of nights before my father’s security found me. But after that… this became our escape. The one place where we didn’t have to pretend. The only place that ever felt safe.”

Lana’s fingers curled around his. “That means something, doesn’t it? Even if it was rare.”

Conrad exhaled, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah. I guess that’s why I wanted to bring you here. This place holds one of the only good memories I have from my childhood. And now…” He turned to her with his voice softer. “I want it to hold something else too.”

Lana tilted her head, but before she could ask, Conrad reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Her breath hitched.

“Conrad—”

“Wait,” he said quickly, suddenly nervous.

He opened the box, revealing a ring—not just any ring, but an old, delicate band with engravings along the edges.

Lana’s lips parted, caught between words and emotions.

“Conrad…” she whispered, her fingers brushing over the ring.

He swallowed, forcing himself to keep going.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to love,” he admitted. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But you… you are the only person who has ever made me feel like I could be more than my past. More than my fears.” He took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to run anymore. Not from you. Not from us. Alanya Snow, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then another.

Then Lana let out a soft, tearful laugh, blinking rapidly as she wiped her eyes. “You always think you have to explain why I should love you. Like I haven’t already chosen you a hundred times over.”

His breath caught. “So… is that a—”

“Yes,” she said with her voice shaking with emotion.

A bright, radiant smile spread across her face. “Yes, of course, it’s a yes.”

Conrad barely had time to react before she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him back.

He laughed, breathless, holding her close.

“You scared me for a second there,” he murmured into her hair.

“I had to keep you on your toes,” she teased, pulling back just enough for him to slip the ring onto her finger.

“It fits perfectly,” she whispered, staring at it in awe as tears slid down her cheeks.

Conrad kissed her hand with his own eyes shining wet.

“I can’t imagine my life without you, Lana. I love you now, I’ll love you then, and when we die—if there’s something after—I’ll still love you the same.”

Lana cupped his face with her voice trembling.

“And I love you, Conrad. With every cell in my body. And when those cells die and new ones replace them—they’ll love you even more. It’ll never stop, not as long as my heart beats. And even after that.”

He pulled her into another kiss, as the beautiful sunrise sky above witnessed a new chapter in their story.

----------------------------------˚ʚ♡ɞ˚------------------------------------

🎶I get to love you It's the best thing that I'll ever do I get to love you It's a promise I'm making to you Whatever may come, your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours, forever I do🎶

<Previous- Next>

[silverbrain]

Play Me Like a Love Song

Summary- Jealous Xavier makes mc play the piano while he.. yeah, that piano card gave me some ideas.

NSFW, Minors Do Not Interact

Xavier had been teaching you the piano for quite some times now. Ever since he had held that breathtaking performance for you, you had asked him to play for you. Xavier accepted, a little shy at first, but soon warming up when he saw how your eyes lit up watching him enjoy his hobby.

Soon, you had joined in. Xavier sat beside you patiently, watching you as you focused on the finger movements. He didn’t realize his hawk eyes were only making you more nervous, but eventually you had got used to it and had become quite good.

It’s another day when you’re practicing the piano in his apartment. Xavier was probably lazing around somewhere, usually on the couch in the living room. He had quickly gone from teacher mode to appreciator when you had found your bearings around a few songs. You didn’t notice him creep up behind you, footsteps as quiet as a cat.

He stands, watching you for a few moments, eyes roaming up and down your body as your deftly play, an admiring look on his face. Finally, he moves closer, resting a hand on your shoulder.

You jolt. “Xavier! You scared me?”

He chuckles. “What happened to your Hunter senses?”

“Didn’t realize I was prey here”, you scoff, before turning back to continue where you had left off.

He quietly takes a seat beside you, watching your fingers fly over the keys. You raise an eyebrow. It’s been days since he’s observed you like this, and it’s making you nervous.

You press a wrong key, and make a series of mistakes, the serene piece sounding awkward.

Xavier simply looks at you. “Go on. Pretend I’m not here”

You turn your gaze back to the keys, determined to get it right. There was no need to get nervous.

You start again, a little behind, from a part you knew well. Your brow furrows a little as you breeze past the mess up, continuing to a slower, easier part.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Xavier relax. You also see him move closer, impossibly close, and before you know it, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Do you want me to mess up?”, you joke.

“Am I that distracting?”, he asks, big blue eyes staring into your soul innocently.

You continue to play, arms occasionally brushing his chest as he leans his body weight on you. He brushes his cheek against your neck and you steel yourself. He was certainly not as innocent as he was pretending to be.

Xavier hums, a low sound of satisfaction escaping his lips as he pulls you tighter against him.

The song comes to an end and you relax, leaning into his embrace. “Go on, play some more”, he says casually, as if he wasn’t clinging to you like a koala. “I don’t want to distract you”

You sigh, but continue. You weren’t sure what kind of games he was playing, and you weren’t sure how to ask. You straighten yourself as you play the beginnings of the next song.

“Why do you keep moving away? You know what you’re doing to me”, he complains, voice half muffled from where he’s pressing his face into your shoulder.

“I’m not doing anything!”, you protest.

“You’re ignoring me too…”, he sulks.

“I’m not ignoring you. I just want to show you what I’ve been working on”, you say, “Didn’t you want to listen”

His nose nuzzles against your neck, his voice low “I’m listening”. His voice makes a shiver run down your spine.

A few moments pass, filled with the lilting melodies of a lovely song. “You play so well, darling”, he whispers, still against your neck.

“Not as well as you”, you admit. He smiles, your words making his ego swell. “Mm that’s right. No one can ever compare to me. I’m the best…”

So, that was what it was about?

It wasn’t even a noteworthy issue in your mind. Xavier had a few complicated missions that he was supposed to be handling alone, and as a result, the association had assigned you a temporary new partner. It didn’t help that Max was the type to talk up a storm. Within the first mission, he had managed to ask you all about how you had become a hunter, and how you were lucky enough to have Xavier as your partner and your partner, also be your neighbour, and why you preferred the stars to the ocean.

Xavier had caught the tail end of an innocent interaction, when he had been heading to the Chief that morning. Max was clocking out, but he hadn’t forgotten to bring you your daily cup of hot chocolate. “Thanks Max, you’re the best!”, you had cheered. It didn’t help that Xavier was jealous of his own shadow. He had let it simmer.

The realization floods you, and you nearly stop playing to turn your attention to him, but his fingers press into your hips heavily. “Am I not?”, he asks.

“Yes”, you reply sternly, annoyance simmering in you mixed with a certain heat that his demeanour was bringing.

“Don’t stop then…”, he whispers. Oh, so it was a challenge.

You focus your attention on the keys once more, but your attention is long gone. Xavier’s hot breath now fans your neck shamelessly, and his hands move down your waist to toy at the hem of the skirt you’re wearing.

Your eyes dart to his. His gaze locks onto yours as his lips set in a smirk. You look away, still slightly annoyed.

It only seems to push him further, his hand snaking up your thigh. You clench your thighs involuntarily.

“Look at you…so distracted…”, he whispers huskily. You clench your teeth, willing not to give in. If Xavier was going to be stubborn, you weren’t going to be the one to back down.

“I want to hear you…”

“I…”, you begin. You falter at how foreign your own voice sounds to you, how affected, how high strung. “I don’t sing”

“Is that so…?”, Xavier asks, now shamelessly kissing your neck, “Haven’t I told you, darling? Every noise you make…”, he sucks harshly at a particularly sensitive spot, “is music to me”

Your lips fall open at his words, but you swallow down the moan with sheer will.

Xavier stills his hand, gripping your thigh with his large palm, laying it flat. You can't help but feel the arousal pool at your center. You try to shift discreetly, but he only huffs a soft laugh.

You falter a note, a clang. You stop.

"Don't stop playing. I want to hear what I've taught you..."

His hand moves higher still, his fingertips dancing over your inner thighs, so close to where you want him to touch you.

A moan punches out of you before you can stop.

"Yes. That's what I wanted to hear. I want to hear you...give in.."

He suddenly stops, only to pull you onto his lap. You gasp, feeling the warmth of his chest behind you. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you tight, while his other arm moves further up your thigh. "You belong...here", he hums.

You can't help it anymore. Your hips move of their own accord, grinding down into him. It is his turn to gasp. But Xavier is not one to give in easily. "So, you do agree?", he all but growls.

Need pulses through your veins as his hand reaches the hem of your underwear, his fingertips tracing the soft fabric. "Please...", you hear yourself say, the words leaving your mouth barely registering through the haze.

"You're begging huh?", he teases. "So, are you...admitting defeat?". His hand continues to trace small circles over your underwear.

You take a hand off the piano to grab onto his arm, the one circled around your waist securely. Behind you, Xavier takes a deep, ragged breath. He can't help but thrust his hips against you, the slight friction making his mind spin even though he's the one trying to teach you a lesson.

His deft fingers wrap around the straps, tugging your underwear down to your knees, before they fall the rest of the way around your ankles.

You bite your lip at the sight, a soft keen escaping.

Xavier pulls his hand away to grab your waist and hoist you off him. You stand helplessly, fingers scrabbling to move. "Xav-?"

You hear the sound of a zipper, but before you can turn around, Xavier is standing up and pulling you against him. You feel the hard length press against your ass, before he's lifting your skirt and parting your legs expertly. Xavier presses himself against your slick core. Teasing, still teasing.

You nearly whine, before he grabs your hips and thrusts in. White lines your vision at the sensation. You open your mouth, but before your brain can form words, he pulls you down again, seating you on top of him, filling you up.

"Xav– Xavier", you say his name helplessly.

"Hmm?", he asks. A thin layer of sweat lines his bangs.

"It's not–", you can barely finish your thought before he thrusts once, lazily. "Did I say you could stop playing?"

Your fingers scramble at the keys, considerably slowing, your brain barely able to think beyond the pleasure that's twisting inside you. You barely get through two notes before he lifts you by the waist, only to slam you down on himself. Your hands clutch at the keys desperately, a cacophony of sounds ringing through the room, music long forgotten.

"Oh dear", Xavier says, "is this what you've learnt?"

Your mouth opens, only releasing a heavy breath.

"I think you need more lessons", he growls, his voice catching at the end, unable to deny the effect everything is having on him. "I didn't–", you begin. He thrusts again and this time you whine audibly. "Still making excuses I see?", Xavier whispers.

"No", you gasp.

"No?", he echoes. Tears line your eyes as your vision swims. The wetness, the heat, the coil in your stomach feeling like it's going to make you lose it.

"Don't cry", Xavier says, noticing. His voice is a tad bit softer, and his thumb rubs at your hip apologetically.

Anger suddenly bubbles inside you. The audacity, you think to yourself. How could Xavier be jealous? Xavier, who you texted all day, Xavier who you called your 'partner' to everyone who so much as said hi. Who occupied your thoughts, your days, and your dreams. How dare he be jealous?

"He's GAY!", you yell.

Xavier is confused. "What?"

"You...", you can barely get the words out, but you're angry and you need him and you have to let him know. "Max...is literally gay. Not your...fucking competition", you manage.

Xavier stills for a bit, before leaning in to kiss your shoulder. You can sense the apology, but you're still feeling a bit annoyed. He's always been good with apologies, though, effortlessly shifting between bunny and wolf as and when needed.

Xavier brings one of his hands on your hip to your front, dipping his fingers into your folds. He rubs a long stripe down to where you're connected to him and you nearly see stars. His fingers don't stop their ministrations as he nibbles at your earlobe. "Sorry", you hear amidst the feeling of that coil curling deliciously inside you.

"Sorry, starlight", he whispers again, kissing your neck repeatedly.

"Will you forgive me?", he asks. "Please, my star?"

You can tell he's unravelling a little from the way he's babbling, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. Your eyes fall to your hands gripping the keys, white at the nails with how hard you're gripping them. You grind down against his hand, unable to contain yourself anymore.

"Xav– hah. I'm–"

"I've got you, baby", he says. You know he does. Bursts of stars erupt inside you as you orgasm, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head with how hard your muscles clench.

Xavier certainly feels it- your shaking thighs, your clenching core around him. He all but whines into your neck pitifully before he comes, filling you up with his warm spend. Xavier collapses onto the seat while collecting you in his arms, breathing heavily.  

You catch your breath against him for a minute, legs feeling like absolute jelly before he gingerly pulls out. He doesn't give you a second to think about anything, before lifting you up in his arms and carrying you to the bed, lying down beside you.

You stare at him for a second, his fluffy silver hair now sweaty and messy, sticking to his forehead, his pupils still blown wide. Xavier moves quickly. He gives your lips a quick kiss, and before you know it you find yourself smiling a little.

"What, scared I'm gonna be mad?”, you tease.

Xavier only pulls you closer by the waist, diverting his eyes shyly.

How he does it, is still beyond your understanding. Bunny to wolf. Wolf to bunny.

"It's okay", you whisper, rolling your eyes a bit. "I've missed you", you confess.

He kisses your cheek. He knows you did.

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism, sex, MINORS STAY AWAY

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 11: Perfect Day

Loving someone you’re not supposed to love is a cruel affliction.

It clings to you, tainting everything—your mind, the blood in your veins, your past and your future.

It doesn’t matter how many years go by, how many times you fall back into it. That love stays there, dormant, tucked away in some dark corner of your being, hidden between scar tissue and gut. And it doesn’t matter how many attempts you make to replace that ugly thing with something beautiful, strong, or bright—every time a thought sneaks in, or worse, a place, your body reacts before your mind does, and the love that was never meant to be comes rushing back.

In your stomach first, then in your head.

In the warmth and nausea, and then in the memories.

It’s surprising, really, how the brain clings to everything that hurts us, no matter how hard we try to forget. You catch yourself standing in front of a café and suddenly remember the exact words you spoke, the clothes you were wearing, how much smoother your skin was before the fine lines of age marked the passage of these long, aching years without him.

Loving someone you’re not supposed to love is a cruel affliction. And it never truly leaves.

Vic thought that, all things considered, she was lucky. She had Sara, her mother, her pub, and her eighty-year-old friends. Yes, friends.

She had music—her songs, and Aegon’s.

She had just been thinking that now, at least, she had the money to pay for St. Louis when, right in the middle of her shift, an email came in.

She had wrapped up the conversation with the supplier as quickly and professionally as possible, skipping her usual habit of double-checking the gin bottles, then rushed off to find Sara.

She found her at the register, chatting with Mae.

“It’s here,” was all Vic said.

Sara understood immediately. The way Vic was fidgeting, shoving her bangs out of her eyes with a sharp tilt of her head, gave her away.

“Sorry, Mae, sweetheart, I’ll tell you later what that snake charmer had to say,” Sara said before letting Vic drag her into the staff room at the back.

They stood facing each other.

“Well? Open it!” Sara ordered.

Vic stared at her for a moment, the phone in her hand suddenly weighing a ton. She glanced at the screen, then turned her head sharply, thrusting the phone at Sara instead.

“I can’t do it. You read it, and I’ll figure out if I got in from your face,” Vic said anxiously, picking at the skin around her nail until it bled.

Sara took the phone with a deep breath before opening the email.

Vic studied her intently, waiting for even the smallest flicker of reaction, but it didn’t take much to figure out the result.

Sara had gone pale. She froze for two unbearable seconds before shooting Vic a quick glance and then lowering her head, shaking it.

“I need a cigarette,” was all Vic said.

She had no desire to dwell on this failure. In fact, she had no desire to face that part of her brain that equated failure with worth. For the past months, the two had been hopelessly intertwined, and Vic didn’t have the strength to reassure herself.

For a long moment, she forgot about the warmth of the pub, the successes in the studio with Aegon, the rare but meaningful compliments from Aemond. She was using every bit of her mental energy not to break down crying right there in front of the pub, cigarette in hand, trying not to think about the fact that she hadn’t gotten into St. Louis.

Maybe if she focused hard enough, if she actually listened to whatever story Sara was telling Mae, if she forced herself to talk to Arthur despite the old man’s grumbling, or to make small talk with Rhys even though he never had anything important to say, she could keep the crushing weight of failure from sinking in.

Her energy held up only until the end of her shift. Then, as she placed the last glass back on the shelf, the avalanche of toxic thoughts finally swallowed her whole.

She stared at the beer taps.

And thought: fuck it.

After the first pint, talking to Mae became easier, the weight of St. Louis buried under ***ml of bubbles and hops.

“Ah, so now you’re interested in my stories,” Mae teased, taking a slow sip of her drink.

Vic propped her chin on her hand, grinning lazily. “I’m always interested in your stories.”

Mae scoffed. “You weren’t interested when I tried telling you about my hip surgery.”

“That’s different,” Vic argued, waving a hand dismissively. “Now tell me about your husband again.”

A fond smile crossed Mae’s face. “Met him at a dance. I was in love with someone else at the time.”

Vic narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “Oh? Scandalous.”

“Not really. The other one was a fool,” Mae said with a shrug. “And my Michael—he wasn’t the first man I loved, but he was the one who stayed.”

Vic hummed, running a finger along the rim of her glass. The warmth of the beer buzzed pleasantly in her veins, dulling the ache in her chest.

“The one who stayed,” she murmured. “That’s nice.”

Vic thought she didn’t have anyone who stayed.

Her mind drifted back to Charlie, to Amy—to how that poor girl was surely dealing with his endless rants about cryptocurrency and conspiracy theories by now.

Well, at least she had someone.

Then her phone rang.

It was her mother. She probably wasn’t calling to ask about St. Louis—she was always too busy to remember Vic was even waiting for the results.

The thought was oddly comforting. At least she wouldn’t have to bring it up herself. Encouraged by that small relief, she answered, even though she was tipsy. If her mother noticed, she’d definitely launch into one of her lectures.

“Hey, Ma,” Vic said, straightening her posture and giving Mae an apologetic look before taking the call.

“Vic, don’t panic, but we’re at the hospital. There was an accident with Peter. We were arguing, and he pushed me by mistake—we both fell…”

Vic stopped listening at that moment, completely shattered.

That by mistake—she had heard it too many times before. Too many times, she had desperately tried to get help from relatives, from organizations, from professionals, only to be told that, as a sister, there was nothing she could do.

She just needed this day to be over.

And she needed another beer.

By now, the motion had become almost automatic. Before she even realized it, Vic had ordered another pint. She took a long, heavy sip, then ran her fingers over the condensation on the glass, lost somewhere between thinking about everything and, thankfully, nothing at all.

Then, out of nowhere, a thought pushed its way to the forefront—relentless, growing larger with every passing second. The need to be touched. The need to feel close to someone. The unbearable weight of not wanting to be alone suddenly pressed down on her, suffocating.

It took her all of twenty seconds to abandon her barely-touched pint and spend £18 she didn’t have on an Uber to Highbury. In the car, she tried to fix her makeup, smeared from the tears she had stubbornly held back. Instead of opening the front-facing camera, she accidentally turned on the flashlight, probably blinding the poor driver.

*Fuck it,* she thought, letting it go.

When she got out, murmuring a barely audible thanks, it only took a few steps to reach the building where the Targaryen family lived. What she didn’t expect was to find who she was looking for outside, smoking on the street.

“Vic?” Aegon said, his voice tinged with surprise, clearly not expecting to see her at this hour.

Poor Cinderella, she thought in her alcohol-fueled haze, relegated to the curb just to catch a glimpse of the city at night.

He was wearing grey sweatpants and a white tank top, his tattoos peeking out playfully along his arms.

“Vic?!” he repeated, more insistent this time, when she didn’t answer. She was close enough now for him to notice just how drunk she was.

She held up a finger, signaling him to stay quiet. Aegon frowned, confused, watching her as she stared straight into his eyes. She was searching—desperately—for something. An answer about herself, about the two of them, about what was so broken inside her, about why life felt so exhausting.

But all she saw was him: his deep eyes, the mustache he stubbornly refused to shave, his full lips.

So she kissed him.

*****

No hesitation, no prelude—just the press of her lips against his, hot and urgent, like she’d already decided exactly how this was going to go.

For a moment, Aegon froze.

With one hand she held his neck, her main thought always to not let him go, while with the other she had started caressing his abs to then find the elastic of his sweatpants.

Her mouth moved against his like a demand, a challenge, and his chest tightened with the realization that she wasn’t giving him time to think.

She didn’t want slow. She didn’t want tender.

She wanted this.

And God help him, so did he.

Aegon groaned into the kiss, the sound half frustration, half surrender, his hands flying to her waist, to her back, to her—as if he could somehow keep her close enough to steal whatever part of her she wasn’t willing to give. Vic’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him growl. She was clinging to him, pressing against him with reckless abandon.

Vic bent slightly, her hand grazing his cock through his sweatpants, a touch that sent him completely feral.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed her hips and yanked her even closer, swallowing the surprised sound she made as his grip turned rough. The kiss deepened—heat and hunger, teeth scraping against swollen lips, tongues colliding in a war neither of them wanted to win.

Aegon’s hands dragged down the curve of her spine, fingers splayed, pressing her flush against him. He felt her chest rise against his, the quickened beat of her heart drumming against his own. He wanted to drown in it.

He then hesitated for a second, doubt flickering in his eyes—was fucking under his attic by the road really a good idea? But Vic met his gaze with a look that said, Fuck it. And damn, if that wasn’t also his life philosophy.

And suddenly, Aegon was done pretending.

He spun her around, pressing her against the cold brick wall, his body caging hers in.

Vic gasped—sharp, breathless—but she didn’t push him away. She arched into it, rolling her hips back against him in a silent dare. And that was all the permission he needed.

The last shred of restraint shattered.

He kissed the nape of her neck, open-mouthed, hungry, dragging his teeth down the slope of her shoulder while his hands roamed, exploring, claiming.

One hand slipped beneath her shirt, fingers tracing her stomach before sliding up to tease her nipple, rolling it between his fingertips. She let out a soft gasp, arching into his touch. The other hand dragged up her thigh, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, fingertips pressing into her inner thigh in a silent promise.

Vic exhaled sharply as she felt the growing heat of his arousal pressed against her ass, separated only by the thin fabric of his sweatpants. She pushed back against him instinctively, grinding just enough to feel the sharp inhale he took against her skin.

His hands tightened. "You keep doing that, and I’m not gonna hold back."

She turned her head slightly, enough for him to see the smirk ghosting her lips.

A curse slipped from his lips, low and rough, before he yanked her skirt higher, fingers hooking into the sides of her knickers and dragging them down her thighs.

She didn’t even had time to step out of them before he was back—his palm sliding between her legs, finding her already slick. His fingers parted her folds, gliding through the wetness, teasing, testing, as if confirming just how badly she wanted this.

Vic’s breath hitched, her body jolting at the first deliberate stroke. He circled her clit, slow and precise, before dragging his fingers down again, pressing just enough to make her gasp. A smirk ghosted across his lips as he felt her hips instinctively roll into his touch, chasing the friction.

She breathed nonsenses, her fingers curling against the brick wall, struggling to stay upright as pleasure coiled low in her stomach.

Aegon’s grip tightened on her hip, steadying her as he pushed two fingers inside her, the slow stretch pulling a low moan from her throat. He set a torturous rhythm—deep, curling strokes, each one punctuated by the obscene sound of how wet she was for him.

Her thighs trembled, knees threatening to give way. But just as she was teetering on the edge, his fingers withdrew, leaving her aching, empty.

She barely had a second to register the loss before she felt him—hot, heavy, the tip of his cock dragging through her wetness in an agonizing tease.

Aegon gripped her hip with one hand while the other guided himself to her entrance, and then, in one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside her.

A choked sound tore from her throat, fingers clawing at the brick as he stretched her open, filled her completely.

For a second, neither of them moved—just deep, shuddering breaths, the overwhelming sensation of being exactly where they needed to be. Then he pulled back, only to slam into her again, setting a pace that was anything but patient.

The wall scraped against her skin as she braced herself, gasping with every sharp thrust. His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, sliding up her stomach, palming her breasts, his touch rough with need. His breath was hot against her ear, muttering curses, praise, things that only fueled the fire burning between them.

Vic moaned, pushing back against him, matching his rhythm, taking everything he gave. He groaned in response, his grip tightening, his thrusts turning desperate, erratic.

The city buzzed around them—the distant hum of passing cars, the occasional muffled voices from the street—but here, in this moment, none of it mattered.

There was only this.

Only them.

Only the way he fucked her like he never wanted to stop.

They fucked like they were trying to tear each other apart—biting, clawing, leaving marks that would linger long after this was over.

But beneath the raw aggression, there was something else. Aegon could feel it in the way her body yielded to him, in the way she gasped between moans, in the way she pushed back against him as if she couldn’t stand the thought of space between them.

Aegon’s lips found her neck again, biting down before soothing the sting with his tongue, his breath hot against her damp skin. The alleyway echoed with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, their heavy breathing, the soft, helpless noises slipping past Vic’s lips every time he drove deeper.

She rolled her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing the pleasure coiling tight inside her. "Fuck," she breathed, her voice raw with need.

Aegon growled in response, his rhythm turning desperate, his body taut with the effort of holding back. He could feel her getting close, the way she clenched around him, the way her moans turned breathless, erratic. One hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in firm, precise circles.

Vic gasped, her entire body tensing, her head falling forward as the orgasm hit—sharp, blinding, all-consuming. A curse tumbled from her lips as pleasure crashed through her in violent waves, her walls tightening around him like a vice. Aegon groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as he buried himself to the hilt, his own release tearing through him with a deep, guttural moan.

For a long moment, they just stood there, breathless, bodies trembling, pressed together in the aftermath. Aegon let his forehead rest against her shoulder, his hands still gripping her waist, as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Finally, he pulled out, steadying Vic when her legs wobbled. Without a word, she straightened her bra and top, not bothering to wipe the evidence of his release from her thighs before dragging her underwear back up. Then, she turned, locking eyes with him for just a second—something unreadable passing between them—before she walked away, disappearing down the alley, leaving Aegon standing there, breathless and wrecked, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Aegon lingered outside his building for a few minutes after she disappeared. On the ground, he noticed the cigarette butt he hadn’t had the chance to finish before she’d practically thrown herself at him.

She hadn’t said a word.

For months, he’d fantasized about this moment—about using her, leaving his mark on her body and claim it as his own. And yet, now that it had happened, he felt... empty.

She had used him. She’d shown up unannounced, taken the heat of his body, and left the second she was satisfied.

She hadn’t said a word.

Back inside, he didn’t head straight to his attic but instead stopped at his parents’ place. Standing in the kitchen, his gaze fixed on nothing, he drank a glass of water. His mother walked in, her long hair loose, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Aegon couldn’t help but think she looked stunning.

“Why do you reek of alcohol?” she asked sharply. Of course, she didn’t notice his blank expression or how strange it was for him to show up at her house at 11 p.m.

She wasn’t wrong, though. He still smelled like Victoria—the scent of sex, stale beer, and the cheap shampoo she bought from Tesco.

“I didn’t drink, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, avoiding her eyes, his tone clipped as he drained the rest of his water and leaned on the counter.

“Aegon, the point of therapy is to—”

“I didn’t drink, Mum. Drop it!” he snapped, finally meeting her gaze. Something in his eyes must have convinced Alicent, because she let the subject drop.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. “Is Helaena home?”

Alicent nodded, her mind swirling with questions and disproportionate worries about her son’s overall state. “She’s working, though. Don’t disturb her,” she added, earning a dramatic eye roll from Aegon.

As usual, his siblings were the ones who received all the care and attention. Fuck her.

He walked through the long halls of his family home until he reached Helaena’s suite, where she had both her bedroom and a studio. He knocked but didn’t wait for an answer before pushing the door open.

Helaena took a moment to tear her eyes away from the monitor, her Avid Media Composer program open on what was surely another intense project. She definitely hadn’t been expecting a visit at this hour.

“What’s up?” she asked, her tone neutral.

“Got a joint?” Aegon blurted, his voice betraying his frayed nerves.

Helaena slipped off her headphones, swiveling in her chair to face him fully. “Close the door and sit,” she said, gesturing to the sofa behind her.

“I’m not giving you a joint, Aegon. In theory you’re not supposed to be drinking either.”

“I haven’t been drinking!” he snapped, his patience already worn thin.

Helaena didn’t flinch. “What happened?” she asked again, her calm demeanor steady.

As much as Aegon wanted to avoid saying something as pathetic as what had just transpired, the words tumbled out in a rush. “I saw Vic downstairs, like, 20 minutes ago. She showed up out of nowhere, didn’t say anything, looked drunk out of her mind,” he began, talking fast as though speed could add distance between him and the memory. “She kissed me, we fucked, and then she left.” He turned his gaze away, as if searching for meaning in the air.

Helaena didn’t look shocked but raised a brow, mildly puzzled. “On the street?”

Aegon snapped his head back toward her. “Yes, on the fucking street.”

She tilted her head, her brow still raised, clearly more intrigued by the logistics than the event itself. Otherwise, she seemed completely unfazed.

“She didn’t even say a word…” Aegon muttered, his voice soft now, revealing what truly bothered him.

“And you were expecting… what? A love confession?” Helaena prodded, crossing her legs and leaning back, ready to observe his reaction.

“No, Hel. She didn’t say anything. She showed up, used me, and then left,” he explained, his frustration mounting as he struggled with her unbothered demeanor.

“Well, that’s not very nice,” she said simply.

“No, it’s not nice! It wasn’t supposed to go like that. When I’m the one doing the using, I at least come up with a creative way to say thank you,” Aegon shot back, exasperated.

“And why do you think she acted like that?” Helaena asked, tilting her head slightly, her curiosity genuine.

Aegon thought about it for a moment, but the answer came quickly, the familiarity of the thought sharp and stinging.

“She was sad,” he said quietly.

The image of her eyes flashed in his mind, just before he started fucking her. And yes, she had been sad. She needed to matter to someone, even if only for a fleeting moment. And she had come to him because who was he, if not the ex-junkie who could make you feel like the center of the universe for ten minutes before discarding you like a cigarette butt? Aegon felt the heat of self-loathing rise from his stomach to his face.

“Maybe you should ask her why she was sad,” Helaena suggested gently.

But Aegon wasn’t good at this. What if what he said made things worse, pushed her even further away? Or worse—what if he stumbled through it, offering one of those empty platitudes that screamed I have no idea what to say?

“I don’t know what to say to her,” he admitted, burying his head in his hands.

“You know,” Helaena began, her tone almost reverent as if she were passing down wisdom from her own personal scripture, “my therapist once told me that sometimes we’re drawn to people who mirror us. Maybe you should tell her what you would want to hear.”

Aegon lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do that.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Aemond appeared in the doorway, as composed and icy as ever.

“I looked for you upstairs, then Mum said you were here,” he said, his tone cold and clipped. “Vic’s not coming tomorrow. She’s got a fever. Enjoy your day off.”

With that, he offered a curt goodnight and vanished, shutting the door behind him.

Aegon shook his head in disbelief, an ironic, bitter laugh escaping his lips. When his eyes met Helaena’s again, he didn’t need to say anything. Instead, he gestured toward the door, as if to say, See?

While they had been here discussing communication strategies, while he had been agonizing over how not to upset Vic further, she had already launched her own war of silence—spinning a blatant lie he could never believe.

[kitchensinksurrealism]

.

[shroomerr]

Oh, help me God, this hellboy got me coming back for more

reblogs super appreciated !!! close-ups under the cut !

[lukolabrainrot]

Nicola's Easter Eggs from This Weekend/Week (and What it Could All Mean)

First, I am going to list the most important pieces of information (imo) that N posted on her IG grid or stories this weekend/week (and I will put the date it was posted- I'm on PST so some of these MIGHT have been posted on a different date for N):

Posted on N's stories on Friday, 8/9/24

Posted on N's grid on Saturday, 8/10/24

Posted on N's stories on Sunday, 8/11/24

This song was posted on N's stories on Tuesday, 8/13/24

Also, I want to stress I've been DEEP in delulu this weekend/week over all this because it's made me soo excited, but I analyzed the figure in the sunglasses from her milk tshirt pic for such a long time last night, and I swear... I am like 98% certain I see L's VERY distinct tattoo on the person in the sunglasses (and it's totally in the correct placement). I'll put the pic below. It helps if you zoom in a little bit. And after the song that she posted today, I am 99% certain at this point that L took that photo of her in the tshirt 😭😭😭 I could be wrong about the tattoo lol, BUT I still am almost certain that's him based on the arms!

What Could This All Mean??

I feel like we all have seen the theories at this point around all of these posts/stories, and the MANY Easter Eggs they all contain regarding L OR certain people adjacent to L. Therefore, I am not going to talk about all of the Easter Eggs and what they might be implying. This is what I will say:

If all of this content had not been released publicly in such a short period of time, I don't think I would really have paid that much attention to it, or have been THIS excited. However, it is precisely because N (who is VERY intentional on SM) posted ALL OF THIS in such a short period of time, knowing very well how the fandom would be interpreting it and leaving TONS of Easter Eggs that she's with L, that makes me fairly confident that there has been a VERY positive shift between L/N.

Could I be wrong? Yes. However, the song that she posted today (which I have ALWAYS loved btw 😍), clarified to me that everything she has posted since Friday wasn't just random. That song is a BIG statement! We know that N communicates through music, and this song's lyrics don't leave a lot to interpretation. It is a very sweet and happy love song! Now, could this song be about someone else, or could she just have liked the song and wanted to post it? Yes. But after EVERYTHING she posted on IG since Friday, NOBODY can convince me this song isn't about L!

I don't know what this EXACTLY means right now BTS for ALL parties involved in this situation. However, if L was going to officially acknowledge A as his girlfriend in the near future, would N have posted all of this content in such a short period of time that is very obviously related to L in the fandom? Absolutely not. I think (and a LOT all people might not agree with me on this) that this was an official acknowledgment to the fandom, specifically, that her and L are together currently and happily in love 😭😭😭 I still feel like the situation is probably a little complicated BTS, but something in my gut, based on all this public content the last few days from N, makes me feel like something BIG has changed between her and L, and N therefore feels more comfortable and confident with sharing this type of content with the fandom (and the public). I don't believe that we will get a lot of this type of content from L for a while (for LOTS of different reasons that I think are totally understandable), BUT we might get a couple of little crumbs from him (I'm thinking maybeee through songs). I also don't think they are in any place yet to go officially public, but I DO think that N will continue posting content like this if my theories are true 👀 I also feel like they may make a public announcement sooner than we expected based off of everything from the last couple of days. I have said this before, but I believe that both L/N are aware that this relationship would get serious pretty quickly if they were able to get on the same page. And I think they have 😭😍

Does this mean that L/A are done? I think so. Will we still see some material from A related to L? Maybe. I wouldn't rule that out. I get the sense though, and I have been feeling like this for a while, that L/A really haven't been doing that well in their relationship for a long time based on all the evidence that we now have.

A lot of people might not agree with all of my thoughts here, but I feel pretty confident that the song N posted today is a statement to the public, particularly the fandom, about her feelings currently for L. And it just makes my heart really happy 😍😍😍

[mochasucculent]

Here's my extremely curated Jayvik playlist btw, it ain't got a lot rn but I have a few heavy hitters in here that I'm placing gently in your palm

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[spinninglightning]

whenever i read fics i always end up thinkin of a song for the fic or like, th chapter and then i canr stop associating the fic w/ those songs

[0tul1ss]

maybe I should get back into writing, I used to write so much more in college--mostly poetry as a way to vent (which I occasionally still do, but I never go back and workshop to what feels like a passable endpoint to that process), but a few drabbles here and there. never went for anything longer bc it felt like something out of reach for myself to realistically want to complete. but idk. maybe it's today's adderall kicking in and the fact that I've gotten relatively good sleep for the first time in a bit but what if I just tried and it was kind of awesome

[lzrdprsn]

It's really weird when you know someone in a context different from how everybody else knows them so you look at them and you still kind of see that person they used to be