#bold and witty text

[dazzlesizzle]

Who Broke Time - Vintage Fun

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

How would the aot boys react if they heard a rumor that reader has a crush on them

i heard a rumor….

eren jaeger is so nosey when he hears the rumor going around. he’s intrigued by your crush on him and he wants to know every little detail, of course by everyone else and not you. he gathers everyone’s opinion and saves you for last. he doesn’t beat around the bush; he tells you he knows that you’re crushing hardcore on him. he’s playful and witty, trying to get you all flustered.

armin arlert, bless his heart, tries to be cool about it. and he does a fairly good job you think. he often finds ways to get you two alone but he never makes a bold move. he asks if he can help you do things, tries to find common interests, etc. you know he knows because you find him trying to spend too much time with you, not that you’re complaining. he just lets things take their course.

jean kirsteins plays the disinterested, too-cool-for-you character. he’s damn good at it too. his actions and short replies hurt your ego and your heart. so, you give him the same treatment back. this, he’s not a fan of. he demands that you tell him why you’re treating him like this and you respond that you’re just dishing out what he is. that makes him go ‘oh’ and it results in a very around the bush way of telling you he has some sort of feelings for you but he was trying to repress it.

connie springer grins from ear to ear for days end when he hears the news. he was already crushing on you big time and now that you like him back, he’s convinced your soulmate. shamelessly, connie asks (it’s more of a statement) that you go on a date. you cant believe he knows. you want to just disappear when he confronts you but he doesn’t understand why. “am i coming on too strong? hold on, i can get weak in the knees real quick.”

levi ackerman acts like he doesn’t know about your feelings for him. his behavior isn’t much different than when he didn’t know- his eye’s just tend to linger on you a bit longer. his gaze makes you feel…violated. it’s like he’s looking right through you or undressing you with his eyes. hard to tell. he continues driving you crazy in various subtle ways until you can’t take it anymore and wind up confessing at him in a ‘why are you doing this to me’ moment. he just laughs.

reiner braun's interest is piqued, that's for sure. he's not so smooth about it, always turning into a flustered mess when he's around you. you, now beginning to panic he knows your secret, turn into a shorter flustered mess. your awkwardness makes all your friends laugh and they just tease you more, which causes more stuttering and the cycle repeats. eren's the one who finally sets you up, not able to bare any more of reiner's incoherence.

bertholdt hoover makes the brave decision of telling you how he feels. he doesn't pick the greatest time. he tells you in front of all your friends and that leaves you feeling a little pressured. so, you get up and drag him away from everyone. the two of you share a raw confessional in peace and quiet. it leaves your heart full.

zeke jaeger texts you as soon as eren tells him. he doesn't wait for any more clarification. the text reads, heard you're basically in love with me. I'll pick you up later: a man of his word, he comes and picks you up. you try to him he's ridiculous but he knows you're his future wife.

erwin smith does his best to avoid you. a crush is meaningless to him.but fuck, the way you look at him makes his heart stop. he's beginning to think that there's something wrong with him- he can't breathe when you're around him. one night, he has too much wine to drink and accidentally lets it slip that he knows. he decides he doesn't care anymore and kisses you on the forehead, leaving you confused about the way he feels about you.

porco galliard's too fucking cocky. he starts spreading the rumor himself once he gets wind of it. he tells everyone he knows, bragging about it over and over. the rumor makes it's way back to you and you want to cry. so, that's what you do. you know everyone knows, so he must know. porco catches you crying and is upset with himself for spreading it. he didn't know you'd be so embarassed, considering he ‘obviously feels the same way’

please go read my jean fic 🤍

[ghcstao3]

AU with ghost and soap both being radio hosts at the same station, but soap works during the day and ghost the night, so they never properly cross paths.

but soap is often sleepless, so he’ll tune into ghost’s part of the show, the occasional commentary sprinkled between songs, far less than soap ever talks on shift. ghost’s voice is soothing in spite of its roughness, deep and calm it often lulls soap to sleep so he isn’t so miserable and reliant on caffeine when he wakes for work the next day.

and ghost who just doesn’t need so many hours of sleep to function, and is often awake during the day anyway because there’s no other way of getting certain things done, like his groceries and appointments, but always in need of background noise will listen in to soap’s segments. he’s charming, witty, and the scottish lilt has grown familiar enough to be pleasant.

out of the blue, they start leaving notes for each other. commentary based on something they heard the other say, recommending songs or topics for a rainy day. eventually, soap grows bold enough, and decides to leave his phone number—though it’s more than likely ghost could have gotten that information from the station himself. they begin texting in spite of their mostly opposite schedules, and while a friendship forms, they’ve still never once spoken to each other.

until one day, gaz—soap’s daytime shift partner—has to call out, and ghost offers to fill in, work the double shift. soap is pleasantly surprised that morning, and they end up getting on like a house fire both on and off air. it’s incredible. neither have them have laughed or smiled so hard in a while.

and though it is a one-off, they begin appearing at the station during the other’s shift, bringing food or off air company, just enjoying their shared presence. naturally a relationship blooms from there, and obviously it brings them both great joy a few years later to announce they’ll be off air for a week or two for the inevitable wedding and honeymoon.

[usomads]

Hi 🌚 first time request from a friendly reader!

Could you do a Damian Priest as Santa smutty one shot? 🤭

Masquerade // Damian Priest x Reader

Author’s Note -> Hi, I saw this wayyyy too late for Christmas so instead we’re taking on New Year’s! This one is soooo long (my bad) but I really love this idea and hope y’all do too. Happy reading!

Plot -> A mystery man and a mystery woman cross paths for the first time, or is it? 

Pairings -> Damian Priest x Fem!Reader

Warnings -> Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hickies, Oral Sex (Fem!Receiving), Papi Kink, Unprotected P in V, Public Sex, Creampie, MDNI

Word Count -> 3.4k

Sounds of bass thumping instantly filled your ears as you walked towards the entrance of the large house in front of you, wearing a shimmering gown that hugged your curves in all the right ways. You had been invited to a New Year’s Eve party by your best friend, Damian, but this wasn’t just any party. The host this year evidently wanted to switch things up so instead of the typical New Year’s party they decided to go with a theme, which was why an intricate silver mask adorned your face and hid your identity- the theme was masquerade. You reached the steps, pulling your phone out of your clutch and checking your texts, seeing a message from Damian sent about 5 minutes ago:

“I’ll keep an eye out for you tonight. I know you well enough that a mask won’t hide you from me 😉”

Your thumbs pressed the screen typing out a witty reply, but before you could press send your screen turned black. Shit, you cursed to yourself. You stared at the dead phone in your hands for a moment, thinking back to your preparations from earlier in the evening and scolding yourself for not thinking about putting your phone on the charger before you came. Shaking your head, you slipped your phone back into your clutch and headed inside, showing the invitation to the security at the door. The house was insane, you had never stepped foot in something so nice before, and the fact that you were here without Damian made it all the more nerve-wracking for you. Nothing a drink can’t fix though, right? Your eyes scanned the room looking for any sign of alcohol and spotted a bar at the other end of the room, adjusting the mask on your eyes and walking to it. The room buzzed around you, groups of people talking amongst each other, people dancing in the center, and music playing loudly over the speakers. You reached the bar and sat down, ordering a glass of champagne and watching the party around you until your eyes locked on a figure standing across the room from you, holding a glass of champagne himself and leaning against a pillar. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like a century and you swear the party surrounding you fades entirely, almost as if it were just the two of you. Seeing no sign of Damian anywhere and feeling bold, you stood up from the stool and walked over to him, your hips swaying as he continued to stare you down.

“You know, people either hide in the shadows because they’re looking for something or they want to come off as mysterious. So what might you be hiding?” You grinned at the man in front of you, teasing him with your words. He laughs, a smirk lining his lips as he speaks.

“A bit of both,” the man sipped his drink before continuing, “I could say the same about you. Are you always this bold, or is the mask talking for you?” 

You lean closer to him, lowering your voice. “Maybe it’s the mask… or maybe I’m just intrigued.”

“Intrigued, huh?” His finger traces the fluke in your hand, maintaining eye contact with you. “You might be too curious for your own good.”

A playful look crosses your face as you lean closer to him, your lips brushing his ear. “I’m just getting started. But if you don’t wanna play then…”

He laughs, clearly amused. “Who said I didn’t wanna play? I’ll go as far as you let me… so long as you can keep up.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can. But can you handle me?”

The tone in the man’s voice changes, laced with something deeper. Desire. He leans in, his arm brushing yours as he whispers in your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. I’d be careful if I were you…”

“Maybe I like a bit of danger,” your voice rang low in his ears, daring him to make a move. And he did, scanning you from head to toe before extending a hand for you to take. You obliged, wrapping your fingers around the rough surface of his palm as he guided you to the dance floor, pulling you closer to him as those same hands found their way to your waist. The heat radiates between you as your bodies sway to the beat of the music. 

“You’re not too bad at this,” you smirk at him.

“Not bad? I was hoping for resounding praise.”  His tone teases, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“Alright, let’s not get carried away,” you laugh softly.

“What if I want to?” His eyes lock onto yours and send a shiver down your spine. All of a sudden, it’s just the two of you in this room. You realize you’re completely drawn to him in this moment, drawn to the mystery of the man before you. The thrill and the danger ignites something deep inside you, something you weren’t expecting to feel tonight. You’re brought back to reality by the sound of the crowd roaring around you, counting down to midnight. A fire burns between you with every count down to zero, and the mystery man you’ve been accompanied by all night leans down to you, his lips hovering over your own.

Five. “I think I have to kiss you.”

Four. “You think?” You tease.

Three. He tilts your head by your chin, his lips dangerously close to brushing yours.

Two. The electricity between you is intense, the anticipation growing with each passing second. His eyes are dark as they start into your own, flickering between them and your lips.

Before the last second he closes the gap between you, kissing you with a passion that takes the air out of your lungs. The kiss is deep, intense, and filled with something that you clearly can’t deny as you finally part, leaving you both breathless and momentarily stunned. 

“I never caught your name,” he smiles. 

“Why don’t we start with the masks?” You laugh, nerves slowly take over as you respond. The both of you hesitate momentarily, reaching up to remove the coverings from your faces, a slight nervousness overtaking you. Shock sets in instantly as you slowly reveal your identities to each other, realizing you knew very well who had captured your undivided attention all evening… in fact, you knew too well.

“D-Damian?”

“Y/N?” Damian smiles, a soft chuckle erupting from his chest. “I can’t believe we didn’t realize sooner, some friends we are right?” 

Your soft smile falters slightly, unconsciously dropping at the mention of you being just friends. Your mind was in a daze, having trouble wrapping your head around the fact that the man who drew you in so easily, captivated you, consumed your thoughts all evening– made you crave him in more ways than one was, in fact, your best friend. Suddenly you didn’t want to hear him call you his ‘friend’, and maybe that’s something you’ve been trying to suppress for a while, but now it was impossible to ignore. 

“Yeah…” you mumbled, “friends.” Damian’s brows furrowed at your sudden change in demeanor, his smile also faltering in an attempt to read you.

“Y/N…”

“I need some air...” You brushed past him quickly, retreating before he could follow you– leaving him alone on the dance floor.

After wandering around the house for a while, trying to find somewhere secluded, you stumbled upon a private balcony. You stepped outside, the cool and crisp air pricking your skin instantly as you held onto the railing and tried to calm your breathing. Tears brimmed your eyes as you replayed the events of this evening in your mind, from the conversation to the dancing to the kiss. The kiss. How could you not have known it was Damian? How could you have let this happen? And why did you want it to happen again, and again, and again? 

Damian’s words replayed in your head as a stray tear landed on your cheek– no. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t hide anymore. You wanted Damian, and tonight solidified it. And for a moment, when neither knew who the other was, you knew he did too. You knew he felt it too– that spark, that desire, that need. It was in the way his lips brushed against your ear as he teased you, in the possessive way his hands would find your waist, in the way his lips found yours with such passion and need. And now that you were no longer behind a mask, it was back to ‘just friends’. Back to ‘normal.’ But you knew it would never be ‘normal’ again.

“Y/N,” you were pulled from your thoughts by Damian, who from the sound of him catching his breath sounded like he had been running around the entire house trying to find you. You wiped your face, trying to hide that you had been crying, and spoke up.

“Leave me alone, Dames.” You refused to look at him, staring out at the garden below the balcony, trying to distance yourself from him.

“Y/N, please, talk to me.” He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm, but you swatted it away and turned towards him.

“I said leave me alone, Damian.” Your voice was more stern as you turned to face him, your eyes tinted with red and giving away that you had been crying. Damian’s worried gaze softens as he notices, a pang in his chest growing as he knows he’s responsible.

“Y/N, you know I can’t do that–”

“You’re gonna have to.” You tried to move away from him but he stops you in your tracks, searching your face.

“No! No, Y/N, I won’t. Something’s bothering you… was it the kiss?” You grow quiet, looking down at your feet as to try to avoid having to discuss it but Damian doesn’t let that happen. “Was the kiss not good? What’s going on, Y/N? Please, talk to me. I wanna know what’s wrong…”

“No, the kiss was great. I mean–” you shake the thought out of your head, trying to correct yourself. “The kiss was fine.”

“So what’s the issue? I–” Damian’s face lights up as realization hits him.

“That’s the issue, Dames. It shouldn’t have been that good. We’re friends–”

“But you don’t want that…” Damian studies you as you grow quiet again. He lifts your chin and your eyes flutter closed, not wanting to look at him. “And I don’t want that either.”

Your eyes open at his confession, wide as they search for his. If your head wasn’t spinning before, it sure was now as you tried to make sense of what was happening. He’s not serious, right?

“I am,” he chuckled. Shit, did I say that out loud? Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he continues. “I’ve felt that way for a long time now… I don’t want to go back to how it was before, Y/N– I don’t think either of us want to.” “But you sa–”

“Fuck what I said,” he whispers. “I’ve been hiding how I feel for too damn long. Being with you tonight, albeit under a mask, was the best night of my life…” he thinks about his words, almost reminiscing the events from earlier as he spoke. “To be able to kiss you, flirt with you, touch you how I’ve wanted to for so long… I’ll be damned if I give that up. And something tells me you don’t want me to either.” He eyes you carefully, watching as you take in this revelation from him and, in his mind, pleading with you to feel the same.

“I don’t…” you mumble, your voice lower than a whisper– nearly inaudible.

“I can’t hear you, darling, tell me what you want.” He lifts your chin again, wanting to hear what he’s been dying to hear for months finally fall from your lips. 

“You, Dame,” you whisper, a little louder than before. “I want you.”

His lips crash into yours hard, making you stumble backward and hit your back on the railing of the balcony. You hiss at the cool metal touching your skin, allowing him entrance and his tongue to dominate your mouth. His hands find your sides, turning you around and pulling your body into his. His mouth finds your neck just under your right ear, sucking and biting on the skin as one arm keeps you pressed against him– his hardening cock grinding on your ass, and the other dancing up your spine and finding the zipper of your dress. He slowly drags it down your back, his fingers sending chills throughout your body and a familiar ache to your core. 

“D-Dames,” you moan quietly, his mouth pressing wet kisses along your jaw, “S-someone could s-see us..”

“Let them.” He growled in your ear, “I’m not leaving this party, this balcony, until I get what’s mine.” You whimpered, his words sending a pool of wetness to the place you craved him most. You let the dress pool at your ankles, now topless in only a pair of lace panties– the cool January air hardening your nipples upon contact. You instinctively cover your breasts, feeling completely exposed to not just Damian but to any potential onlookers vying for a show. 

“Uh, uh,” Damian’s hands removed your arms from your chest, “you don’t get to hide from me anymore, you understand? I wanna see you, all of you.” You nod, letting your arms drop to their sides and allowing him to take you in completely. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. I’m in awe of you, baby girl.” You blush for what seemed to be the millionth time this evening as he reconnects your lips, slower and more passionate than the last. Damian wanted you to feel what he felt for you, packaged up in a singular kiss, as his lips massaged yours deeply and lovingly now. He began to work down your body, dropping to his knees to come face to face with your throbbing core– dripping and aching all for him. 

“Sweetheart, you’re a mess… who’s got you like this, hmm?” You whined, involuntary bucking your hips towards him in an attempt to get him to touch you. 

“Please…”

“Gotta answer me first,” he smirked below you, loving how needy he had you. How you were completely and utterly his in this moment. 

“You…” you mumbled.

“Louder, darling, I can’t hear you.” Cockiness oozed from his voice, knowing he had you right where he wanted you and that you– nor anyone else, could take that away from him.”

“Y-you, Dames, fuck– please. I need yo– oh fuck.” Your eyes roll back as his tongue licks through your folds, placing open-mouth kisses along your pussy as he hiked one of your legs over his shoulder and ravaged you with his mouth. His tongue swirled along your entrance as the tip of his nose brushed your clit, sending volts of pleasure coursing through your body. You held onto the railing of the balcony behind you, keeping yourself as balanced as you could while Damian was eating you so good your knees were beginning to give way. Damian moaned against you, the sweet taste of your wetness settling on his taste buds and driving him to taste more of it. Your orgasm inched closer with every flick of his tongue, every moan that vibrated against your throbbing core, and you were a blubbering mess for the man on his knees before you who had every intention of worshipping your body like the temple it is– but not yet.

Damian pulls away suddenly, almost knowing you were on the brink of release as you cried out in response, pleads for him falling from your swollen lips.

“Shhh, don’t worry, baby, I gotchu. Papi’s gonna take real good care of you, I promise. But right now, he needs his pussy…” you shivered once more, somehow growing more turned on than before at his words. Him claiming you. Making you his. “Is that what you want, baby? Want Papi to fuck you good, right here where everyone can see how good you look all fucked out for me?”

“Dames, please…”

“Use your words, princess. Let Papi know what his baby girl needs.”

“I–” Your words caught in your throat, overwhelmed by the prior stimulation and the smooth but sinister way of his words. “I w-want you to fuck me, Papi. Please…” With a sudden movement Damian spins you around, bending you over the railing as your chest presses against the cool metal. Behind you, you hear the sound of him undoing his belt and dropping his clothing to the ground, joining them in a pile with your dress before feeling his hard member tease your entrance. 

“Tell me you need me again, baby, please.” His demand almost sounds desperate, like he himself is holding back his own moans at the thought of you desperate for him.

“I– I need you, Dame. Please, baby, please fuck me. Right he– mmm…”

He slips inside you with a moan of his own, groaning as he feels your walls tighten around his length. He slowly pushes himself deeper inside you, allowing you to adjust but also loving the cries coming out of your mouth as he stretches you around him.

“Fuck, Y/N, so tight f’me, baby… shit. Taking me so well, sweetheart.” Your pussy flutters around him, a groan slipping from his lips as he slowly pulls out and thrusts himself back in, going slow so he can pay attention to how tight your walls are squeezing his cock– but also how your face contorts with every movement of his hips.

“F-faster, please..” And that was all Damian needed, a signal that you were ready for more of him. His hips sped up movement as he thrusted into you from behind, the force jolting your body with every snap of his hips as you cry out in pleasure. His hands hold your hips for leverage, kneading the skin roughly enough that surely bruises would form by tomorrow morning– but you didn’t care. You were drunk, not on champagne but on the feeling of his cock inside you driving deeper and deeper into you, a feeling of euphoria that you never wanted to escape. A hand of his came forward to your clit and rubbed slow circles on the swollen bud, making you instantly tighten around him and cry out his name for all who could possibly hear it. You were close, there was no denying it, and you were prepared to coat his length in your desire for him– only him, and he knew it too.

“I feel you, princess. Go ahead, cum for me. Wanna feel you, baby.” Your release washed over you with force as your body grew limp, your orgasm consuming all the energy left in your body to give to Damian and Damian alone. Your pussy clenched around him as he continued to buck his hips inside you, the sounds of his thrust mixed with your juices echoing outside as he approached his own release.

“Y/N, f-fuck, I’m close, baby girl… gonna fuck this pussy full of my cum… shit.”

“C-cum for me, Papi, let me have every last drop. G-give it to me…” You whimpered in between thrusts and not long after he followed suit, releasing ropes of his cum along your walls and filling you completely– just like he said he would. He brings you upright and wraps his arms around you, holding onto you as his orgasm hits him and finding your lips once more for another passionate kiss. The two of you stay there for a moment, lips locked and fully exposed as you ride out your orgasms together. A few moments pass and your position remains the same, but your attention gets drawn to the grounds below– where guests are leaving the party and heading home for the evening. You stare at each other, wide-eyed, and laugh– collecting your clothing and dashing inside so as to not get caught by any of the guests.

“So, my place?” You smile and nod at Damian, who merely an hour ago had been a stranger in a mask but was now no longer a mystery. You didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, shit, you didn’t know what would transpire after you leave here but one thing is for certain: now, there’s no hiding it.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

hey babe! (if you don't give me a name I'll keep calling you that)

thinking about modern Arthur who takes you horse riding so he can show you what he likes and he just be his normal arthur going all "good girl" and "that's my girl" with his mare and you just go insane for this man because WHY IS HE TALKING TO A HORSE LIKE THAT😭

You can call me babe all you want honey <33 AND FOR GOD'S SAKE. We never talked about it and this blog yet but like MISTER CLARK why did you speak to these horses like they were your fcking partners?? Not that I don't like it... Totally not searching for mares on purpose to hear Arthur praising me... HUM.

Arthur and you had been circling around each other for a while now. A simple customer at your Café at first, you had grown fond of each other as you remembered his habits and likings (always two shots of expresso, black, plus a pile of maple syrup pancakes on mornings, and a hot dog on afternoons). He had begun to come more and more often, always finding some time between his patrols as a Ranger; his steps always bringing him back "unpurposedly" in the area everyday. One thing leading to another, you had shared numbers and started texting, shyly at first than until late at night. Sharing music, dumb photos, witty lines and, when one of you felt bold, flirty ones.

Soon enough, the need for more private time together had imposed itself on you. You were both craving for more, more than just texting, more than just chatting at the Café, in the middle of everyone and every ears of town. Arthur had pushed back all his limits by inviting you to his family ranch. He was eager to share his passion with you.

A hand on your hip, he helped you jump on the saddle of his mare, a beautiful ginger-colored creature named Boadicea. Your hands were uncertain as you hold the reins; it had been a while since you'd last been horse riding. But your anxiety stops all of a sudden when Arthur cooed unexpectedly, sending an odd shiver all the long of your back:

"Yeah, that's a good girl."

Your heart jumped at his words. Not only because of them but the way he had spoken. His voice was even lower and deeper than usual, the rough edges of it diving dangerously into the dreamiest parts of your psyche.

You blinked a few times, realizing as he was patting his mare's head that he had praised her, not you. The first seconds of surprise passed, you actually found it quite endearing. He looked like she really was everything to him; gaze filled with love. You could see those sweet little glittering fireflies in the depth of his eyes when he looked at her. Like when someone looks at what is the most precious thing on Earth to them. Or those tiny sparkles of joy and excitement when they talk to you about their favorite subject, on the verge of shedding a tear. It was pure and utter affection. How could a man taking such good care of an animal could be a bad one? There was something about all his behavior and his relationship with his mare that made you feel even more safe around him, and even more persuaded he was the softest and sweetest of men.

The afternoon passed wonderfully. Arthur never missed any occasion to put his hands on you: helping you getting down or on the saddle, showing you how to hold the reins better, how to position your back the right way... You didn't know if he was doing it on purpose, but you clearly would not complain about it.

Of course, the day ended with a long time spent grooming Boadicea. Arthur had everything needed for her, a huge box filled with a dozen brushes and at least five different types of treats. He gently showed you how to tend her mane while he fed her, letting out once again his low and loving praising:

"Thaaat's ma girl. Yeah, the best girl in the world. Who did real' good, today? Yeah, that's you! That's you, sugar!"

The good girl in question was in Paradise, weighing happily as an answer to his praise, mouth hungrily devouring the treats he was giving her.

You couldn't help yourself and chuckle slightly. Both because it was really cute, seeing Arthur like this, and because something inside you was loving to hear his voice whispering sweet things like he did, even if it was not for you. You knew, you really knew it wasn't. But God did it felt good to hear. Your heart and, you had to admit, your body was craving to hear it again.

"Wha'? You think I'm a fool, don't ya?" He asked you when he heard your little laugh. Your eyes landed on each other's face, and you noticed his cheeks had turned a tad crimson as one of his hands was scratching his neck, his embarrassment apparent and making him even more adorable than before.

"No! Not at all..." A slight grin curled your lips upward. You couldn't miss an occasion for more teasing. "I just didn't know you loved Boadicea that much..."

Arthur laughed frankly and something in your brain turned the whole World into a Paradise when you noticed that his eyes were filled with sparkles. The sparkles. The same glimmers as earlier. The deepest affection, for you, just for you, even if just for a second. His blue pupils are drawn in it, and covering you with it, dragging you in this pure joy with it.

"You jealous or somethin'?" He asks you, his chest still slightly vibrating with the end of his laugh.

"Maybe, who knows..."

"Oh, well I could call you a "good girl" too all you want, darlin'."

The cheeky bastard had emphasized it on purpose, you knew it. This time, he was the one grinning and you, the one blushing. Your ego begging you not to go any further on that road yet, you tried your best to stay cool and composed whereas it was absolute chaos in your chest and between your thighs.

"Yeah, well, don't get too cocky about it." You simply answered, trying to stay evasive about the matter. But the beautiful red sunset painting your face was displaying for his desirous eyes was betraying you.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Arthur's grin stayed glued to his face until the very last moment you saw him. You didn't know, at the time, but a very long series of praising and sensual whispering was about to begin on that precise day.

[notyourhetloki]

good for you (Daemon x Hightower!Reader)

Reader: she/her (Fem!Reader)

/NSFW Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader/

A/N: Hello hello hello! I present to you my newest obsession… another morally grey character yaaayy but for real, I love this show so much and I hope you like the premise of this fic! I must admit that this is not an original idea but I hope it's different enough from the other fics I saw… anyway! Requests will be open soon (and this time I mean it) ok byee xoxo Also, I used this site to translate my Valyrian texts, and all Valyrian dialogue will be written in bold.

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), age gap, reader is described as shorter than him, reader has long hair, praise kink, masturbation, handjobs, the timeline doesn't make any sense sorry, Daemon is not married.

Word Count: 4.8k

—

You were only twelve when you first met the Rogue Prince, the uncle of your best friend Rhaenyra. He asked for your name and when you told him, he immediately scoffed.

You were a Hightower, youngest daughter of the Hand, Otto Hightower. Daemon did not care for that, holding a strong grudge for your father that naturally extended to you and your family.

But Rhaenyra loved you, you were inseparable and no amount of prejudice could change that. Trying to separate you both was of no use, Daemon realized... so he coped.

You and Rhaenyra were studying at the library, she insisted on teaching you Valyrian but you were struggling a bit with the pronunciation. "Ziry iksos iā gevie tubis." (It's a beautiful day.) You repeated, and after your second attempt, you heard a foreign voice coming from behind you.

"Ȳdra daor sesīr sylugon, riña. Ao sagon quba rȳ ziry." (Don't even try, girl. You're bad at it.) It was Daemon, strolling in your direction.

"Uncle! Don't be mean!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, putting one of her arms around you as you both turned to look at the man.

You managed to understand most of his words and did not appreciate them. "Doesn't hurt to practice, my prince. I'm still learning after all..." He scoffed once more.

"It's time for your lessons, niece. And I wouldn't like to have your little friend around." The prince said without much regard for you. He tutored Rhaenyra in Valyrian, but this time she objected to it.

"Please, uncle! Let (y/n) stay for the lessons! She is learning as well..."

With much insistence, he complied... but he did not seem happy.

Because your father was busy with the king and tending to his favorite daughter, Alicent, he never cared enough to know about these tutoring sessions. So a year went by and you still accompanied Rhaenyra in her lessons, for Daemon's dislike.

He would make sure to choose the most complicated texts, dense with words he knew you wouldn't know. But to his dismay, you would only get better and better. Your almost perfect pronunciation caught him off guard one day, taunting him in a sarcastic tone.

"Skoros tembyr kessa sagon hembar, ñuha dārilaros?" (What book shall be next, my prince?) Your soft-spoken words made his blood boil in anger, not liking to admit you were getting good at the language. A Hightower... speaking Valyrian... that was absurd.

But with time Daemon grew accustomed to it, challenging you with new texts and harshly correcting you once you made an error. You were making progress, and deep down that satisfied him.

Another year would pass... and another. Your tutorship with Daemon only served one purpose: to show off to him. He began to enjoy your witty responses and overall demeanor, scolding you if you missed a lesson. He would never admit it, but he grew fond of you.

And he would make your life a living hell because of it.

One night, on your 15th birthday, you couldn't sleep. Escaping from your chambers, you moved swiftly to the library once more in search of more Valyrian texts. You wanted to impress your tutor, prove yourself to him, and you would make big efforts in order for that to happen.

"Skoro syt issi ao kesīr?" (Why are you here?) A familiar growly voice echoed through the empty halls. Daemon was hiding in the shadows, standing still in between shelves.

You responded in Valyrian, proud of your clear pronunciation. "I could not sleep."

The prince took slow steps towards you, the lit fires from torches illuminating his angled face. He looked intimidating, but you weren't scared of him. You were intrigued, fascinated by his nature... even though he clearly disliked you, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

"A young girl such as yourself shouldn't be wandering around the castle at this hour. What will daddy do if he finds out?" Slowly getting closer, Daemon taunted you with his words. Your heart hammered in your chest, too nervous at the fact you were alone with him for the first time.

"He won't." You retorted. He was at arms reach now, looking you in the eyes, hands behind his back.

"Be careful, Hightower. You don't want to get into trouble, do you?" His sarcastic tone and the way he called you by your last name made you extremely angry.

"I'm just here to get a book. Any recommendations, my prince?" You retorted harshly. Completely eloquent in the language, you made Daemon stand in shock, defeated.

"You really turned out to be good, didn't you, girl?" His voice a mere whisper, staring at you as you felt your heart skip a beat. He had finally acknowledged you somehow, and that was a victory you would cling to.

"I got something for you." Daemon continued, not caring to speak in Valyrian anymore. He turned around and reached for a book up on a shelf and handed it to you. It was a storybook, perhaps fictional.

"A children's book?" You asked in confusion. "My Valyrian is not so basic, my prince."

"You will see this is no basic book, Hightower. The Valyrian in it is quite complex." You looked through the pages and admittedly, it was quite a difficult read.

"Rhaenyra has spoken the language since she was an infant and still hasn't read this book." You looked at him in alarm, not knowing what to make of his words. "Take it as a challenge... Hightower."

And after those last words, he marched out of the library, leaving you alone.

You managed to read the book in one week with much research, and you were feeling exceptionally proud. But when the time came to have your tutoring session, Daemon was nowhere to be found. Rumors had begun circling the Red Keep, saying that he had been exiled or that he was fighting in a war... you couldn't know for sure.

It was true you felt a certain unease around the prince, he made sure you knew how much he despised your family and belittled you at any opportunity... but you couldn't help but feel a little enthralled by him. He was a handsome, intelligent man with a bad temper, and deep down you craved his attention. So for him to disappear like that was, indeed, quite an unfortunate event for you.

────୨ৎ────

Years had passed and you had just come of age. Turmoil had risen inside the Red Keep, and when you heard the news, you felt your breath hitch.

Prince Daemon had returned from the war victorious, and the king was very content. Rhaenyra couldn't hide her excitement and neither could you, giggling with your friend about her uncle's expected return.

You didn't see him for the first few days, not until you crossed paths in a secluded hall. His white hair was short then, wearing red and black clothing as he seemed lost in thought... but when he saw you, he immediately stopped his walk.

The way he looked at you... he examined every inch of your body, slowly making his way up towards your face. It made you feel things you couldn't quite decipher, made heat spread through your whole body.

"My prince." You bowed and then proceeded to maintain eye contact, but it was proven to be quite difficult.

"Hightower." He wasn't accustomed to saying your first name and you were used to it at that point, but the way he called you always felt like an insult.

"I'd like to congratulate you on your victory." You offered, and he slightly lowered his head in response.

"You've changed." The change in language caught you off guard, suddenly aware of your past tutoring sessions, you would make sure to show him you hadn't forgotten. "You've... grown. You're not a little girl anymore, (y/n)."

Your name finally coming out of his lips like that made you shiver. Trying to ignore the heat growing inside, you looked at his face in awe. His intense eyes pierced through you, his parted mouth breathed deep slow breaths. He looked predatory, and that made you spiral into feelings you had never felt before.

"You barely changed my prince, aside from the hair. It looks hideous." You dared to say, trying to provoke him in some way... and it worked. He lowly chuckled, the sides of his mouth forming a grin you were sure you had never seen before. It made your heart skip a beat.

Before Daemon could respond, your father Otto walked in from behind him. "Daughter?"

The prince didn't even turn around to greet your father, instead, he gave you one final look and kept walking, passing by your side.

You sighed, not knowing you were holding a breath. "Yes, father?"

"Why were you talking to... him?" He tried to maintain composure, but you knew he deeply disliked Daemon just as much as the prince disliked him.

"I was congratulating him." You didn't lie.

"Please, (y/n), try to maintain distance from him. That man is certain danger and I don't want him corrupting your mind with foolish conversation. Understand?" Otto said while holding the sides of your arms gently, voice full of worry.

"Yes, father." You assured him... but it wasn't a promise.

He looked at you and sighed in relief, taking a moment before speaking what he had in mind.

"Soon you'll be wed to a good lord and you'll make me very proud, my child. The time has come, I'll begin preparing your courtship tomorrow."

You stood in horror, eyes watering at his terrifying words. "But, dad-"

"Please do not contest, (y/n). You're already a woman, you must get married soon. Now, off you go... I have many tasks to tend to."

────୨ৎ────

You didn't tell anyone, not even Rhaenyra, but that night you planned on fleeing.

Gathering some clothes, food and water, you sneaked out of your chambers and managed to get into the stable. As you were about to get on your horse, you heard his voice.

"Where do you think you're going, Hightower?" Daemon was right behind you, his voice startling you. Quickly turning around, you angrily confronted him.

"You followed me?" Confusion took over you, not knowing what to make of that situation.

"You are easy to follow. Stealth is not your strongest ally." He was just trying to irritate you at that point, and you couldn't help but shout at him. "Why?!"

"I was interested in knowing why the daughter of the Hand was trying to flee the castle? Perhaps you're a little traitor, that wouldn't surprise me." His words cut deep within you, making you boil with rage.

"I'm not a traitor! I just don't want to marry an ugly old lord and doom my life forever! And be sure, my prince, I'm not going to let that happen." You rose on your horse swiftly but Daemon was quicker, getting a hold of the reins and holding the animal in place.

"Get down. Now." His stern and severe demeanor sent chills down your spine, but you weren't going to give up so easily.

"Pardon me, my prince, but I must remind you that you don't own me."

Daemon didn't enjoy that, even though he appreciated your wits. He took a deep breath and continued. "Get down now, girl. Or you'll regret making this stupid decision."

You knew he was right, you were going to regret it. In reality, you were terrified... you had nowhere to go and the Red Keep had been your home since you could remember. There was no escaping your fate, and that brought tears to your eyes.

You slowly descended your horse, trying to hide the tears falling down your face. Daemon promptly turned you towards him, directing his hands to hold the sides of your arms and holding you in place. He squeezed lightly, the pressure of his touch grounding you.

When you finally made eye contact, the prince had a certain fury in his eyes. "Your cunt of a father wouldn't dare to sell you to an ugly old lord." Daemon whispered, mostly to himself. He was towering over you, incredibly close and intimate... you stuttered on your next words.

"You of all people know well of what my father is capable of."

He looked fierce, enraged as he clenched his jaw. A sudden wave of incredible anger washed over Daemon, but he wouldn't dare to acknowledge his feelings.

"Go to bed, Hightower. It's late already." Was what Daemon said before distancing himself, the ghost of his touch remaining for a few moments. "Search me tomorrow night in the library, I'll be waiting." And with that, he was gone.

You embraced yourself, trying to mimic the pressure of his grasp. The ghost of his hands lingered as you realized, he had never touched you before.

That night you went to bed crying.

────୨ৎ────

You put on a pretty dress just for the night, and you weren't quite sure why. Your excuse was that you had to be a good student and respect the presence of your tutor, but inside you knew... you just wanted to look good for him.

After descending the stairs to the library, you found Daemon already waiting for you.

"At least you’re on time." His voice reverberated in the room, dominating it with his presence.

"My prince… I brought something for you" You offered, closing some distance between you. When you showed him the object you brought, he immediately recognized it. It was the book he had given you as a challenge, many years ago.

"This book... did you manage to read it?" Daemon looked at you with curious eyes.

"Countless times, I already know the meaning of every word in it." Your proudness stamped on your expression.

A grin appeared on his face, he seemed very pleased. "Sȳz riña." (Good girl.) He hissed.

The words had a surprising effect on you, heat spread all over your body... especially in between your legs. Feeling your face turning red, you rapidly turned around and leaned on a shelf, your back facing the prince.

You heard him chuckle lightly and realized he was moving closer, standing right behind you. He moved one strand of your hair that was falling in front of your shoulder and pulled it back gently, the light sudden touch sent shivers down your spine.

Heat was pooling at your core, breathing was quick and erratic... it was useless to deny the effect he had on you.

Deamon whispered in your ear, his deep voice holding you in place. "But there are still many things to learn, Hightower." Moving another strand of hair, he continued. "I could teach you so many things..."

His last words felt like venom spreading through your body, and you were curious to know his intentions.

"Like what, my prince?" You said softly, innocently.

"Whatever you'd like." Another whisper, this time even closer. His lips barely touched your ear, and you shivered.

The possibilities were endless, he could teach you anything, right? So you finally turned to face him, his tall frame towering over you... he was especially close.

"I-I’m… I would… I would like to know more informal language. Words not often used in the texts." You tried to maintain a silent tone of voice, due to the nature of the encounter... and because you suddenly felt extremely shy in his presence.

Daemon smiled, matching your tone while bringing his hands behind his back. "I see… do you have specific words in mind?"

"Hm… insults like… scoundrel or bastard or…" You couldn't bring yourself to say it, but you knew what type of words you truly wanted to learn... you just hoped the prince understood what you meant.

"Or...?" He pressed with an amused expression.

"T-The word you usually use to refer to my father." Offering in defeat, you looked at your feet in shame.

Another chuckle came from the man's mouth, you could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "You mean... cunt?"

You looked up at him, he had a terrible grin splatted on his face. You nodded, confirming his suspicion.

He stood victorious while staring at you with much intensity, head turned to the side like a puppy. "Very well."

────୨ৎ────

You couldn't shake that feeling away, the feeling of being surrounded by Daemon. His brief touches lingered on your skin even after they were gone, desire burning away at your core.

The way he spoke to you, saying such dirty words in Valyrian and expecting you to enunciate them right... you repeated them again and again just to make sure you were correct, and he seemed to be enjoying himself way too much.

You left the lesson with a scarlet red face, embarrassed at the things he made you say... but with heat between your thighs.

The next night you were expected to meet at the library once again to continue your studies, but you had other plans in mind.

That heat was too much to bear, imagination running wild leaving you distracted throughout the whole next day. You needed release.

So when the time came for your encounter, you decided not to go. Instead, you stripped bare and hopped on your bed. You put a pillow between your thighs and started to ride it, seeking sweet relief.

In the meantime, Daemon was growing impatient... so he decided to go after you. He was irritated at your absence and wanted to scold you for it.

But after what he saw when he slowly opened the doors to your chambers, he was left speechless.

You had your back facing him, bouncing on top of a pillow and moaning softly. Your bare back and ass were a delight for his eyes, hair loose and following your movements.

Daemon sat on an armchair directly behind you and continued watching and admiring the view, his growing erection tight in his trousers.

You were almost there, tension building up and tightening your core. You couldn't hold yourself back, all of your mind was taken by visions of him. "D-Daemon... Daemon..."

The prince couldn't help but chuckle, ecstatic at the sound of his name coming from your mouth. An exceptional and welcome surprise that left his mouth agape.

His laugh caught you off guard, making you turn with a shriek. You pulled the covers to hide your chest but he had already seen too much, making you turn red with shame.

"W-What are you doing here?!" You breathlessly said, trying not to scream. No one could see you in that situation, especially with Daemon in your room.

"So that's what you've been up to... a good reason to skip lessons indeed." His predatory eyes stared at your exposed legs, traveling up to meet your eyes. "Touching yourself... thinking about me... how indecent."

"I wasn't- I was not touching myself!" You protested, hiding yourself in shame.

"Oh, alright. You were humping a pillow... serves the same purpose, does it not?" Daemon mocked you, gesturing at the pillow you abandoned next to your legs. "Probably made a mess..."

"Why are you in my chambers?!" You deflected, not wanting to admit your doings.

"I just wanted to confirm the reason why you decided to avert your lesson tonight." He lifted his hands in defeat. "But I see you have more important matters to tend to."

As the prince lifted his hands, you were able to catch a glimpse of his crotch. He was hard, you could see the bulge of his member through his pants.

Daemon caught you staring and gave you a vicious smile. "See something you like, Hightower?"

You swallowed as your mouth started to water, fantasies of him running wild inside your head. You wanted him, and apparently, he wanted you just as much.

"For someone who used to despise me, you seem very content to see me." You decided to taunt him. Even though you were ashamed of being caught in such a manner, you wanted to get what you could from that situation.

"I don't despise you." Daemon admitted. "You irritate me, yes, and your father is a cunt, but..." He seemed to consider carefully his next words. "you were always my favorite."

Electricity ran over your body, a wave of shock immobilizing you. His words... hearing him say you were his favorite filled you with pride. But you didn't feel completely victorious, but curious at best.

“You never treated me as your favorite.” You retorted, remembering the times he would scold you and insult you during lessons.

“Let me make up to you then..." Daemon looked especially predatory, eyes fixated on your body... he was up to no good. "come sit on my lap.”

You softly gasped, surprised at his command. Of course, you wouldn't obey him so easily... but your body betrayed you, wetness pooling between your thighs at the thought of getting on top of him.

“I’m not one of your whores, Daemon.” His name rolled out of your tongue mistakenly, and you soon regretted it when you saw the prince's expression.

“If I wanted to take you as a whore I would have done so ages ago. I had plenty of opportunities.” His stern tone of voice made you shiver once again. He was right, he did have many opportunities... maybe he just needed to know that you desired him.

So you decided to show him how you truly felt.

Slowly, you got up from the bed, letting the blanket that hid your body fall to the floor. Carefully you approached the prince, who observed you in awe.

"Come straddle my thigh, dear. It will feel much better than a pillow..." Daemon muttered, patting his left thigh as an invitation.

You gladly obeyed, mounting on his thigh like a pony with your face facing his. Daemon could already feel your wetness through the fabric of his pants and that made him smile.

"So eager for me, aren't you?" He brushed his rough hand on your cheek, then neck, then one of your breasts. You moaned softly at his touch, never imagining Daemon could be so gentle. His other hand stayed behind your back, grounding you. "Move now, ride me."

And you did as you were told, starting to grind on his upper leg. The friction felt delicious on your pearl, heat building up at your core. You moaned and moaned, not able to maintain eye contact. It felt like too much, a sense of satisfaction and shame ruling at the same time.

"Ñuha gevie riña..." (My beautiful girl...) Said Daemon while exploring your body with his hand. "Ao sagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." (You're so good for me.)

His praise went straight to your sex, you wanted to hear more... wanted to be a good girl for him.

"D-Daemon." You moaned softly, and he couldn't resist any longer. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he pulled you into a rough, bruising kiss. Your tongues danced in each other's mouths as you tried your best to maintain rhythm.

You took the opportunity to feel his hard member, still trapped in his trousers. He groaned in your mouth, pulling back slightly to speak into your parted lips. "You enjoy my praises, girl? Would you like to hear more?"

"Y-Yes... please..." You finally looked at his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. His hair was disheveled, lips plush from kissing... he looked so good.

"Take my cock out." He ordered, and like a good girl, you obeyed.

Freeing his member from the layers of fabric, you realized how big he was. Soon your imagination started to go places, fantasizing about how it must feel to have him inside you.

"Now stroke me... like this." His big hand cupped yours and made its way around his cock, guiding you on how to pleasure him.

Soon you found a rhythm, grinding on his thigh while stroking him, and you soon found yourself close to orgasm once more.

"Good girl, just like that." He would say, and with every thrust of your hips you felt it growing, the energy that built up inside you.

"Daemon... Daemon..." You pleaded while looking him in the eyes, knowing how close you were just then.

"Come for me, dear... come for me, (y/n)." Your name coming from his lips was what you needed to finish. Waves of pleasure washed over you as your climax reached its peak. You shouted his name and soon realized how loud you were being, face red in shame and bliss.

Daemon held you in place, anchoring you as you recovered from your high. Your breaths were still frantic, and soon your dizziness started to fade.

"Are you well?" He asked, you nodded. "Go onto your knees, then." His direction was clear, but you didn't know the reason for such a command.

You slowly made your way onto your knees, slotting yourself between his open legs, the mess you made on his thigh in full display now.

His member was close to your face then, and you couldn't hold yourself back. Enveloping your hand around his cock once more, you looked up at Daemon's face before you started to stroke him.

His mouth was slightly agape as he was deeply breathing, almost panting at the sight of you. "What an obedient girl you are for me, (y/n)." Again, the sound of your name made you feel things.

"I-I just..." You felt like confessing, emotions taking over you. "I just want to be good for you, my prince..."

Daemon smiled wickedly, stroking your cheek gently as he leaned down to face you. "Open your mouth, then." You immediately complied, tongue darting out obscenely as you maintained eye contact. "Oh my..."

His thumb traveled to your mouth and pressed on your tongue, you instinctively sucked the digit and he hummed in approval.

"That's my girl... now, keep moving." Your hand worked fiercely on his member, but the friction slowed you down... until you had an idea.

You stopped for a moment and Daemon looked at you in disapproval, but you quickly made your way into your sex. You smeared your wetness into your palm and only then continued to stroke him, coating his member with your slick.

"Ha..." Daemon let out an approving sound, then chuckled darkly in satisfaction. "Vaogenka riña..." (Dirty girl...)

You smiled slyly at him before opening your mouth again, showing him how ready you were.

"So needy, huh?" He teased, making you blush fiercely. "So eager to swallow my seed..."

And with that, he finished with a groan. Strings of his cum made their way into your tongue and chin, and you swallowed his taste like you'd been starving.

"Sȳz riña... sȳz riña." (Good girl... good girl.) Daemon panted, caressing your hair and smiling at you.

"Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros." (Thank you, my prince.) You whispered, leaning up and joining your lips into a kiss. It was slow, passionate and he could taste himself in your tongue.

"Hmm." You whimpered into his mouth as his hands made their way to your ass, grabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks there.

Daemon pulled back slightly, only enough so he could talk into your lips. "I'll fully take your maidenhood, one day... hear those sweet sounds you make while buried deep inside your cunt."

His obscene words made you gasp, heat spreading inside your core again, To even imagine that... made you feel hot all over.

"You'd have to wed me before that happens." You teased, but Daemon had a serious look on his face.

"I'll see what I can do." Was his response, and a sense of urgency hit you like a brick. Did he actually mean that?

Marrying Daemon... the prince, your tutor, your best friend's uncle! Not even in your wildest dreams you had thought of that possibility, but now...

No, you couldn't have your hopes up. He was only taunting you, right? That was what you thought.

────୨ৎ────

You would never forget the somber expression on your father's face when he told you the news. You were officially bestowed to Prince Daemon, as per the request of the king himself.

"You asked your brother for my hand in marriage?!" You exclaimed in shock, questioning the man you would soon call 'husband'.

"Would your father accept me if I didn't?" Daemon said calmly, contrasting your agitated self.

You were still a bit stunned at the news but deep down felt a happiness you couldn't hold back, smiling at Daemon with true contentment.

He grinned back at you, lifting his hand to hold your chin gently. "Aderī kesā sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys." (Soon you will be my wife.)

Lowering himself to your height, he kissed you slow and tender. When you finally let go of each other, you whispered to him. "Se kesā sagon ñuha valzȳrys." (And you will be my husband.)

—

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Backstage (2024)

Jonathan Bailey is still marinating in his thoughts, andthey taste pretty sweet. Top notes of red wine, he says. 

These are busy times for the witty British heartthrob. He’s speaking over Zoom from Malta, where he’s filming the next “Jurassic World” installment. And two days prior, he received his first Emmy nomination for his supporting turn on Showtime’s “Fellow Travelers.” 

What’s lingering in Bailey’s mind after reaching such a huge milestone? “The nature of the story, and how that story’s come to be told,” he says of Ron Nyswaner’s limited series, a decades-spanning gay drama that’s chock-full of steamy sex scenes. For him, the Emmy nod is “an acknowledgment of [the show] meaning something much bigger.” 

The 36-year-old actor radiates humility and surges with pride for his collaborators; “Fellow Travelers” also picked up nominations for lead actor Matt Bomer and for Nyswaner’s writing. Bailey believes the fact that executive producer Robbie Rogers was able to get the project on television at all is a “brilliant signifier” of changing times. He feels lucky to have been the right person for the job. And after a couple of decades in the industry, the actor’s star is about to go supernova. 

Childhood stage work and gigs on 2000s teen TV shows led to roles on acclaimed series like ITV’s “Broadchurch” and Channel 4’s “Crashing.” He nabbed an Olivier in 2019 for his performance in Marianne Elliott’s West End revival of “Company.” Households on the other side of the Atlantic learned his name in 2020 when he courted lockdown audiences as Anthony, the strident head of the titular family on Netflix’s period-romance smash “Bridgerton.” 

Then came the game-changing “Fellow Travelers.” Bailey plays the idealistic Tim Laughlin, a closeted congressional staffer who pursues a clandestine relationship with another man amid the witch hunts of McCarthy-era Washington. The actor is keeping up that momentum in the coming months with part one of Jon M. Chu’s highly anticipated film adaptation of the Broadway musical “Wicked” (out Nov. 22), followed by the fourth “Jurassic World” in 2025. 

“Fellow Travelers” is a fitting inflection point for Bailey, considering it reflects aspects of his own gay identity. Tim’s story also illuminates a thread connecting the actor’s work, both in and out of character: always embracing the truth, shame be damned. 

Born in Wallingford, England, Bailey made a beeline for the arts as a kid when he began studying music and ballet. After getting a taste of performing at a young age, he secured an agent when he was a teenager. Even now, he feels the sense of joy and wonder he discovered in those early days. 

He chose not to attend drama school, instead throwing himself into professional theater, where he encountered the performance process in its most essential form. “You start with your own instincts, and then you share with others in the room in real time,” Bailey says. “You academically approach text, then you emotionally explore it. Then, you physically put it on its feet.”

Theater taught him to be observant. In rehearsals, he witnessed actors being brilliant and bold, but also making crucial mistakes. Weeks of rehearsing helped him learn how to spend time with a character as he watched his castmates play against type and expand themselves through performance. Those lessons both tested and encouraged him, and they’ve carried him throughout his career. 

Since then, Bailey has gotten the chance to see plenty of giants at work. He reverently discusses performing Stephen Sondheim’s music alongside Patti LuPone in “Company” and reciting Shakespeare opposite Ian McKellen in the Chichester Festival Theatre’s 2017 production of “King Lear.” 

His contemporaries also made for great teachers. He worked with Phoebe Waller-Bridge on “Crashing” and Michaela Coel on “Chewing Gum”—two certified television geniuses whose creative successes Bailey likens to the magnesium flame of a meteor. It’s an apt comparison—Waller-Bridge called him “a meteorite of fun” in a 2022 interview with GQ. (“I think I’ve always been quite naughty,” he says playfully.)

“There’s so much you take on via natural osmosis,” Bailey explains. “It’s what you watch and how you interpret things.”

For example, he thinks that every actor should see Sandy Dennis’ Oscar-winning turn as Honey in Mike Nichols’ 1966 film “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Her performance whet his curiosity about the craft: “She is so fluid. I mean, that might be the most exposing answer I’ve given about what my inner world is like.”

Bailey’s technique is rooted in music. He plays piano and clarinet, and he approaches acting like an instrument, too. When reading a script for the first time, he experiences his character’s arc as the phrases in a song. “The way my brain works is that I see the images of what they’re doing,” he says. “When I say ‘phrasing,’ it’s like, how you get from that image to this image.”

When he was playing the bottled-up Anthony on “Bridgerton,” Bailey found inspiration in songs by Echo and the Bunnymen and Nirvana. While filming “Fellow Travelers” in Toronto, he went on long walks while listening to expansive pop music to help him explore Tim, a character whose energy radiates outward.

Considering Bailey’s process plays like a song, connoisseurs of his work might notice a motif. Sam from “Crashing,” a party boy Bailey calls “a wild, untamed animal in a tiny little cage,” aggressively maintains a facade of heterosexuality while pining for his male housemate Fred (Amit Shah). On Season 2 of “Bridgerton,” Anthony locked himself into a prison of duty and a loveless engagement to avoid acknowledging his desire for the fiery Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley).

Tim of “Fellow Travelers” is the latest in a series of sharply drawn characters confronting the tension between their assigned roles and their personal truths. Viewers first meet a straitlaced rule-follower whose Catholic piety is only matched by his loyalty to the infamous Senator Joseph McCarthy. All that changes when he crosses paths with Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Bomer), a crystal-eyed, debonair State Department official. Their respective closets combust on contact, and they enter into a forbidden love affair just as McCarthy’s Lavender Scare has begun purging queer people from the halls of government.

Bailey’s interior work tends to be more emotional than cerebral, but he’s a generous conversation partner who’s always game to riff on the deep stuff. Whether it’s yearning, going against expectations, or facing high stakes, the phrasing is what draws him in. 

He finds a lot of gorgeous notes to play across the eight episodes of “Fellow Travelers” as the action moves from the 1950s to the ’80s, making pit stops along the way. While Hawk settles for a life of straight domesticity, Tim hurtles through a sexual and political awakening: The Beltway boy becomes an activist priest who refuses to diminish himself, especially when the AIDS crisis begins to rip his community apart.

Bailey loved being inside Tim’s head; in fact, the actor thinks of him as a hero. After experiencing the isolation of his secret relationship with Hawk, he opens himself up to the world: He comes out, moves to San Francisco, cobbles together a found family, and builds a life as his true self. 

“Ron Nyswaner has spoiled Matt and me for the operatic detail that existed between [our characters],” Bailey says, “and also with Tim’s political fervor: the truth and the honesty that he demands of himself and the world around him, and the grappling with anything that is an obstacle to his own and other’s happiness.”

You can’t talk about “Fellow Travelers” without discussing its rapturous sex scenes—and not only for titillation’s sake, though the kinky encounters between Tim and Hawk certainly call for smelling salts. These sequences gave Bailey the opportunity to commit authentic queer intimacy to the screen, which members of the LGBTQ+ community rarely come across as they search for ways to understand their identities. 

The trust between Bailey and Bomer informed everything they did onscreen. Before filming those scenes, the two actors talked through their approach at a café (Goldstruck Coffee on Cumberland Street in Toronto—a ribald little detail that still makes Bailey laugh). The filming itself was incredibly technical, and the actors worked with an intimacy coordinator on set. “We sort of hit the ground running, knowing exactly what was going to be required but also how to communicate throughout it,” Bailey says. “It felt immediately quite safe.”

He sensed an exciting opportunity to tell a story about transformative love amid the “wild, oppressive moment” of the Lavender Scare, dismissing any reservations about the explicit nature of the material. “Honestly, this is exactly why this show is going to be brilliant,” he remembers thinking.

The series’ milestone dramatic moments, with buttons still done up and no skin showing, carried that same sense of significance. No matter how much Tim grew over the course of his arc, Bailey says that his bond with Hawk remained an “extraordinary, material thing.”

This summer, the actor made a very Tim move when he founded the Shameless Fund, a charity that supports LGBTQ+ causes under the tagline: “Raising cash. Erasing shame.” The initiative grew directly out of his acting work—first inspired by the platform afforded to him by “Bridgerton” and further influenced by his experience on “Fellow Travelers.” 

Playing Tim—or, as Bailey puts it, spending “five months doing a dissertation on queer oppression and liberation”—catalyzed his thoughts about the people who created a world where such a show could even exist. “I think in ‘Fellow Travelers,’ it’s so clear what Tim wants,” he says. “But as the world around him develops, you realize there’s so much that he can’t have, but that he can help change.”

Bailey sees that progress playing out in the next generation. He has a small role on the upcoming third season of Netflix’s queer YA hit “Heartstopper” as a dreamy academic who’s the celebrity crush of the series’ protagonist, Charlie (Joe Locke). Based on creator Alice Oseman’s graphic novel series, the show has found a passionate following of young LGBTQ+ fans. 

When he watched “Heartstopper” for the first time, Bailey remembers wondering what it would have been like to see such representation on television when he was growing up. “I was so celebratory of it,” he says. “But it was obviously kind of a melancholic watch for people above a certain age, because it allowed them to grieve what they didn’t have.”

Having conquered the Regency and Cold War periods on the small screen, Bailey’s blockbuster era is imminent. He’s playing dashing love interest Fiyero in the “Wicked” films (based on Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel), singing and dancing alongside Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. It’s a perfect fit for the actor’s particular lens: “Musically and theatrically, I understand it massively.”

Since “Wicked” came with its own well-known songs to study, Bailey spent a lot of time with composer-lyricist Stephen Schwartz’s music in his ears rather than Kurt Cobain’s. He explored Fiyero’s interiority through the musical theater form itself: What does the act of singing express for him?

And for a character whose signature number is called “Dancing Through Life,” what metaphorical direction are his steps leading him in? 

Bailey sees Fiyero as part of the same club as Tim, Anthony, and Sam, as the heightened world of Oz sends him on a journey of radical transformation. “I think about where he starts and where he ends up; he’s literally a changed person,” the actor says. “I savored the arc over two films.” 

Next year, Bailey will become an action star in Gareth Edwards’ next installment of “Jurassic World” opposite Scarlett Johansson. Though details have yet to be announced, including the movie’s title, production is well underway; Bailey just finished filming in Thailand before shooting moved to Malta. A few days before we spoke, he was interacting with a fake blue-screen dinosaur (which is only a spoiler if you thought Hollywood has actually been cloning big reptiles this whole time).

But Bailey is still keeping his theater muscles toned. Next year, he’s starring as the titular monarch in Nicholas Hytner’s production of Shakespeare’s “Richard II” at London’s Bridge Theatre. “I have to go and sharpen up,” he says of returning to the stage. “You feel so sharp and dexterous at the end of a theater run—but also, you know, without a soul. Carcass levels of absolute exhaustion.”

Bailey lights up at the prospect of getting back onstage and experiencing the kinetic energy between the actors, crew, and director. He believes that the emotional and intellectual rigor of theater leads to a tight, specific piece of work. It’s an art form that requires continuous creation night after night.

This stamina comes in handy in front of a camera, too. “When you’re exhausted, you have to rely on technique,” he explains. “Technique does get you over the finish line, and you can deliver a performance that is honest and tell the story effectively and truthfully.” 

Until then—and until he’s back on set with those fake dinosaurs—he’s going to soak up that Emmy-nomination afterglow for a little while longer. 

“I’m actually going to go and have another glass of wine to celebrate,” he says.

Source

[widowsistersandfriends]

The Proposal

Request:

hey hi hello! ☺️

Maybe you can write some natasha and reader gf story?

For example, how nat proposes to the reader, the wedding etc.

All of it with a lot od tickles and happiness ofc 🤍.

Good luck!

Note: Thank you so much for this wonderful request! I had a lot of fun writing it and it was a very creative idea! Enjoy!! :)

Warnings: This fic has kissing in it and tickles. Please do not read if you are not comfortable with this

Word Count: 2126

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

Your girlfriend Natasha was everything you had ever dreamed of. She was strong, witty, beautiful, and best of all…dominant. You guys had been dating for 3 years now, and there was no doubt in your mind that she was your endgame. 

However, you never quite knew what she was feeling or thinking. You knew that she loved you more than anyone besides her sister Yelena, and that she cared for you immensely. You just weren’t sure if she was ready to commit. There was always some seed of doubt planted in your mind that you weren’t good enough. Maybe you were just an overthinker…

Today was the day of your 3 year anniversary. You weren’t sure if she had planned anything and you weren’t sure what to expect. You had bought a gift for her already and you were planning on when to give it to her.

Early that afternoon you got a text from Yelena asking you to go with her to get a manicure. You found it a bit odd since Yelena wasn’t the type to get manicures, but you agreed and got ready to go out. 

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked curiously.

You paused, not knowing if she already knew where you were going. She was a spy after all. 

“I’m just going out to get something…” you said, your answer falling flat as Natasha smirked at you.

“Enjoy your manicure,” Natasha said, as your mouth opened with disbelief. 

“How did you know?” You asked, eyeing her suspiciously. 

“I know everything,” Natasha said cockily. 

You rolled your eyes with a huff, now leaving for your manicure with the blonde.

“What took you so long?” Yelena asked as you arrived.

“Sorry, I got stuck in traffic,” you complained.

“Anyway, what color are you getting?” Yelena asked.

“I want something bold,” you stated, looking at the reds and blues.

“Yeah I wouldn’t go for something light-colored,” Yelena commented.

“Why is that?” You asked suddenly.

Yelena pursed her lips slightly, thinking quickly.

“Well, you know, you want to stand out, don’t you?” Yelena asked.

“I guess so…?” You said with uncertainty.

“C’mon let’s get these nails done,” Yelena rushed.

“Are you getting a pedicure?” You teasingly asked Yelena, knowing that she was too ticklish for one.

“Are you?” Yelena responded back.

You glanced at your feet knowing that they were too ticklish as well.

“That’s what I thought,” Yelena said triumphantly. 

After the manicures, you and Yelena stopped at a nearby food court for a light snack. What you didn’t know was that during this time, Natasha was planning something big.

You admired your royal blue nails as you sipped a lemonade and took a fry from the basket between you two.

“So what are your plans tonight?” Yelena asked.

“Well, I got your sister a gift but I’m not sure what else we’re doing,” you responded.

Yelena wiggled her eyebrows at you, hinting that Natasha was gonna do something naughty. You rolled your eyes and threw a balled up napkin at her as she laughed at your reaction.

You got home around 4:00 pm, and Natasha was right where you left her.

“Have fun?” Your girlfriend asked.

You nodded and told her about how it went.

“Good color choice,” Natasha commented, glancing up at you to see if you knew.

You eyed her for a bit before asking if you guys were doing something.

“Well, I have a reservation for two tonight at a fancy restaurant on the beach,” Natasha said casually.

“Am I the second person in that reservation?” You asked jokingly, which caused the redhead to pull you into her lap and trap you with one arm, while tickling your sides and stomach with the other.

“NAHAHAT STAHAHAP,” you squealed, trying to wiggle out of her grip.

“Are you gonna stop being a cheeky brat?” Natasha asked, working her fingers up your ribs, causing you to panic.

“I DOHONT KNOHOHOW MAYBE YOU HAHAHAVE A MISTRESS,” you responded through your laughs, as you squealed when she used her fingers to dig into your armpit.

Natasha just shook her head as she continued to tickle torture you and you eventually pleaded for her to let you go. 

“You’re such a troublemaker,” Natasha said with a playful eye roll.

“But I’m your troublemaker,” you emphasized, giving her a wink.

The two of you then got ready for the fancy dinner on the boardwalk of the beach. Natasha wore a fancy black dress and you wore a bold red dress.

You two mulled over the menu for a while, as there were so many options.

The waiter came over in a fancy tuxedo, asking what you guys wanted to order.

“Just to make sure, but you guys don’t have chicken tenders right? Because that’s all she eats,” you said jokingly, gesturing towards Natasha.

The waiter laughed and apologized that they did not serve chicken tenders.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at you, before ordering chicken parmesan. You ordered after her and got fettuccine alfredo with chicken. Once the waiter wrote down the order and left, Natasha gave your knee a squeeze under the table, causing you to yelp and hit your knee on the table.

You glared at her in embarrassment asking why she did that.

“Just a little revenge for your cheekiness you brat,” Natasha said quietly, giving you a pinch to your side, making you jerk away and turn red. You were used to her tickling you whenever she felt like it, but having it done in public was something that would always embarrass you.

You swatted her away and eventually the food came. You eyed the food suspiciously, wondering if Natasha had told them to hide the ring in the food somewhere.

You poked around for a bit before digging in, reaching the bottom of the bowl and finding no ring in sight.

For dessert, you guys ordered cheesecake and oreo ice cream, taking in the richness of each one.

“This is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had,” Natasha marveled, which you knew meant the cheesecake was superior. Natasha was hardly ever impressed by food. 

After safely eating the dessert with no ring in it, you two took an evening stroll on the boardwalk, taking in the cool summer breeze.

“So…three years. Long time,” you said awkwardly.

“And yet you’re still so awkward around me,” Natasha said with a chuckle.

“Well, what can I say? I get shy around beautiful women,” you said, giving her your cutest smile.

“You are so cute,” Natasha commented, as you blushed.

“I can’t believe it’s been so long. It felt like just yesterday I was learning about your habits and personality, and now I know it better than anything else,” Natasha said.

“I used to be so shy around you. You were scary, you know that?” You said with a grin.

“You’re still scared of me,” Natasha responded, reaching her hand out, threatening to tickle you. You quickly jumped away and covered your side.

“See? Always scared,” the redhead said with a smirk. 

“Where do you see us in the future?” You asked.

“I’m honestly not sure. Our lives are very different right now, but at the same time, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. I know it’s you Y/N, I just never know when the time is right.

You nodded understandingly.

“I wish we could know for sure what our future holds. But then again, does anyone really?” You responded.

“I just know that I have a ship and I am the captain of that ship,” Natasha said, looking out towards the sea.

You looked at her as she continued looking out to the sea. The sun was setting at its most perfect point. She turned slowly and looked you in the eyes for a minute. 

“Y/N, will you marry me and become my co-captain of the ship?” The redhead asked, breaking out into a smile.

Your eyes widened, panicking now. You knew relationships led to marriage sometimes, but it never seemed real until now. So many emotions were taking over you and you weren’t sure whether to cry or not.

“Natasha I love you so much, of course I will marry you. A thousand times yes,” you said, as she stood up and kissed you as you cried happy tears. She placed the ring on your finger, shining brighter than any star in the universe.

She swung you in the air out of happiness, as you giggled in glee. 

“I love you more than anyone else in the world,” Natasha said, leaning in to kiss you again.

Suddenly, you two heard a voice nearby.

“Wow those were some great pictures.”

You both spun around to see Yelena with a fancy camera.

“Don’t give me that look Natashka, you told me to hide and take pictures when the proposal happened,” Yelena said, now showing the pictures.

“Wow, you really timed it well for the sunset to be in the perfect position,” you commented.

“I needed it to be perfect,” Natasha said.

Yelena took some more pictures, also getting close ups of your ring. Now you understood why she took you to get a manicure.

After the pictures, Yelena gave you two some alone time on the beach.

Natasha looked at you mischievously. 

“Hey woah woah this ring is expensive,” you said defensively.

“Then I’ll just get your feet,” Natasha said, gently tackling you on the sand and burying your feet.

“Oh come on!” You whined, although you were secretly pining for tickles.

“I know your tense from not getting your evening tickles,” Natasha teased, as she removed your high heels and began gently tickling your feet.

“AHAHAHA STAHAHAP NAHAHAT,” you laughed.

“Wow so I guess when you get engaged your ticklishness doesn’t go away huh?” Natasha commented, as you tried to kick the sand away.

Natasha took a nearby feather and began to saw the feather between your toes.

“NOHOT THAHAHAT PLEHEHEASE,” you cried, as you were highly sensitive between the toes.

“We gotta celebrate somehow right?” Natasha asked, as you laughed against your will. 

Natasha finished it off by going for the kill, taking all her nails and scratching them against your heels, causing you to lose it.

“ENOHOUGH PLEHEHEASE NOHOHO MOHOHORE,” you cried, as she then let up and helped get you unstuck from beneath the sand. 

“Apparently people like you still stay just as annoying after they’re engaged,” you huffed at her.

“What was that?” Natasha asked, reaching out to tickle your stomach.

“NOHOHOTHING AHAHA,” you giggled out, rolling away from her.

“Do you like the ring?” Natasha asked, as you nodded and leaned in to kiss her.

The two of you made out on the beach as the sun continued setting before returning home to rest after the craziest day in your lives.

In the next few months, you two began planning your wedding. You guys had chosen the venue already and were now deciding on the food.

“I want mashed potatoes to be there,” you quickly interjected, as Natasha giggled.

“How about steak and mashed potatoes? With salad maybe?” She asked.

“Oooh yes!” You cheered.

“Do you want cake or something else?” Natasha asked.

You both didn’t like cake, so you decided to have an ice cream bar with all the toppings one could dream of. 

You had pretty much all of the details figured out. Location, food, dessert, guests, music, flowers, decorations, you name it.

The day of the wedding had finally arrived. It was sunny and beautiful outside and everyone was in a chipper mood.

After some socializing, the wedding began.

“Natasha Romanoff, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiator asked.

“I do,” Natasha said, beaming.

“Y/N, do you take Natasha Romanoff to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiator asked you.

“I do,” you said, squeezing her hand in excitement.

“You may kiss,” the officiator announced, as you two shared a passionate kiss as the crowd applauded and cheered.

The rest of the night consisted of dancing, eating, and drinking with friends and family. You enjoyed the mashed potatoes and ice cream the most however. 

Later that night, you and Natasha were in a hotel room before leaving for your honeymoon the next day.

“What a day huh? I just got to marry an Avenger,” you said, taking off your dress and revealing the lingerie you had been saving for her.

“You’re so lucky there were people around. I would’ve worn you down so much you wouldn’t have been able to say ‘I do’”, Natasha teased, pinning you down on the bed and tickling you wherever she could.

You burst out into laughter, knowing that you were gonna be her toy for the rest of the night…

[aeth-eris]

3rd House: Texting

"Hey, let's meet up tonight! I have some exciting plans. Get ready for an amazing time!" Aries in the 3rd House: You are likely to text with enthusiasm and a direct, to-the-point approach. Your messages might be energetic and spontaneous, often initiating conversations and expressing your thoughts and ideas assertively.

"Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Hope you're having a great day! Let me know if you need anything." Taurus in the 3rd House: You might prefer to send practical and grounded texts, focusing on comfort and material matters. Your messages could be deliberate, straightforward, and may often include expressions of affection or appreciation. "Hey, did you hear about the new restaurant downtown? I heard the food is amazing! Let's check it out together sometime."

Gemini in the 3rd House: With this placement, you are likely to text frequently, enjoying lively and engaging conversations. Your messages might be witty, informative, and versatile, often conveying a range of ideas and topics. "I've been thinking about our childhood memories a lot lately. Remember that time we went camping? Those were the best times."

Cancer in the 3rd House: You might text with a nurturing and empathetic tone, often checking in on others and expressing your emotions. Your messages could be comforting, caring, and may involve sharing personal experiences and memories. Guess what? I just got a promotion at work! I can't wait to celebrate this achievement. I knew I could do it!"

Leo in the 3rd House: You may prefer to send expressive and dramatic texts, often seeking attention and admiration. Your messages might be bold, entertaining, and enthusiastic, with a touch of creativity and flair. "Here are some tips I found that might help with your project. Let me know if you need any more advice. You've got this!"

Virgo in the 3rd House: You might text with a practical and detail-oriented approach, focusing on accuracy and organization. Your messages could be informative, precise, and may involve providing useful advice or sharing interesting facts. "I understand your point of view, and I appreciate your honesty. Let's find a solution that works for both of us. We can talk more about it later."

Libra in the 3rd House: You are likely to text with diplomacy and a desire for harmony. Your messages might be charming, polite, and often involve seeking balance and understanding in conversations, while also ensuring that everyone feels heard. "I've been reading this fascinating book about psychology. It's been really eye-opening. Let me know if you want to borrow it sometime."

Scorpio in the 3rd House: You may text with intensity and depth, often delving into meaningful and thought-provoking discussions. Your messages could be passionate, probing, and may involve sharing your insights and uncovering hidden truths. "Just booked tickets for that concert we talked about. It's going to be an unforgettable experience! Can't wait to share this adventure with you!"

Sagittarius in the 3rd House: You might prefer to send adventurous and optimistic texts, often discussing your latest endeavors and philosophical ideas. Your messages could be spontaneous, inspiring, and may involve sharing your experiences and aspirations. "I've been working hard on my new project, and it's finally coming together. I believe that staying focused is the key to success."

Capricorn in the 3rd House: You are likely to text with a practical and goal-oriented approach, often conveying your ambitions and discussing your plans. Your messages might be structured, organized, and may involve sharing your achievements and offering guidance. "Have you seen the latest documentary on climate change? It's truly thought-provoking and sheds light on some important issues we're facing."

Aquarius in the 3rd House: You may text with a unique and innovative style, often discussing unconventional and progressive ideas. Your messages could be intellectual, original, and may involve sharing your insights on various social or humanitarian issues. "I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed lately. Can we talk about it? Your perspective always helps me see things in a different light."

Pisces in the 3rd House: You might prefer to send empathetic and imaginative texts, often expressing your feelings and artistic sensibilities. Your messages could be poetic, compassionate, and may involve sharing your dreams and offering emotional support.

[nina-ya]

Paper Rings

Pairing: Sanji x Reader CW: None, just fluff. WC: 1.5k

A/N: Important things to note for this: Pink is the song lyrics Italics is the present. Regular text is the past. This is written with the song Paper Rings by Taylor Swift in mind.

The moon is high, like your friends were the night that we first met. Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet. Now I've read all of the books beside your bed.

It’s late at night and you are flipping through one of Sanji's cookbooks, the room dimly illuminated by the lamp beside your bed. Your thoughts wander as a cherished memory of the night that you met Sanji plays through your mind. You had been on your way home, the streets lit by the moon,  when you rounded a corner and collided with a blonde man sporting curly eyebrows. He’d seemed distressed and was in a rush, but as he looked into your eyes, there was a glimmer of hope. "Oh, I'm so sorry, mademoiselle," he'd apologized profusely, his voice carrying a trace of optimism. "I would never intentionally bump into someone as beautiful as yourself." You dismiss the action, quickly accepting his apology when you noticed he had an exotic blue and white plant in his hand. "Do you live around here? Do you know what kind of plant this is?" he asked. "My dumb friends ingested these and are acting completely loopy." He sighed with frustration.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "I know that plant," you'd said, still amused. "It's a potent hallucinogen. No wonder your friends are acting all loopy."

Sanji groaned in frustration at the revelation, his shoulders slumping. However, your offer to help shorten the effects lit up his face with gratitude.

"You do?! Really?" He'd sighed in relief. "You can't imagine how relieved I am to hear that. Thank you so much. How about I take you to them now?"

Sanji extended his hand to you, a bold move that you found irresistibly charming. You accepted it, your fingers intertwining with his, as he led you to where his friends awaited.

Later that day, once you were back in your own space, you sifted through every newspaper you possessed, hoping to find even a glimpse of the enigmatic cook from the Straw Hat Pirates who had captivated you that fateful night.

With the memory lingering like a sweet dream, you close the cookbook in your hands, placing it gently on the stack of cookbooks on Sanji's bedside table. Each of those books bore colorful tags, bookmarking the pages of recipes you hoped Sanji would make for you. Feeling content, you turn off the lamp and snuggle up against him, his warmth comforting you as you drift into a peaceful sleep. 

The wine is cold, Like the shoulder that I gave you in the street, Cat and mouse for a month or two or three, Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe.

From the moment you bumped into each other, there was an undeniable spark between you. You tried to brush it off at first, but you couldn't deny that each second with him was filled with tantalizing moments that left your heart racing.

You'd often meet in the most unexpected places, exchanging witty banters and sly smiles. One day you'd find a charming note served with your food, a playful message filled with riddles only you can unravel. The next he shows up next to you, handing you your favorite drink with a wink.

You often would try to one-up one another, each trying to outdo the other with clever surprises and flirty gestures. A bouquet of flowers appeared on your pillow, and you would respond with an exotic fruit that he has been dreaming of trying. The chase was thrilling, and the tension undeniable. Sometimes your conversation would turn serious, and you'd share your dreams, fear and your past. These moments of vulnerability only deepened the connection between you two. You guys would revel in your childhood memories, share your hidden desires, making every conversation feel like a meaningful step toward something greater. As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, this little game continued. You knew you were falling in love, but the excitement of the chase and the sweetness of the words left unspoken only added to the magic.

You wake up from your slumber, a smile gracing your lips at the fond memories that your mind replayed. You reach over and gently brush a piece of hair out of his face, watching his serene expression as he sleeps. Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright three times 'cause I've waited my whole life

Your gaze shifts to his lips, eyes lingering as you note the parting of his lips, the rhythm of his breaths like a soothing melody. You smile softly as you notice the drool that had escaped his lips and settled onto the pillow below him. It’s a sight that fills you with warmth and nostalgia, prompting you to reminisce about that unforgettable first kiss you both shared.

The tension between you two had become palpable. It was a warm evening on the Sunny, and the sun was dipping over the horizon, casting a golden hue over the ship’s deck. 

The night held a sense of promise, and it was clear that something was about to change between you and the cook. You found yourselves leaning against the ship’s rail, the salty breeze tugging at your hair and clothes. You had assisted Sanji in preparing a delicious dinner for the crew, sharing longing glances and laughter amongst the sizzling pans and aromatic spices that filled the air. The crew had enjoyed the fruits of your labor and began to disperse, leaving the two of you alone on the deck, the gentle lapping of the waves the only background noise. Sanji extended his hand, and you placed yours in his, fingers intertwining. There was an unspoken understanding between you two. He leaned in slowly, capturing your lips with a tenderness that surprised you both. His kiss was like a promise of all the unspoken words, a promise that was intoxicating. It was a moment of longing and patience, of waiting for something incredible.

As your lips parted, he kissed you again, a little deeper this time, as if to reassure you that the connection between you was real and profound. You felt the warmth of his affection in every touch and the depth of his feelings in the soft sigh that escaped your lips.

And just when you thought your heart might burst from the sheer intensity of the moment, he kissed you a third time. It was a kiss that declared his devotion and sealed the unspoken promise of your future together. I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings. Uh huh, that's right. Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this. Uh huh, that's right. Darling, you're the one I want.

You shift in bed, your eyes drawn to the jar of paper rings lovingly collected over the course of several months. These seemingly simple but deeply meaningful tokens held a special place in your heart, each representing cherished moments and declarations of love. With a smile, you reflect on the unique memory tied to every single one of those paper rings.

Sanji had many charming habits, one of which that he had recently developed was the practice of crafting paper rings. Every time he stumbled upon a stray piece of paper or a napkin, he couldn't resist the urge to fold it into an intricate ring and present it to you. 

These paper rings weren't just a whimsical hobby; they were his way of proposing, of showing his affection without the formality of a diamond ring or a grand gesture. The first time he'd presented you with a paper ring was on a starry night while the crew was celebrating on the deck. He'd taken a napkin, expertly folding it into a ring, and slipped it onto your finger with a grin.

"Mon amour," he said, looking into your eyes, "I know it's just paper, but one day I'll replace it with a proper ring. Until then, consider this a promise."

As the days turned into weeks and then months, he couldn't resist the urge to make more paper rings. You'd find them in your pocket, on your pillow, even in your morning coffee mug. They were simple, yet they held a deeper meaning—one that you cherished. The crew members aboard the Thousand Sunny grew accustomed to the sweet tradition. They'd watch with knowing smiles as Sanji would take a piece of paper and begin his craft. He'd tease you about how you were collecting more paper rings than he had eyebrows, and you'd simply laugh, knowing that each one was a testament to his love.

You're the one I want. In paper rings, in picture frames, and all my dreams. Oh, you're the one I want.

For the time being, you treasure your assortment of paper rings, patiently waiting for the day when Sanji surprises you with a genuine ring. Unbeknownst to you, a dazzling, shimmering ring resides hidden in his suit pocket, awaiting the perfect moment to make its appearance.

[mrs-stans]

A Different Man dives into an absurdist exploration of identity

Sebastian Stan and Adam Pearson are unforgettable as friends and rivals in a beautifully bizarre take on what it means to be human.

By: Sarah Gorr

A Different Man dives into an absurdist exploration of identity

A Different Man is all about what it means to be seen, in all the best and worst ways. It’s what it means to avoid eye contact with the unhoused man on the subway and to gawk at anyone who looks remotely outside the norm. It’s the difference between simply being noticed and being intimately seen, the way only someone who actually understands you can.

Writer and director Aaron Schimberg looks for as many ways as possible to play with these ideas, fitting the seer and seen inside each other in a little matryoshka doll. But first and foremost, our gaze is on Edward.

Adam Pearson isn’t internationally known, but he’s known to rock a microphone. (Matt Infante/A24)

Edward (Sebastian Stan) is a struggling actor with a rare condition that covers his face with large, benign tumors. He’s quiet and reserved. His every movement reveals a discomfort even existing in the world, never mind taking part in it. So when he gets the chance to take an experimental new drug that can completely heal him, he does so without a thought. Reborn as his new, more handsome self, he finally gets what should be the part of a lifetime in a local play based on his life. That is until Oswald, a man with the same condition as Edward, steals the part. In the process, this new arrival reveals just how exactly Edward has actually transformed.

Sebastian Stan captures all the nuance and complexity of Edward as he stumbles through this journey in a manner that’s nothing short of impressive. Hidden behind Mike Marino’s brilliant prosthetics, Stab carries the weight of his performance in body language. The slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes apologetically flit to those around him as if apologizing for even existing. Post-procedure, Stan infuses the performance with Edward’s confusion, frustration, and even unbridled rage. Schimberg’s script is an actor’s dream, and Stan more than lives up to the part.

Renate Reinsve isn’t buying what Sebastian Stan is selling vis a vis a plaid couch. (Matt Infante/A24)

Meanwhile, Adam Pearson’s performance as Edward’s foil, Oswald, was clearly crafted with the actor in mind. It’s an incredible showcase for Pearson’s exuberance and energy. He steal every scene he’s in and gives Edward’s jealousy the perfect excuse to boil over. He embodies everything Edward is not: charming, confident, witty. Pearson’s Oswald is a man you not only want to know but are downright grateful to have in your life.

Together, Pearson and Stan depict a dynamic that is mesmerizing to watch. Does any of Schimberg’s script work half as well without them? Honestly, it’s impossible to imagine.

However, audiences shouldn’t take that as a slight against Schimberg. His script is an intensely rich text, less Beauty and the Beast, more The Scorpion and the Turtle. A Different Man questions not just what’s in a person’s nature but what benefits or inhibits the performance of identity. In art, what makes something feel real or true? What truths benefit a piece? Which hinder? What facets of ourselves we take as inherent truths are anything but?

Sebastian Stan is giving what if autumn was fashion.(Matt Infante/A24)

It’s a film in a constant push/pull with transformation vs. consistency. Permeating it all is a sense of bleakness that seems to radiate from Edward himself. It infects everything from Umberto Smerilli’s bold and moody score to the film’s very texture, with its high contrast, sharp shadows, and rich color. It all comes together as if to say Edward’s insecurities, anxieties, and sadness that can’t seem to disappear as quickly as his features transformed.

Schimberg’s depiction of Edward’s journey to something like a discovery of self is part tragic, fully comic, and delightfully absurd. It’s a distinct film, despite the comparisons to Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance that people are already forming, and more than worth the price of admission.

A Different Man gives face in limited theatres starting September 20 before opening wide on October 4.

[dazzlesizzle]

Check out the new product 🔥🔥 Airbag Pro - Let’s Hug

A quirky cartoon figure proudly wearing a playful shirt labeled "Airbag Pro," exuding humor and friendliness. The text below, "Free Airbag Tester – Let’s Hug!" adds a lighthearted and inviting touch, making it a perfect design for those who love witty, cheerful t-shirts. The vibrant colors and clean cartoon style make it stand out while delivering a humorous message.

[qveerthe0ry]

Lions Ain't the Kind - Part One

Summary: Frankie hasn't dated in years, but now he knows what he's looking for. He's just not so good at asking for what he wants, and you're willing to help him work on it. Word Count: 8,156 Pairing: Frankie Morales x NB/Gender-fluid! AFAB! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, subby!Frankie, soft dom! reader, talks about gender non-conformity, sickening fluff, Frankie is way too cute and sweet for his own good, kissing, making out, handjob (m receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), dirty talk, Frankie has a praise kink, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader Beta: @perotovar (my angel ilysm) A/N: Sorry for talking about this for a month straight without posting it lol! The title is from the song (Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear by Elvis Presley which I admittedly haven't listened to but I saw the lyrics and knew immediately it was my Frankie. I hope you enjoy, and I'm always open to criticism and thoughts and thots!

Frankie hasn’t dated in years. He hasn’t really had the time, between his first child being born and navigating co-parenting with his ex, along with healing some very deep trauma and getting and staying clean. 

It just hasn’t been on his mind, if he’s honest. He’s been busy finding himself, as Pope calls it. And he’s not wrong. It’s taken a long while for him to be comfortable in his own skin, to come to terms with the things he’s done and the baggage he can now store in an overhead bin, rather than carry it around with him at all times. 

But now, he’s ready. He knows himself, and as a result, he knows what he’s looking for.

Someone kind-hearted and down to earth. Someone who’s independent and established, but not just looking for a hookup. Someone with a sweet smile and a desire for enjoying the little things in life. 

Someone like you. 

He’d swiped right and left dozens of times on men and women alike, but as soon as he saw your profile on whatever dating app he’d downloaded, he was hooked.

You were gorgeous. He felt the heat from your smile through his phone screen, so happy and genuine and sweet.

You were funny, the answers to those weird icebreaker questions full of witty remarks.

You were smart, clearly, from your shoutout to your alma matter and the ‘boring’ job you mentioned in your profile.

He honestly figured he had no chance at all. His face is only getting more wrinkly, and his hair more gray, and he’s never been the sharpest or funniest guy in the room. 

So when he swiped left and you matched, he was stunned. He was even more shocked when you messaged him before he could even think of what to say to you. 

Hi cutie 🥰 

Despite the fact that he was home alone on his couch, he had the sudden urge to look behind him, as if you’d be talking to someone else. The back of his neck got so warm, and your boldness only made him more into you. 

So he messaged you back

Hi :) how are you?

I’m surprised we matched, honestly. Pleasantly surprised 😊

Same here :) Why the surprise though? I’m sure you match with everyone

Not at all, it’s hard to find people whose type I am on here. I usually use the queer dating apps but I opened this one out of boredom. What are the chances?

What are the chances, indeed, Frankie thinks, as he gives your profile another look over. Frankie doesn’t understand how you aren’t everyone’s type. He feels a little bit like he’s talking to a celebrity, looking at your pictures and just a snippet of who you are on this reductive dating app. 

I like the odds :)

——

As your conversation continues normally over the next few days, Frankie learns a lot about you. He also learns a lot about himself. 

It’s been so long since he’s played the field, so to speak, that he’s rusty as all hell and a bit awkward. He’s afraid to flirt too much, every message deleted and re-written at the risk of sounding too cheesy or too forward or too much. 

You aren’t afraid to flirt. You send ‘good morning, handsome’ and ‘sweet dreams, pretty boy’ texts every day and night. You tell him your day would be better if you could cuddle someone, you tell him when you’re taking a relaxing bath that you wished he were there to join you. 

And to say that Frankie likes it is a massive fucking understatement. 

He adores it, he thinks about you constantly, all day long while he works without access to his phone, all evening long while he waits on your replies, all night long, when you’ve bid each other goodnight out of nothing but courtesy for each other’s sleep schedules.

You lead him along like a timid puppy on a leash, showing him new things with patience and care and it drives him insane. He wants to meet up with you so bad, or even just call you on the phone to hear your voice. He thinks about it, late at night, if it’s higher or lower in register, if it’s smooth or raspy. He wants to learn everything about you. 

That being said, he’s not sure if he’s ever met someone who’s ‘non-binary/gender-fluid’ before. He doesn’t get out much, he hardly talks to anyone who he hasn’t known for years. 

So he googles. It doesn’t really help. He understands what it means, but he doesn’t know what it means to you. He wants to ask you a million questions, but is afraid to bring up even one, and ruin the moment, or sound like an idiot. 

You’re so kind though. So he bites the bullet. 

Can I ask you a question?

Your response comes almost immediately, now that it’s evening time, both finished with dinner— his takeout vs. your leftover spaghetti. 

Of course, pretty boy ❤️

He still flushes deep when you call him that, heat spreading all throughout his face and neck and chest. 

How did you know you were non-binary/ gender-fluid? 

He frets over the text a bunch before he sends it, making sure he worded it the same way you did in your profile. His heart pounds as he waits for your response. 

I’ve always just kind of known I didn’t feel like a man or a woman. I used to think everyone felt somewhere in between, and it was just normal to not feel like I checked either box, but then I realized no one else around me felt the way I did. And then I learned all the terms and whatnot, later on, and knew that’s what I am. Just kinda in between, neither and both, sometimes one and sometimes the other. If that makes sense?

His smile splits his cheeks as he reads your in-depth response, eating up every bit of information you’re willing to give him. 

That makes perfect sense to me. Thank you for sharing :) 

It doesn’t scare you off?

Frankie scoffs, as if anything about you could scare him off. At this point, you could show up on his doorstep with a dead body in a bag, and he’d throw it in his trunk, dispose of it, and then ask if he could maybe kiss you.

Not at all. Nothing about you scares me :)

——

It’s a few more days before Frankie works up the courage to ask for your phone number. You tell him you were wondering when he was going to finally ask for it. It makes him itchy to think about you waiting for him to ask, making him be the one to do it. In a good way. In a way that kind of makes him stiffen up in his briefs if he thinks about it for too long.

But now, as he settles in from a long day at work, his grin splits his face from ear to ear as he reads your text.

Can I take you out tomorrow night?

He likes it… a lot. He feels so fucking new to all this, like a fumbling newborn calf taking its first steps, and how forward you are eases him so thoroughly.

I’d love that :)

Meet me here at 5 for dinner. Casual dress, but I’m sure you’ll be handsome in anything 😘

It’s the longest 22 hours of his life, and it’s the shortest, all at the same time. Texting you, making funny jokes like his bones aren’t about to creep right out from under his skin with all the nerves buzzing his body. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, one right after the other. When he wakes in the morning it’s like he didn’t get a wink of sleep, his anxiety drumming up a million different scenarios of how it could go right and wrong. 

Calling Santi mid-morning on a Saturday when he knows he’s spending time with his family, because if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he may just float off into the ether. 

“I’m so fucking nervous, Pope, what do I do? How do I act? Can you just stake out at the bar and feed me lines through an earpiece?”

“Pendejo, fucking— grow a pair man. You’re cute and funny, you’ve got this.”

Reading your texts with pupils shaped like hearts:

I can’t wait to see you tonight, cutie ❤️

and 

I finally settled on an outfit

and

Is it weird that I’m not even nervous? I’m just excited to finally meet you

It is weird, Frankie thinks, but doesn’t dare tell you. It’s weird how he can’t even eat the plain toast he made for lunch without feeling bile rise in the back of his throat, and you’re just excited. It’s weird how he’s never, ever felt so gone over someone, and you haven’t even met yet. 

It’s not weird, it’s sweet :) I’m excited too &lt;3

It’s not a lie, but he’s omitting the truth a bit. He’s excited but he’s nervous, picking meticulously through his closet to find something casual but not too casual, something he likes the look of himself in, something he thinks you’ll like the look of. 

It only gets worse as he stares at google maps. The restaurant is 2.6 miles away, 11 minutes from his house. It’s 4:30, and he wants to leave already, but thinks maybe it’s better to deal with the anxiety in the comfort of his home rather than the parking lot, in case you’re there early too, and you can see how much of a fucking wreck he is. 

He watches the minutes tick up in the corner of his phone screen. At 4:36, he gets up, fusses in the mirror one last time, and leaves. 

When he parks in the lot in front of the bar & grill, you’ve already texted him. 

I’m here a little early, got all green lights. Saved us a table near the back. See you soon!

It’s 4:52. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose, closes his eyes as he lets it out gently, counting just like his therapist taught him. And again. And one more time, and finally that anxious tingling in his fingertips is muted a bit and his heart rate is only slightly above normal. 

4:54.

He pulls the key from the ignition, gets out of the car, and makes his way to the door. 

He finds you instantly. 

You’re looking at him, and you’re smiling, and getting up from your chair as he approaches you. He barely even hears you greet him with all his blood rushing in his ears. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you say, and your arms stretch out to invite him in for a hug. 

He melts into your arms, his strained “hi” muffled in the crook of your neck. You squeeze him tight to you, and he hears you chuckle next to his ear. 

“Knew you’d be even cuter in person.”

He huffs out a laugh as you release him, and the tips of his ears burn. But you’re smiling so sweetly at him that it eases his nervous bones. 

“You look— can I call you handsome?” 

Fuck, he thinks, so fucking awkward. 

But your grin gets even wider. 

“Only if you mean it.” 

“I do,” he sighs, “like straight out of the cologne ads I’d rip out of my older sister’s magazines.”

He holds his breath as you react, the flutter of your eyelashes and the quivering of your lips and your laugh, bubbly and bright and soothing. 

And he isn’t lying, not even a little. You’re rugged but soft, romantic and alluring, and he can’t take his eyes off you.

Even as you take your seats across from each other, and the waiter comes to take your drink orders, and as your gorgeous eyes flit across the pages of the menu. He can’t stop looking, watching your mouth curve into a smile as you talk about your week and ask him about his. 

It’s pathetic, really, when the waiter asks if you’re ready to order, and you ask if he knows what he wants, because he hasn’t taken a single glance at the menu himself. He just hopes to god the dim lighting of the bar hides his flushed face and tells you to order first while he skims the menu. 

He ends up ordering exactly what you got, and floundering when your hand finds his on the tabletop. He watches your fingers trace his own from his nails to his knuckles, and flips his palm up for you to rest your hand in his. 

“I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” you tell him. 

His eyes flicker up from your joined hands to your smiling face, and his nerves completely melt away from the heat of your gaze. 

“Thank you for asking me,” he says.

“Would you have asked me, if I hadn’t asked you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, and there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. 

“Eventually,” he nods, “I mean… probably.” 

Your eyebrows turn up in question, and he realizes how that sounds, jumping to backtrack. 

“Not like that! I just mean— You know… You’re uh… well, I feel like you’re way out of my league. And so maybe I’m a little… intimidated.”

You smile, then, and sigh, and squeeze his hand as you call him a sweet boy. It makes the room feel like it’s a hundred degrees warmer, like Frankie’s clothes are suddenly two sizes too small. 

“You aren’t so good at asking for what you want, are you?” 

He laughs then, and shakes his head. 

“Not really, no.”

“We’ll have to work on that, then.”

He clears his throat, and tugs at his collar with his free hand, breaking his gaze away from your face as you chuckle. He looks to find a waiter, or maybe an HVAC guy that could crank the AC to sub-zero temps for the remainder of the date. 

No luck. 

The rest of the date goes well. Surprisingly well. Frankie was worried that he’d be so out of practice that he’d freeze up, or say something stupid, or do something stupid, like knock over a drink or get food stuck in his teeth. 

But you’re just so easy to talk to, to click with. Of course, you’re the one who facilitates the conversation, asking him about his favorites— movies, TV shows, music, time of year. 

But he likes to think that he keeps the ball rolling well enough, is aware enough to remember to ask for some of your favorites— holiday, food, cocktails. 

By the time the check comes, he hardly realizes you’ve both had empty plates in front of you for a while, talking and laughing through your meals like you’re just catching up with an old friend. 

He protests when you grab the check, because of course he does. You’ve given him this incredible night, your comfortable company, your sweet smiles, and he feels like his offerings pale in comparison. 

“I asked you out, Francisco,” you tease him, having just learned his full name a mere 20 minutes ago. 

And he can’t really protest anymore, what with the shiver that’s tingling his spine and the goosebumps he tries to hide by gripping the chair underneath him. So he lets you pay, and thanks the waiter, and feels a rush of sadness when they come back with the check to sign. He really doesn’t want this evening to end. 

The apprehension falls second to the sensation of your hand on the small of his back, leading him out to the parking lot. 

“Where’s your car? I’ll walk you there,” you say, your thumb pressing a soothing circle into the base of his spine. 

So he walks to his truck, a little self-conscious about the out-of-dateness of it, and how he didn’t think to run it through a car wash before this. But mostly he’s just nervous about ending this date on a good note. 

“This is me,” he says, barely above a whisper, stopping at his driver’s side door. 

You smile at him when he turns to you. 

“Thanks again for coming out with me. I really did have a great time.”

This makes him smile through the unease, even as your hand drops from the small of his back. 

“I did too. Would you uh… wanna hang out again soon?”

Your face lights up, and Frankie wants to capture it in a bottle and take it home with him. Keep it at his bedside to use as a nightlight.

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

He chuckles and looks down to his feet like maybe it’ll redirect the flush in his face. You grab his hand, hanging by his side, and luckily you don’t make him speak again because he doesn’t know if he’s even able. 

“I’d love to. Really.” 

He smiles when he looks back up at you, only briefly, because you drop his hand and take a half step back. 

“Call me about it.”

“Wait!”

Your brow arches at him, because you weren’t really going anywhere, but Frankie’s mind is running a thousand miles a second. He thinks back to all the times you’ve goaded him into asking for what he wants, so far, and how it hasn’t bit him in the rear yet. 

“Can we— I… Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Your smile softens, and you take that little half-step back closer to him, and he feels all the tension leak from his shoulders. 

“Yes, you can. Thank you for asking.”

He huffs, and smiles at you, and you’re reaching out to cup his jaw and grab his hip, and Frankie closes his eyes far too early, but it’s okay, because he feels your body heat and then your lips. 

He can’t hold back the hum that rumbles from deep in his chest, or the way that he goes a little boneless in your grasp. He finds your forearm and squeezes it, and your bicep too, anything to ground himself as your lips part and your tongue teases the seam of his lips. 

But then you’re pulling back, and it’s over far too quickly, and Frankie is also acutely aware of how tight his jeans feel. His face feels like it could melt right off of his skull. 

“Call me soon, Pretty Boy.”

He nods, speechless, and watches you disappear between the cars of the parking lot. On his way home, he’s already fretting over whether or not he should text you tonight, and what kind of date he should plan, and if his breath was okay when you let him kiss you. 

——

Frankie is perfect. 

You’re still not sure how you found this diamond in the rough that is Tinder. You thank every god you know the name of that you got bored and opened the app on auto-pilot that night. 

First of all, he’s so cute. He’s handsome in such a boyish way, with his dimples and unruly curls and patchy beard. 

But he’s also so kind, the way he talks to you like it’s a privilege, the way he asks careful and curious questions about you like he truly wants to know the parts of you that are deeper than what’s on the surface. 

Every simple text from him makes you smile, the way he always tries to make you laugh or cheer you up when you’re overwhelmed with the demands of life, as you often are.

And meeting him in person solidified everything you thought about him.

He seems like the textbook definition of a golden retriever boyfriend, if you ever get to call him that much. You hope you do.

In fact, it seems like it’s moving quite quickly in that direction when Frankie asks if you’d be down for a movie night. Some blockbuster he missed in theaters is finally streaming, and he thinks you’ll like it. 

You don’t tell him that you didn’t miss it in theaters, or that you thought it was just okay. 

You do tell him you’d be down to watch it, only if he came to your place, where the walls are thin and your surrounding neighbors all know you and watch out for you. Just in case he’s really good at acting  like a sweet, safe guy. 

You find yourself giddy as the weekend approaches, daydreaming at work about how the night will turn out. You tell him to come in comfy clothes, because you’ll be damned if you wear jeans in your own home, even for this sweet man. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit, that’s my favorite kind of outfit :) is his cute response. 

You get everything ready the day of; your coziest blankets hang off the arms of your sofa, your fridge is stocked with fresh fruits and your pantry with candy and microwave popcorn and chips (I’ll eat whatever you get :) his answer to your questioning of his favorite movie snacks, of course.)

And then you sit around and wait, excited nerves coaxing your body to straighten things up that have been straightened up a million times already. When Frankie texts you his ETA, you park yourself on the couch by the door and stare at it until there’s a knock on it. 

You may count to ten before you get up to open it, just to hide how eager you’ve been to see him again. 

Your throat does get a little dry when you answer it to find him in a dark blue t-shirt that hugs his arms and light gray joggers that hug… Other things. 

“Hi handsome,” you smile, pushing down all the nerves and the less-than-PG thoughts. 

“Hi. I um… I brought these. I noticed you ordered them on our uh– well, at the restaurant, and I didn’t want to show up empty handed.” 

You watch a flush break out on his face, and his neck, and wonder how far under his collar it actually spreads. 

He’s holding up a six pack of your favorite beers, and he’s smiling so shyly, and you have to crowd in closer to him to press a kiss to his heated cheek. 

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you.” 

He giggles— giggles, Jesus Christ— and you take them from his hand to let him come through the door. 

You set the beers in your fridge to let them chill as he kicks off his shoes. You watch him from the kitchen as he takes in your place with his pretty brown eyes. 

“It’s really cozy in here,” he tells you as he fiddles with his own hands. 

“Snuggle up, get comfy, I’ll bring us some snacks.”

He nods, so obedient, and hovers by the couch before settling on the seat in the middle. 

Sly move, you think, and you can’t hide your stupid grin as you gather some snacks. 

When you turn off all but one lamp and deposit the junk food on the coffee table, you notice he’s inched himself closer to the arm of the couch, like he was second-guessing himself. That just won’t do, you think, as you settle in right next to him, so close that the length of your body is pressed against his. 

He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the Roku City scrolling across your flat screen. For a second you think he might be uncomfortable, but the way his breathing is uneven clues you in on his nerves. 

You reach over him to grab the blanket in the arm of the couch, and you feel his muscles tense up when you press against him. 

“Frankie?” 

“Huh? Sorry, yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head and sighs, heavy and long, before looking at you.

“I’m so nervous.”

He smiles in spite of it, lopsided, dimples so cute that your lips quiver with the urge to kiss them. 

You smile back, and drape the blanket over both of you, patting his leg through it. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, Francisco.”

It gets a laugh out of him, a huff through his nose, and his shoulders lower the tiniest bit. You slowly reach up to cradle his jaw in your palm, careful not to spook this little baby deer of a man, but his face leans into your touch. 

“If it helps, I think it’s really sweet that you’re nervous.” 

“Thank you… I think?”

You laugh at him, and watch as your reaction makes his eyes brighten. You want to kiss him. You want to smooch the absolute daylights out of him, but there’s still 3 hours of a pretentious movie to watch, and there will be plenty of time, if he’s amenable. 

So you just pinch his cheek before you let go, and try not to look so smug at the heat that consumes his face as you get the movie up and running. 

Fifteen or so minutes into the film, Frankie has relaxed into the couch, though he’s stock-still beside you with his arms glued to his own sides. You just want to cuddle, at least. You’ve been thinking about it for weeks— getting his warm, solid but soft body against your own. 

You’re certain he won’t be the one to initiate it, but that’s all fine and dandy. You rearrange yourself a bit, and sling an arm over his shoulders. He looks away from the movie towards you, and you give him a smile that must be comforting. 

He sinks lower on the couch, and leans against you, his messy curls pressed against your shoulder while his arm drapes over your lap. You think you hear his satisfied hum under the dialogue of the characters, and you let your head rest against his. 

This is nice. Frankie’s so warm against you, the most comforting weight all lax against your side. Your hand creeps up from his shoulder to his head, and his hair is so silky when you finally work up the gall to run your fingers through it.

You can feel the way it affects him when he shivers and presses even closer into you. You watch the movie like that for a while, snacks untouched, fingertips stroking his scalp as his soft curls slip through your digits. Every once in a while his head tilts to look up at you, piercing brown, and each time you smile back down and ruffle his hair.

It’s just after the first big conflict of the film when you feel Frankie shift against you. His arm moves in your lap, and you watch his thick fingers grab your thigh over the blanket. 

It shocks you how such a simple gesture makes your temperature rise. You hum and let your nails scratch more firmly against his head. You can hear him gasp, and feel him move impossibly closer, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together. You glance down at him, past the curls you’ve lost yourself in, and his eyes are closed. Further, the curve of his nose and pout of his lips, his chest that’s heaving with his excited breaths, you notice a suspicious tent in the blanket, and you don’t want to assume, but the context clues are all there. 

Frankie is hard. 

You can’t blame him. You’ve been aroused since you pressed his body against yours, a slow simmering underneath the surface that’s made you feel so comfortably warm and relaxed. 

You shift, and you swear you hear a barely-there whine leave his lips. You move just enough so you can press your free hand to his chest. Under your palm, you can feel his heart beating, a pace that’s concerningly higher than appropriate for sitting and watching dialogue in a movie. 

His head turns toward you, his hair slipping through the grasp of your knuckles. He looks up at you with those puppy eyes and his pupils are so dilated that it makes you take a deep breath. He turns his body  toward you next and there it is the hard line of his cock pressed against the outside of your thigh. You see him shudder at the friction, watch his eyes grow droopy as they flicker down to glance at your lips. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

And he asks so sweetly, voice a little hoarse from the silence, that you couldn’t dream of denying him. 

“Yes, Frankie.”

His lips tremble until they meet yours, so soft and chaste, a stark contrast to his scruffy beard and mustache. His breath hitches; you can hear it and feel it. His chest shudders under your palm and pushes air out to gust against your cheeks. You feel his prick, too, twitching against your thigh as your tongue peeks out to tease his pouty bottom lip. 

He pulls back so much quicker than you want him to, but it’s also such a reward to look at him this close. His lips shiny, his cheeks flushed, his irises completely usurped by his pupils. His mouth hangs open and you can’t help yourself as you slide your hand from his chest to his jaw and pull him into you once again. 

A surprised little noise works its way out of his throat, and his hips jerk forward, and then he’s groaning as his cock throbs against the outside of your thigh. The noise makes that feeling in your gut draw deeper, lower, and you make one of your own in response. 

His hand rests dutifully still on your thigh, but you can feel his fingers twitching as your taste buds rub against his– a friction that has no right to be as delicious as it is. You want him to feel you up, to touch you all over, to give in to the desire that’s blatantly pressed against you. You want to hear these noises he seems to be holding back, the whimpers that just barely make it past his vocal chords before he cuts them off. 

You pull away this time. Pride swells in your chest as you look at what you’ve already done to him. His curls are even messier now that you’ve run your fingers through them over and over. His eyes are all glassy when he looks at you, pouty lips slick and red. 

He sits so still, aside from his heaving breaths, like he’s waiting for your command. 

“Tell me what you want, Frankie.”

His eyes widen and christ, if they get any wider they’re going to suck you in like a supermassive black hole. 

“I– I’m okay, I like this.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He nods, trying to convince you, as he not-so-subtly pulls his erection free from its trap between his body and your thigh. His eyes cast downward, but you swiftly grab his chin in your hands to bring them back to you. 

“Francisco,” you mumble, “ask for what you want.”

He gasps and bites his plush bottom lip, hard enough that there’s little indents when he opens his mouth. He shuts it again, and squirms against you, and finally opens it once more. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

His request comes out hardly above a whisper, all broken and breathy, and his gaze settles somewhere behind you. 

“Is that all?”

He nods quickly, eyes snapping back to you. 

“I swear– I just wanna feel your hands on me.” 

Your smile widens as his face gets so serious, eyebrows knitting together. 

“That’s good, that’s really good,” you mumble. 

The shudder that visibly rolls through him is like a shockwave, sending every one of your nerve endings on-edge. You huff, an amazed little breath at this fucking guy in front of you, so responsive and timid and utterly fuckable. 

“You like that? Like being good for me?”

He nods again, more apprehensive this time, but he can’t hold back his whine when his hips press against you. The possibilities of all the things you could do to this man stretch far and wide; it’s entirely overwhelming. 

“Sweet boy,” you whisper, because he is, “c’mere.”

You pull the blanket off of you both, and Frankie reaches down to adjust himself so it isn’t so obvious, like you haven’t felt his cock twitching against you this entire time. It’s so endearing you think you could cry, but you’re much too turned on for sentiment at the moment. Instead, you guide him to straddle you, hands on his slender hips until his thighs cage your own. 

For a moment you just watch as he sits patiently, obediently, waiting for your next words like his cock isn’t leaking a pretty little damp patch into his sweatpants. His chest heaves with every breath, and his tongue licks and bites at his swollen lips, and his eyes stay trained on your mouth in anticipation. 

“So pretty,” you whisper. 

His long eyelashes flutter at your compliment, and he turns his head to try and hide his reaction, but it doesn’t mask the way his prick twitches under gray fabric. Your hands find his waistband and tease the edge and you delight in the way he shivers. 

You need to feel more, so you press your hands under his shirt and hum at what you find. A soft tummy and smooth skin that makes way for a small trail of wiry hairs. It’s all revealed to you a moment later when you hike his shirt higher, reach for pecs that are more solid than you imagined, and the smallest nipples you think you’ve ever had your hands on. 

You look back up to his face for permission with a quirked brow, and he nods eagerly, grabbing the back of his collar to shed the material and bare himself and it’s so lovely. There’s so much tan skin, hardly any of it is obstructed by hair, just the errant freckle here or there. And you can’t help it, you have to lean forward and take one of his nipples into your mouth. 

He gasps your name, but one of his hands finds the back of your head to keep you in place. You hum around the little nub, so small you have trouble getting your teeth to bite down on it, but you do and then he groans, his hips jerking in your hold on them. 

“Is this how you wanted me to touch you?”

You lean your head back to look him in the eyes, to watch a pained expression flit over his face as he tries to come up with an answer he thinks you’ll like. 

“I like this too,” he nods, “but I, um… fuck–”

He cuts himself off to hide his face in his hands. He is so cute and so sexy at the same time, it’s making your brain go haywire. 

“Tell me, Frankie. Be good for me, Pretty Boy.” 

He shifts on top of you as he looks up at your ceiling. You soothe your hands up and down his flanks and wait patiently for him to find the words. 

He drops his hand from his face, fists clenching down by his sides, but he finally looks down at you and smiles, shy and sweet, just a hint of that dimple you adore rearing its head.

“Touch my cock? You got me so hard.”

You smile bright at his request, and nod, and press a kiss to his sternum. 

“Anything you want,” you mumble, “just gotta ask. Just like that.”

He looks pretty proud of himself. There’s a twinkle in his eyes as you look up at him, and you take a playful bite of his skin and savor the gasp it coaxes out of him. 

“Let’s get these off, yeah?” 

Your fingers sneak under his waistband and his skin is so hot under there, searing. You only have a few moments to bask in the warmth before he stands up to remove his pants and briefs in one bashful move. 

Jesus. 

He’s so gorgeous, bare for you, vulnerable, excited. His foreskin is all pulled back, revealing a delicious looking string of pre-cum from his slit. You desperately want to lean forward and taste— but he didn’t ask for that, and you won’t give it to him unless he does. 

Stunned a bit silent, you pat your lap, urging him to settle back over it. Much to your delight, he does, quick and obedient. An approving hum bubbles up out of your chest, and he preens as he sits on your thighs. 

There’s a very wicked feeling in you as you stare at him, completely naked, while you haven’t shed a single layer of clothing. Control, and trust, and power. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes your lungs feel too inflated for your rib cage, to know you could take advantage of it, and to know you never ever would. 

“Good boy,” you whisper, finally, testing those waters. 

Frankie’s dick twitches between you two, and you huff and smile and wonder how something so perfect and precious has literally landed right in your lap. 

He’s been more than good, and so with one hand you grab his hip to steady him, and the other takes his cock as gentle as ever. A sharp inhale inflates his chest as you stroke the smooth skin, a teasing, feather-light touch that makes his legs tense up in your lap. You watch him disappear and reappear through the loose circle of your hand, watch another clear droplet bead from his slit when you squeeze him tighter. 

“Does this feel good?”

He’s watching your hand work when you look back up to his face. He nods, a jerky movement that seems to shake his entire body, and he’s so on-edge. You feel it in the way he shifts his weight on top of you. 

“Words, Frankie,” you urge, a soft smile on your face. 

“So good.”

You hum, taking in the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the way his adam’s apple pokes out when he leans his head back. 

You reward him by speeding up your strokes. You squeeze his hip with your free hand, kneading at the soft flesh there, while you lean forward to press kisses into his virtually hairless chest. His skin is so hot it feels like it could burn you, flushed such a pretty color, just like you knew it would be. 

He whines when you gather up more pre cum with your thumb and gently massage it into his frenulum. You look up to find him staring down at you with glassy eyes, bottom lip tucked tight between his teeth. 

“Can we kiss more?”

His voice is breathy, and you nod, and a fresh wave of arousal flushed through your system when his lips eagerly meet yours. 

It’s sloppier, this time. Noisier, too, as you tighten your grip on his cock and begin to properly work your hand up and down his length. You steal his breath and his noises straight from his lungs, feel every shudder he pushes out when you twist your wrist just right or squeeze tighter. 

His hips start to meet your thrusts, rutting into your hand, such a desperate little thing on top of you, all for you. You want to encourage him to take his pleasure from you, and so you slip your hand back from his waist, find the perfectly pert globe of his ass with your palm. 

“Haa— shit.”

His words muffle into your kiss as his hips stutter in rhythm and you lean forward to smirk into the bald patch of his beard. 

“Yeah?” 

A gasp wrecks through his heaving chest as he nods. 

“Please, fuck— please.”

You hum into his jaw and squeeze his cock and his ass respectively. 

“Please what, Pretty Boy?” 

He leans back. You watch him squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head from left to right. 

“Tell me what you want, Frankie. Know you can.” 

A big gulp of air, and then he opens his eyes to look at you, then blinks them shut again as his head lolls back in his shoulders. 

“Touch me there. I— I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you take mercy on him, bringing your hand up from his backside to cradle his jaw in your palm. He tilts his head into your touch and opens his eyes.

“I got you, sweet boy,” you remind him. 

He nods in understanding, shifting to kiss the heel of your palm. You let him rest his lips there as he catches his breath, feel them quivering every other upstroke of your hand on his prick. 

But as he makes to move, you hold his jaw steady in your hand. His eyes flicker back to your face, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, if he can tell how beside yourself you really are. 

Slowly, so he can pull away if he wants, you trace the pad of your middle finger along the seam of his lips. You’re awestruck at how they instantly fall open for you, greedy, something you’re definitely looking forward to exploring more later. 

For now, you watch with hooded eyes as he takes it into his mouth, tongue curling and lapping at it. You briefly wonder if fingers are erogenous zones, beyond turned on at how warm and wet the inside of his mouth feels, how he suckles and releases, bobs his head over and over until you snap out of it. 

“Good boy. Fucking perfect,” you sigh.

He gets a cocky little goofy grin on his face at the praise, but his prick twitches against your grasp. You squeeze it for good measure, and more of his pre-cum dribbles over your knuckles. 

You lean into him again, and he leans into you, holding each other up. Your mouth finds his pebbled nipple once again as his prick drags across your shirt and saturates it. He hisses at the friction, then gasps when your hand grabs his ass cheek again. 

You pull it as best as you can with one hand. It isn’t too difficult with how it fits so perfectly round in your palm. You squeeze it, massage it, note how the littlest hint of peach fuzz feels against your clammy hand. You wonder how it would feel under your tongue, too, how it would taste, how the fatty flesh would feel between your teeth. 

His hips stutter forward when your finger, slick with his saliva, strokes the very top of his crack. And you don’t mean to tease too much, but his jerky movements and satisfied sounds when you do are like music to your ears. 

Finally you find his hole, fluttering around nothing, so little and tight, all for you. 

“Ohmygod.”

Frankie sounds pained, so much so that you look up from nuzzling his chest to watch his face. His brows are drawn tight with how his eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth is hung open, slick with a little drool around the corners of his lips. Without context, maybe he would look pained, too, but the way his cock throbs and dribbles in your hand paints a completely different picture. 

And what a pretty picture he is, gulping for air above you, thrusting his hips back into your finger and forward through your fist, like he’s so out of his mind that he can’t even make it up. 

You apply more pressure to his impossibly tight pucker and sink your teeth into his skin at the way he whines for you. You do it again, and again, a patient little rhythm until it relaxes and the very tip of your finger slips into his warmth. 

He groans, clenching tight around you. 

“Okay, Frankie?”

He laughs, a little puff of air, and you feel it where you’re inside him. 

“Gonna make me come,” he chokes.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, don’t— fuck— please don’t stop.”

You hum into his chest, squeeze your hand tighter around his prick as you speed up your strokes. He’s groaning now, deep and low and constant, like he couldn’t hold it back if he tried. 

You wiggle your finger against his rim, tugging him open for you, toying with the elastic muscle. He’s so pliable everywhere, opening up to you, happily taking what you give him. 

In a stiff moment you think he isn’t into it, because he freezes up and goes silent. You make to slip out of him, but his warmth just drags you in.

And then his cock jumps in your grasp, and his hole clamps around your finger as he gasps your name, and he’s coming. 

He shakes with it as he soaks your shirt and drips over your hand. You stroke him through it and marvel at the way he feels in your grasp and around you, violent waves of pleasure that you can sense where you touch him. 

You look up to watch him tremble through it and he’s gorgeous. Sweat drips from his messy curls at his temple and paints a glimmer down his neck, all pulled taught as his head hangs back. His chest tastes salty under your tongue where it heaves, you can’t get enough of the flavor, or the wicked beating of his heart under your lips. 

And his noises, fucking delicious, wrung-out curses that just keep tumbling from his red lips. His stomach trembles with his shaky breaths, and he sounds so wrecked as the last bit of his orgasm tricked down the back of your hand. 

His whispered chants of “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” slow to a stop just as his joints unlock and his muscles relax. You take it as a sign to loosen your grip on his spent cock and carefully slip your finger back out of him. It earns you one last whimper before he sags into you, a boneless little heap in your lap. 

You unhand him to hold him against you, wipe your hand on the discarded blanket beside you so you can stroke his back with one hand and his fuzzy little buttcheek with the other. 

You tell him how good he was for you, how pretty he is when he comes, how much you loved getting to do that to him. 

It takes a while for him to catch his breath, and his huffs tickle that sensitive spot on your neck just below your ear. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs. 

You nod, because he’s correct. Holy shit, indeed. 

His voice is a little hoarse, and you’re conflicted. You want to hold him as long as he’ll let you, but you know you should get him some water and at least a towel. 

You shift under him and he whimpers, wraps his arms tighter around your shoulders.

There goes that idea. 

You hold him closer, and smirk at the contented sigh that leaves him. 

“I think… I think I just imprinted on you.” 

It startles a laugh out of you, and he chuckles too, a tiny happy sound against your collar bone. You turn to kiss his heated cheek, and he lets you, before he turns his own head to fuse his lips to yours. 

This kiss is lazy, unhurried, and the adrenaline from making him fall apart is slowly making way for more of that sticky-sweet arousal from earlier. 

“I wanna make you come,” he mumbles against your lips. 

You shake your head, but kiss him some more, as to not give him the wrong idea. 

“Another night, Pretty Boy.”

He makes a disappointed sound, but continues to kiss you until you have to part for air. His brow is turned upward in question when you pull away. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his question. 

“Not a single thing, Frankie. Just wanted to take care of you tonight.” 

His shoulders relax at that, but his face is still confused. It’s a cute look on him, with his pouty lips and big brown eyes. 

“You’d tell me right? If I made you uncomfortable? You can tell me. I don’t wanna upset you.” 

And christ, you feel your heart melting and oozing through your rib cage at how earnest his voice is. 

“I promise, I’ll tell you.”

That seems to quell his nerves, as he sinks back into you again with his sweaty curls pressed against your shoulder. 

You’re sticky in more ways than one, and Frankie’s only getting heavier in your lap the sleepier he gets, but a giggle bubbles up out of you when you realize you’ve never been more comfortable than you are right now. 

Frankie huffs in response, and you press him even tighter against you. 

You don’t know where one-and-a-half dates and one sickeningly hot orgasm places the two of you. And maybe it’s greedy to think about with a handsome, sweet man in your arms, but you can’t push down the overwhelming feeling of wanting more.

next part

[warabidakihime]

Vicious Deceptions

Character: Actor!Toji Fushiguro x Actress!Reader | hollywood au Synopsis: Cunning minds entwined, weaving a web of treachery and desire. In a world of secrets and hidden intentions, their love became a tapestry of vicious deceptions.

Content warning: adultery, smut, profanities. minors dni.

*

The news of your movie's blockbuster success spread quickly, and the anticipation for the sequel soared. You, a renowned actress, and Toji Fushiguro, a confident and cool-headed actor, were in the middle of a script-reading session with your co-stars, preparing for the shoot that would begin in three days.

As you read your script, you felt a blush creep up your cheeks when Toji, sitting beside you, subtly moved closer. His mischievous grin hinted at something beyond the innocent facade you both presented to the world.

Pointing to a particular scene, Toji's eyes sparkled.

"It looks like we have a steamy shower scene coming up," Toji remarked, his voice bold and teasing. He knew exactly how to push your buttons and enjoyed the playful banter you shared.

Your eyes widened momentarily, betraying your interest in the intimate scene. You quickly composed yourself and responded with a clever retort.

"Quit acting as if this will be your first time doing a shower sex scene."

Toji chuckled, locking eyes with you.

"I'm not. I'm just excited. I can't wait to shoot this scene with you, Y/N. I can't wait to smack that ass in front of everybody."

"Focus on your script," you said, and for some reason, that was enough to appease your big brute of a leading man.

Your exchanges danced on the fine line between professional camaraderie and subtle seduction. Only the two of you were aware of the charged undercurrent, concealed from your co-stars, the staff, and the prying eyes of the media.

As the script reading continued, you and Toji engaged in insightful conversations that seamlessly intertwined with your characters' dynamics. You traded witty banter, your words carrying double meanings that hinted at a deeper connection.

Your interactions sparked curiosity among those around you, whispering of an off-screen chemistry that exceeded the boundaries of your roles.

Your gazes would occasionally meet, exchanging unspoken promises and shared secrets. The tantalizing prospect of bringing your hidden desires to life on the silver screen left both of you eager for the upcoming shoot.

As the session came to a close, the bustling energy of the studio began to subside. The other cast members bid their farewells, disappearing into the corridors one by one. With a gentle smile, you excused yourself, knowing that a whirlwind of magazine shoots and interviews awaited you.

Slipping away from the crowd, you found Toji waiting, his expression a mix of mischief and anticipation.

Glancing around to ensure no prying eyes lingered, you approached Toji with a knowing glint in your eye.

"See you later. Text me."

Toji smirked. "So bossy."

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, earning a chuckle from him and a resigned sigh.

"I know, I know. You know where to find me anyway; I gave you the passcode to my other penthouse, right?"

You chuckled sultrily.

"Of course you did. Now, goodbye. Let's talk later."

With one last lingering gaze, you both went your separate ways, diving headfirst into the demands of your busy schedules. The weeks flew by in a whirlwind of commitments, each day bringing you closer to the highly anticipated live premiere of your movie.

*

The red carpet stretched like a scarlet river, leading to the grand entrance of the premiere venue. Cameras flashed incessantly, capturing the splendor of the moment. There you stood, a vision in your elegant gown, each step a testament to your confidence and grace.

Beside you, Toji exuded dashing charm in his tailored suit, his ruggedly handsome appeal drawing whispers of admiration from the crowd. As you walked the red carpet together, your co-stars added to the aura, each radiating their own unique charm.

Amid the sea of well-wishers and photographers, your husband stood by your side, his presence not escaping Toji's notice.

Though masked by a smile, a hint of disappointment and jealousy flickered in Toji's eyes. You had promised him that you would leave your husband to be with him, but life's complexities had delayed the fulfillment of that promise.

Engaging in light banter, you navigated the crowd, stealing glances at Toji, who effortlessly mingled with guests and media alike. His charisma seemed to enchant those around him, amplifying the excitement of the premiere.

As the evening progressed, anticipation mounted as the cast and crew took their seats in the opulent theater. Sitting beside Toji, the proximity sparked an intoxicating tension.

With a hushed voice, he lamented, "It's a shame, isn't it? Our characters share such undeniable chemistry on screen, yet the same can't be said for our off-screen circumstances."

You met his gaze, intertwining your fingers subtly. "Patience, Toji. Between us, I'm yours."

Toji pouted, a rare sight, yet in your presence, he revealed new facets of himself. "Divorce the doofus already." 

You chuckled, "Let's enjoy the movie for now."

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the film. As the familiar opening sequence unfolded, the tension between your characters came alive on screen.

And as you watched the story unfold, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for you and Toji, both on and off the silver screen.

*

The film enchanted everyone in the theater.

The undeniable chemistry between your characters pulsed through the theater. Throughout the movie, both you and Toji felt a strong sense of pride within yourselves, as the two of you were ecstatic and relieved that you were able to give your characters more justice than you did in the first installment of the franchise.

Following the electrifying premiere, the theater crackled with anticipation and jubilation. Cast, crew, and insiders alike mingled, basking in the triumph of the film.

Amidst it all, Toji's gaze found yours, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.

With a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned casually against a nearby wall, observing as you discreetly excused yourself from the group. Your husband, engrossed in conversation with your co-stars, remained oblivious to the brewing tension between you and your on-screen partner.

Taking a deep breath, a surge of audacity propelled you forward as you reached for Toji's hand.

"Toji, I need a moment. Come with me." 

Arching an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, Toji quipped, "Oh? And what mischief are you plotting now?"

With little time for preamble, you tugged him along assertively and led him backstage.

"Just come."

With your hand firmly in his, you guided Toji through the maze of hallways until you reached your dressing room. The anticipation hung thick in the air as you stepped inside, the door closing behind you, except you failed to close it all the way.

So whatever moment you'll be having with Toji, it can be easily detected by anyone who passes by the area.

Without wasting a moment, you settled on top of your vanity table, your gaze fixed on Toji with a sultry intensity. His eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and excitement dancing within them, as he realized the intent behind your actions.

You beckoned him closer, your legs wrapping securely around his waist and drawing him in.

The intimate contact sent a jolt of electricity through both of you as you felt his arms encircle your body, his touch both possessive and tender.

In the charged silence, Toji's voice broke through, filled with a mix of anticipation and mischief.

"What if somebody walks in on us?"

He says that, but he's already leaning toward your inviting lips while his other hand is holding the zipper of your gown. Wasting no time, you wrapped your arms around his neck and reeled him in for a heated kiss, holding little to no regard to the possibility of getting caught.

Of course, Toji was more than happy to oblige and responded to your advances enthusiastically.

In that intimate space, you both embraced the reckless abandon of the moment, knowing that the world outside those walls could never comprehend the intensity of your connection.

"Toji--" you moaned in his mouth as you felt his grabby hands caressing your sides and squeezing your supple skin. In return, you slide your hands up and down his sturdy chest, shamelessly feeling his abs through his silky dress shirt.

Toji's husky voice contributed to the music being made in that tiny room as he spoke, "You picked this skimpy dress to tease me, didn't you?"

"Did it work?" you responded cheekily, which earned you a dark chuckle from him.

"I wanted nothing more than to bend you over and take you right there and then, the moment I saw you emerge from your limousine."

"What stopped you?" You asked him

"Your husband killed my boner. I didn’t even know you were bringing him along."

You let out a sultry chuckle as you began to grind your hips against his, purposefully tempting his flaccid cock to spring back to life.

"We can't have that now, can we?"

A wicked smile played on Toji's lips, reveling in your audacious nature and feeling his desire grow stronger.

"Absolutely not."

In the dimly lit room, Toji and you shed your clothes with an eager urgency. Every garment fell to the floor, revealing your naked bodies to each other. Your eyes locked, filled with desire and longing. You closed the distance between you, your bodies pressing together.

The heat of your skin ignited a fire within, intensifying the need for each other. There were no inhibitions, only the raw passion that enveloped the room.

Your hands explored, fingers tracing every curve and dip, igniting shivers of pleasure. Each touch sent waves of electricity through your bodies, heightening the intensity of your desire. Time seemed to stand still as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull between you.

Breathless and desperate for more, you locked eyes with him, pleading silently for him to take you to greater heights of pleasure.

"Please, Toji," you whimpered, your voice filled with need.

Toji's lips curled into a mischievous smile as he reveled in the power he held over you.

His voice dripped with playful teasing as he responded, "What's the magic word?"

The teasing only fueled your need, making the anticipation unbearable. But you knew deep down that the wait would be worth it and that Toji's mastery of seduction would lead to a culmination of ecstasy unlike anything you had experienced before.

"Toji~ I don't have time for this."

The man towering over you could only chuckle in amusement, "You're such a brat."

Despite what he said, he immediately adhered to your request and placed his throbbing cock at your entrance, and then he slowly let himself in, filling you nicely and snugly.

Each thrust felt more incredible than the last. The sensations overwhelmed you, evident in the sounds of pleasure escaping your lips and the expression of bliss on your face.

You continued to cling to Toji as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. Moans, profanities, and loads of skin-slapping filled your tiny dressing room.

You were so lost in your little world that you didn't even notice your horrified husband watching from outside.

Normally, you would have been filled with horror and embarrassment, but an unexplained boldness washed over you. Instead of feeling shame or shock, you met your husband's gaze with a cold, unwavering expression.

Toji was right.

It’s high time you end things with your husband and finally be with him. You made a mental note to yourself that, after this, you would deal with your husband once and for all.

Time seemed to stretch as your husband continued to look at you and Toji, his eyes widening with surprise, and you could've sworn you saw tears stream down his face.

Obviously heartbroken by your blatant betrayal, but you remained undeterred, focusing solely on Toji and continuing to lavish him with your undivided attention.

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you even went so far as to put on a captivating display.

And of course, Toji loved your little ploy.

A sly grin spread across his face as he decided to play along.

"Tell me, Y/N, who's making you feel good right now? Hmm? Answer me."

Your response was a fervent moan that escaped your lips.

"It's you."

A teasing glint danced in Toji's eyes as he continued to ravish you, his voice laced with desire.

"And what's my name, darling?"

"Toji," you moaned.

Toji rewarded your response with a playful smack on your ass, eliciting another intoxicating sound from you.

"Good girl."

That was the last straw.

With a shake of his head, your husband left the scene, but none of you were in the mood to care as the both of you were so invested in each other.

Toji's voice was filled with desire as he commented, "You're still so tight for me. Fuck."

You were unable to form coherent words in response, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. Your focus was solely on the sensations coursing through your body, leaving little room for anything else.

He ran his hands along your sides, igniting shivers and goosebumps along your skin.

"You're doing so well," he praised, his touch adding to the intensity of the moment.

The pleasure was building rapidly, and then finally, that hot coil you've been feeling from within shot throughout your body, sending you into overdrive.

To enhance your climax, Toji increased the pace, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. Every movement brought you closer to a mind-numbing state of ecstasy.

-

Later that night, after a few more rounds, Toji drove you home, a satisfied and triumphant smile adorning his face. The energy between you two was still electric, and the intensity of the night lingered in the air.

Upon entering the house, you were met with a somber sight. Your husband sat on the sofa, hunched over, his body language reflecting the weight of his emotions.

It was clear that he had been drinking and crying.

For a few seconds, you observed him, your expression void of any semblance of guilt or shame. In actuality, you're looking at him right now with pure disdain and maybe even disgust. 

The weight of your decision lingered in the air, as you knew what you needed to do.

Silently, you retreated to your bedroom, retrieving the divorce papers carefully stashed in your side of the closet. Each step resonated with resolve; your mind was steadfast in its decision.

Returning to the living room, you stood before your husband, the papers clenched in your hand. With a deliberate gesture, you slammed the documents on the coffee table.

Your voice rang out with finality.

"My signature is already there. I trust you'll have it signed by tomorrow. Good night."

With those words lingering in the air, you turned away to get ready for bed, but as you were walking towards the bedroom, you heard your husband mutter under his breath, "Whore."

With a smug smirk on your face as you continue to march back to your soon-to-be former shared bedroom, you responded in a sing-song manner:

"Remember to use a black pen."

[beyondthesefourwalls]

For the prompts - loving them all so far! Jake + fluff + house + “Right here?” would be my request please. You are a great writer 💗

Hi Nonny! Thank you so much! I hope you don't mind that I threw some smut in here too. It worked so well with another ask that I got which included "here, why don't you just take it?"

Hope you enjoy it💚

----

warnings: fluff, smut, language

Cowboys and Hangmen

Jake was just as witty and flirty in person as he was in the brief texts you had exchanged, his southern accent making him that much more endearing to you. A mutual friend of yours had set you up, and you were having more fun than any other first date you had been on. 

“Honestly, Jake, come on. The Cowboys are overrated - at this point, I don’t understand why they’re even considered America’s Team.” 

He gasped in mock horror. You giggled at his dramatics. “Jesus, darlin. I think you just ripped my heart out. Here, why don’t you just take it? I don’t know if I’ll recover from this.” 

You could see the mirth in his eyes as he clutched at his chest, right above the organ in question. Feeling bold, you settled your hand right beside his. The cotton of his white t-shirt was soft beneath your palm.

“I can help nurse you back to health,” you offered, biting your lip as his green eyes watched you curiously. 

“That something you’d want to do for me?” he asked. You hummed in response, letting your fingertips dance across his chest. He caught your hand in his and you met his eyes. They were darker than they had been a moment ago, but you’re sure yours were, too. He ghosted his lips over your knuckles. “I need an answer, sweetheart. I’ve had far too much fun tonight to mess it up by making assumptions.” 

The heat that had been simmering between the two of you over the last two hours was reaching a boiling point, and instead of turning down the temperature, for once in your life, you decide to turn the dial up. His lips are slightly chapped, but they taste like the whiskey he had been sipping all night, and you chase the taste. 

“Is that answer enough for you?” 

The journey back to his house was a blur. His hand settled high on your thigh, warm and large in a way that made you wish the denim wasn’t keeping you from feeling him on your skin. Once you stumble through his doorway, it’s not long before all of your clothes are discarded and he has you on your back on his bedsheets. 

“God, Jake.” 

He was thick and hard and felt so good inside of you. Your back arched as your walls stretched to accommodate all of him. His hips were flush against yours as he bottomed out. Your fingers scratched at his back as he gave you a moment, and he didn’t move until you nodded your head and told him you were ready. He pulled out slowly, letting you feel every inch of him, and when he pushed back inside, you nearly keened. 

“You like that, baby?” 

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Fuck, yes. More. Please, I want more.” 

And more was exactly what he gave you. You lost yourself in the feeling of him, letting him have control. He whispered filthy words in your ear that had you shivering, and the press of his body against yours was deliciously heavy. You felt yourself closing in on the edge, and he had barely even touched your clit. 

“Want to make you cum,” he grunted. You could feel his dick twitch inside of you and knew he was close.

Jake’s thrusts were targeted and you knew that each drive of his hips was aimed at making you cum. The knowledge that he was chasing your pleasure while chasing his own was enough to have you shuddering around him. It had been a long time since a man had prioritized you in bed, and the notion turned you on more than it probably should. 

“Tell me what you need,” he demanded. You moaned, grabbing his hand and guiding it down to where the two of you are joined. He hissed when he feels your fingers touch the base of his cock, but he focuses himself, rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves when you tell him that’s what you like. The change is instant.

“Right here?” he confirmed. You nodded as his name became a mantra on your lips as your orgasm rushes through you. 

After, you laid tangled together on top of his sheets. He hadn’t bothered pushing them down or covering you, and the breeze from his ceiling fan felt nice against your cooling skin. Almost as nice as his body felt against yours. 

“It’s getting late,” you commented, resting your chin on his chest as you looked at him. He looked contemplative for a moment, like he was gathering courage. 

“I want you to stay,” he finally murmured, “if you’d like.” 

You smiled instantly, because it was exactly what you were hoping he’d ask. You move up his body to kiss him again. You found you were growing addicted to his taste. 

“Do you have something I could wear to bed?” you asked, “I have a thing against sleeping naked, sorry.” 

That flash of mirth entered his eyes again, and he gets out of bed with a chuckle, slipping his grey briefs back on when he stood. He digs through his dresser for a moment before something navy and soft is being thrown at you. When you see a faded Cowboys logo looking back at you when you inspect the t-shirt, you let out a full belly laugh.  You were so glad you had decided to go on this date.

word count: 903

[henneseyhoe]

1| KILLA HOTLINE

You get home from a long day. You kick your heels to the side and take off your coat with a huff of exhaustion. You had worked from the ass crack of dawn till midnight, only getting naps in between hours in my car before going back to work, but it seemed like it was never enough. your body was so tired you even left your purse and work bag in your car, too tired to carry them both up to the penthouse. You loved your job so much, but it was tiring. Treating people was your dream and you wouldn’t trade it for the world, it’s just you barely had time for yourself the more your career climbed, and though you loved your job, you also loved spoiling yourself. You loved going to different countries, buying clothes, and shoes, all of that, but you couldn’t do all of that recently with your busy schedule.

You continue on down the elongated hall and headed up the stairs to your master bedroom. slamming the door shut and jumping on your bed, your eyes slowly began to shut and a sense of calm rested in your body, but you soon noticed that’s all that happened. You weren’t drifting to sleep at all, even with not getting good sleep in all those naps you took at work. Sighing to yourself, you opened your eyes back up and stared at the ceiling. Minutes pass and you decided to just accept your failure in falling asleep, sluggishly pulling your phone out of your back pocket and opening it up. your eyes went into an immediate squint with the brightness shining into your face, making you whimper.

You lowered the devices screen light and sighed, beginning to look through your text messages and emails. Upon looking through the emails, your eyes spotted one in particular that made your eyebrow raise. ‘Diamond Studs?’ You questioned, confused as to what that was. Clicking on the email to open it, you began reading, realizing it was an invite to that same male stripclub your friends have been raging about. Making a stank face at your screen, your eyes rolls. “I know these bitches did not sign my email up for updates on this damn sausage club” you said, still scrolling and reading the email.

Though the club was raunchy as hell, you couldn’t help but applaud the person who edited and sent out these emails. It was typed out with witty little sexual jokes, not too sexual but sexual enough to make a middle aged woman who hasn’t had dick in years fan her face. Scrolling down, you saw pictures of a few of the strippers who worked there, and they were absolutely gorgeous. Still wouldn’t walk into that place confidently though. Upon gawking at the pictures, your finger slipped and went upwards, sending you all the way down to the bottom of the page.

“Damnit” you huffed, forced to wipe away the dirty thoughts that clouded your head. Coming back to your senses, you decided to read what was at the bottom then carry on, seeing that there were numerous company numbers listed to call at the bottom. “I know these ain’t what I think they is…” you mumbled, reading the names and details of the numbers. One in particular made you chuckled, the name reading ‘Killa Hotline; your wildest fantasy’. You laughed “Okay Houdini hotline. ‘Fantasy’…okay”

You thought for a bit, thinking about if you were feeling bold enough to call the number. ‘Come on, Y/N, don’t be pussy. You can’t sleep anyway’ you thought, humming to yourself. Your finger hovered over the button before you finally got the courage to click the number, pressing call. You took a deep breathe and put the phone to your ear, the electronic vibrating with the tone before someone picked up.

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Let’s see if I can successfully keep this story going and actually make it to the end 😭