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tojisun · 1 year ago

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!! suggestive (and mini smut) - minors dni; bimbo (fem)!reader has simon wrapped around her pinky (we luv to see it!); the squad’s here too; hinted age difference (30s v. 20s)

when they ask him where you two met, simon always tries his best to tamp down the smile threatening to grace his lips before clearing his throat and answering, "in the ER."

the questions that follow are always repetitive: 'what, why?', 'what happened?', 'how did things even go from there?' the last one is often paraphrased into some other versions, but the sentiment remains – people always get surprised, reduced into awkward stumbling because how could you even segue into a romantic relationship from having met in the ER?

well, simon thinks, it's actually quite fucking simple.

it was three in the morning and simon was in the lobby, waiting to be called in, when he saw you walk in: you clutched your broken heeled shoes in your hands, your beautiful legs were bearing injuries and cuts, and your hair was a wild mess. then, you ambled towards a baffled triage nurse.

"hi!" simon recalls your melodic voice echo, sounding too hyper even when you looked all banged up. "can i use y'r restroom? we got kicked outta the club."

simon was so focused on you that he didn't even notice the pack of girls following behind you, all of them looking just as haggard and bruised up. one of your friends was actually worryingly injured, so it’s no shock when the nurse rushed towards her, slightly panicked and confused before steering your friend away, leaving you there in the lobby.

then, you turned around, frowning at having been ignored, and it gave simon the best vantage point of finally seeing your face. he swears his heart stuttered in his chest, his lungs constricting, because holy shit, you are beautiful.

"then the rest is history," simon ends, pulling you close to him. any closer and you would have ended on his lap – something he preferred, anyway – but johnny continues to stare at the two of you with a slack jaw, his eyes almost bulging out in confusion so simon tries to keep it civil.

you giggle, and simon watches as the rest of the squad snap their eyes on you, as though expecting you to grace them with a better explanation. but simon knows that you probably don't even know what's going on, having been busy tapping away on your phone, your acrylics making distinct clacks as they hit the screen.

"i love the history channel," you singsong, batting your eyelashes as you give them a dimpled smile. "simmy-" simon almost coos at the nickname you gave him, "and i looove watching the penguins."

simon presses a kiss on the top of your head, ignoring the bewildered looks his squad is shooting him.

"that's the 'animal planet', love. not the history channel," simon corrects gently, rubbing his hand down your side.

"oh!" you say, unbothered by your mistake. "okay!"

and that was that.

"what the fuck," simon hears johnny wheeze out only to up making choking noises when kyle elbows him. simon ignores them, choosing to watch as you turn back to your phone, mass-retweeting a series of post made by the magazine catalogue that you've been following.

cute.

---------

"fuck," simon hisses, feeling the sharp edge of the kitchen knife slicing through the first layer of his skin. he watches the blood bead, trickling down his finger, and simon wipes it before it can stain the pristine green – "sage!" you tutted to him once – countertops.

"si?" you ask, padding towards the kitchen at the clamour. he feels you press yourself to his side, your perky tits nuzzling his robust muscles. "what's goin- y'r bleeding!"

he grunts, frowning at himself for having made you worry. he moves to reassure you that he's okay, but you're already tugging him out of the kitchen, your smaller hand wrapped around his thicker wrist.

god, he loves seeing the size difference.

you're wearing his military shirt, the material sliding down your body beautifully, before pooling just above your perky ass. simon unabashedly stares at the way your ass jiggles – hidden underneath the tiniest booty shorts he knows you own – his throat bone dry and his sweats filling up all of a sudden.

he barely realizes that you two are in the bathroom until you're steering him towards the edge of the bathtub before twisting to fish the emergency kit from the floor cabinets. simon almost groans at the perfect shape that your ass makes when you bend over, feeling himself throb with raging desire.

you pull out a pink emergency kit and skitter towards him again, slotting yourself between his spread legs. simon raises his hand – the uninjured one – to grasp at your waist, sliding it down to your hips, before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"it's nothin' fatal, sweet'art," simon mumbles, thumbing your hipbone as he tries to comfort you.

you're still pouting at him when you say, "sure, i guess. but lemme help you?"

and who is simon to say no to that?

"of course, love."

he lets out a quiet chuckle when you press your glossed lips on his forehead, unbothered even when your lips leave a sticky stamp on his skin.

he watches you disinfect his wound with a strawberry-scented sanitizer before wrapping a pink adhesive bandage around it. his worries about having his open wound disinfected by a glittery sanitizer fade away when you picked his hand up to place a kiss on his now-bandaged finger.

glitter-induced infections no longer matter. not when simon's getting nursed to full health by such a pretty girl.

he licks the back of his teeth, clenching his jaw, and thinks, you deserve a reward, don't you, sweetness?

---------

johnny blanches when he sees the bandage around simon's finger. "LT, what in fuck's name is that?"

his loud voice snags the attention of garrick and their captain who ambled their way towards him upon hearing the commotion. garrick chokes on nothing when he sees the pink bandage that simon's sporting.

"bandage," simon replies, pride heavy in his voice. "from my girl."

johnny whirls and shoots a pointed look towards kyle and john. kyle is the one who breaks the silence.

"…are they safe for use?"

"what's the cat even bandaging?" johnny adds.

simon huffs, flicking his finger up to give the squad a better view. "firstly, this is 'hello kitty'. secondly, you questionin' my girl’s ability to care for me?"

john coughs, looking away, kyle arches a brow at him like the answer should be obvious, and johnny gulps loudly, before mumbling, "...yes."

simon sniffs, unable to blame them. "yeah, well, don't."

the squad is still quiet. waiting.

simon finally gives in and replies, "i checked. they're safe for use."

he rolls his eyes at their dramatic sigh.

"that's good to hear," john says before clapping his hands together once, urging them to disperse.

simon grumbles all the way back to his room.

---------

simon loves his pretty, dumb girlfriend to death.

he loves seeing you dolled up – skimpy dresses made of silk material paired with heels that could honestly stab someone to death. he also loves seeing you in nothing but his ratty jumpers – loose black sweaters stopping just after your crotch and the sleeves falling past your fingers.

but nothing tops seeing you naked and crying for him.

nothing could ever top this – your legs folded close to your chest, your ankles hooked on his shoulders, your pretty make up running as tears trickle from the corners of your eyes and flood your cheeks.

he thrusts his fingers in your cunt again, breathless when it punches out another slick gush of your squirt, drenching you two even more. you squeal, body locking, your hips lifting from the bed. simon has to press down on your belly to keep you stable.

"siii!" you cry out, thrashing on his hold, but simon just kisses your leg as he continues to fuck his fingers in you.

"shh," simon murmurs, feeling so choked up at the sight you make. "one more for me, yeah?"

you moan out a reply, a garbled mixture of 'yes' and his name, before wrapping your hands around his arms, your acrylics digging into his skin. simon doesn't even register the pain, still too caught up at fingering you to feel the way you're clawing him.

still too caught up at how perfect you are for him.

(later, when he checks the mirror and sees the angry red welts, simon purrs at the sight of them. because simon loves being marked by you, doesn't matter how, as long as he has bearings of your pleasure. pleasure he gave you.)

---------

simon receives a video message from you. it’s nothing long or conspicuous, but simon still chokes when he finally gets to watch it.

because in the video, you’re wearing simon’s old varsity shirt on top of your university cheer uniform.

“look!” you chirp, twirling for him. “found this in the closet!”

simon slams his captain’s door open and demands a vacation leave.

---------

the lieutenant has a new tattoo and johnny doesn't know what the actual shit it's supposed to be.

it looks like a wriggly blob of a... cloud? a cotton ball? candy floss?

it was still a somewhat fresh tattoo so simon never truly shows it off – johnny doesn't even know if it's worthy of being shown off – until one night at a bar, simon rolls up the sleeves of his jumper and leans to the squad to point at the blob.

"lookit," he slurs, tipsy and just a touch giddy.

finally, johnny cheers to himself before reaching forward to poke just beside the scribble.

"what's it?"

"mittens," their lieutenant croons, smiling down at his skin like a weirdo.

johnny has seen enough mittens to know that whatever that fucking squiggle is isn't mittens.

"uhm," kyle says, thankfully thinking along the same lines as johnny. "is it?"

"yeah," simon says wistfully, drunken in a lovesick way. "s'my girl's cat. she drew it f'r me."

oh. well, fuck. now that's just too cute.

wait.

"that's a drawing of a cat?" johnny rasps out, choking on his spit before turning to study the tattoo again.

it's still a fucking blob.

christ.

#suns.f #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #bimbo!reader #female reader #i wanna join the bimbo!reader enthusiasts club <33 #simons paying for ur tuition mmmm the dream #suns

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 month ago

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It's not like I'm falling in love, I just want ya to do me no good (and you look like you could) (18+)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

Ewan Mitchell isn't one for parties, but for you? He'd make an exception. Surrounded by stars at the GQ party, his revered muse on the big screen becomes a twisted angel in his arms—leaving him seeing stars again as he finds bliss within your warmth.

word count: 6.7k

main masterlist ▪︎ teaser

Ewan thought he could keep up the celebrity facade, just for the night at least, but the ceaseless barrage of mingling is starting to get to him.

The boo hurled at him right outside the establishment still echoes in his ears. Maybe it wasn't even about him, but his annoyance had been triggered. He decides that it all has gotten to him. What a load of bull.

He had been on the fence about being tapped as an honouree of a lifestyle magazine. Like it means anything. What does this have to do with being an actor? How is this supposed to help his craft? He might as well have been tapped to do one of those videos where he shows everyone what's in his bag.

"It's exposure," his team had chirped in unison, practically reading from a PR handbook.

This wasn't the industry he'd envisioned when he first fell in love with the craft. But none of this is about craft. It's all publicity fodder, all noise.

What he really wants—what his entire being craves—is a BAFTA, a Golden Globe, a SAG award. Hell, he would trade every glitzy dinner party invite for the faintest whiff of Oscar buzz. That was the dream.

Instead, here he is, tethered to a seat at one of four long tables, littered with stars of every calibre—from industry titans to the disposable nobodies who would be forgotten by this time next month.

He had been encouraged to make connections. Socialize. He translated this as a polite way of being told to suck up to people. Maybe a casting director would remember him. Maybe some producer would pass his name along. Easy.

Flattery will get you everywhere in this business.

But at any given time, he would much rather suck on a bloody spliff.

Leaning over to Davey, he says, "I might sneak out for a smoke or something. That's fine, right?"

Davey snickers, sensing Ewan's agitation. "Oh, if you're asking me, I say do whatever you want, mate."

But then someone from his team, straight-laced, precious Lindsay, lets him know otherwise. "Ewan, I'd advise you to sit still for now. What if they call you up some time during dinner?"

Ewan doubles down, his leg anxiously shaking under the table. "Are they going to call on me?"

Lindsay balks. She hasn't heard Ewan sound this pressed before. "Well, we weren't told but—"

"Then I can go. They wouldn't care."

"Ewan, just—"

"Sorry, Lind, but I gotta take a breather. This is all just—"

Lindsay waves him off, resigned. Ewan has always been an easy client to manage, so she can't bring herself to begrudge him this. "Fine, whatever. Just make sure to hide the cigarette if the photographer shows up."

"Sure," he mutters, not meaning it in the slightest. Nobody would care if he is spotted smoking. They should be grateful he is not among the deviants doing lines in the bathroom.

He abruptly gets up from his seat, and backs right into... you.

Of all people. Ewan feels the blood drain from his face, his breath hitching as disbelief engulfs him. His hand instinctively rises, brushing against the silken warmth of flawless skin exposed by your backless dress. The contact sends a jolt through him, and for a moment, he's certain he might pass out. You—right here, in the flesh.

You flash him a dazzling, effortless smile and murmur, "Oops, excuse me," your voice a melodic tease that leaves him utterly undone.

"Oh, no... no problem." He stammers, fully aware that he should be the one begging pardon.

You hold his gaze, ensnaring him so effortlessly. He realises how stupid he must look, with his mouth parted and his eyes wide. He should say his name. He should introduce himself, goddamnit.

But the moment shatters when someone calls your name. You step away without hesitation, and Ewan feels the loss acutely, like an unhooked fish left gasping on dry land.

Then it comes. That fucking sound.

The high-pitched squeal you let out is sharp, almost grating, but somehow it still strikes him as endearing. He'd probably hate it if it didn't come from you.

"Hi! Oh my god, how are you? I haven't seen you since our ski trip in Courmayeur!" Your voice carries, your excitement encroaching his space like an air of warmth.

Ewan follows your trajectory, his eyes trailing as you glide over to Eve Hewson. The two of you embrace like old friends, giggling like co-conspirators, your champagne glasses clinking softly.

He nearly rolls his eyes but catches himself. He knows he's being ridiculous, standing there like a sulking idiot, but the irritation bites anyway. He wants to blame the squeal, or the scene you're making, or the way you seem so goddamn comfortable in this world of chatter and pomp.

But that's not quite it.

He knows the truth, and it gnaws at him like a persistent itch he can't scratch. He's annoyed because he wanted you—your dazzling smile, your undivided attention—to be aimed at him.

He forces his feet to move, making his way down the side hall, where the din of the party fades into muffled chaos. He needs a breather, a moment to reset, but even here, your presence clings to him like static.

It's maddening.

Ewan has spent years watching you. On screens, in interviews, on magazine covers. You're like an open book he's memorised, every detail imprinted on his mind.

That birthmark beneath your right shoulder blade, briefly exposed in that love scene with Glen Powell. He remembers it, even though the camera barely lingered. The way your laugh bursts out unguarded, lighting up every corner of a room.

In one interview, you mentioned Meisner as your go-to technique, and it stuck with him. Of course you'd say Meisner, he thought at the time, like you were someone close to him, because you're all about connection, about living truthfully in the moment.

And here you are, in the same place as him, vibrant and ever so magnetic. Princess of every party, muse of the silver screen.

But you don't know him.

You didn't think you would be attending the British GQ party, but one of your Londoner friends happened to be throwing their birthday bash the night before, so you thought—why the hell not?

You were, of course, invited. Originally, the invite had been for the American GQ Men of the Year party the week prior, but filming schedules had other ideas. For the past two months, you'd been stranded in the icy landscapes of Winnipeg, immersed in the demanding shoot of David Lowery's latest thriller.

Grueling days and endless takes had left you with little energy for glamour. But now, with a few weeks off and the American crew taking a well-earned Thanksgiving break, you finally have some breathing room.

The London event seems like a perfect way to ease back into the whirlwind. And it doesn't disappoint.

The Roof Gardens is buzzing, the atmosphere heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and free-flowing champagne. You glide through it like you belong—because you do. Years of this kind of schmoozing have taught you how to navigate these waters. A charming smile here, a fleeting hug there, a bit of banter with a photographer who asks for the best angle.

You find yourself talking to your old castmate Eve Hewson near the bar, the two of you imbibing something bubbly and dry. She looks luminous as always, her dark hair framing her sharp, mischievous grin.

"Winnipeg, though?" Eve says, her tone incredulous as she leans in. "What the hell is Lowery making you do out there? Freeze to death for art?"

"Pretty much," you laugh, savouring the chill of your drink. "But it's worth it, trust me. The script is absolutely incredible. I just wish the weather wasn't trying to kill me."

"Classic Lowery. He probably thinks the suffering adds authenticity or some shit."

"Probably," you agree, rolling your eyes. For some reason, you find yourself circling back to an earlier incident.

"By the way," you say, leaning a little closer to Eve, "do you know who that guy was? The one I bumped into earlier?"

"Which guy?"

"Clip-on earring. Tall, kind of broody-looking in an overcoat? Wasn't talking much, just sort of... cruising awkwardly."

Eve shrugs, clearly drawing a blank. "I have no idea. Was he hot?"

It only takes you a second to consider this. "I mean, sure. In a tortured artist kind of way. Poor schmuck looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here."

"Oh!" Eve says, snapping her fingers. "Wait, he might be one of the honourees."

You arch a brow. "Not a goddamn influencer, right?"

Eve shakes her head. "No, don't worry. I think he's in that Game of Thrones spinoff. What's it called? House of Dragons?"

"Never saw it." You didn't have the time, truth be told. Also, the last seasons of its predecessor had been enough to edge it off your watchlist.

She taps her chin, thinking. "Wait... oh! Wasn't he that nerd in the movie with Jacob and Barry? Saltburn!"

"Oh my god. That's him? He did great in that role."

"Right? I could not have pointed him out. Kind of a chameleon, I guess."

"Guess so," you agree, the curiosity lingering.

The night unfolds exactly as expected. You exchange quips with Harris Dickinson, who flirts with you just enough to keep things interesting. You catch up with Nicole Kidman, who had been somewhat of a mentor to you when you acted alongside her in your third film at just 16. Jude Law joins your circle at one point, his charm as effortless as ever, and for a while, it feels like just another night on the circuit.

By the time you step outside into the crisp evening air, you're craving a bit of quiet. The gardens around the pavilion are softly lit, the gentle glow of fairy light casting long shadows over the manicured hedges. You pull your vape from your Loewe clutch, taking a long drag as you lean against a cold marble railing.

That's when you notice him again.

He's standing a few feet away, partially obscured by a stone pillar, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The faint smell of tobacco taints the pristine air, and you catch the same restless energy he had earlier.

You wander closer, the soft click of your heels against the stone catching his attention. He glances up, startled, as if he hadn't expected anyone else to venture out here.

"Hey," you say casually, holding your vape up as you stop beside him. "Can you hold this for a sec?"

Before he can respond, you hand him your purse, crouching slightly to tighten the strap on your heel.

He freezes, staring at the outstretched object. "Uh... sure," he relents, albeit hesitantly.

You straighten after a minute, taking the purse back with a quick "Thanks," and give him a once-over. Up close, he's sharper, more distinct. There's something remarkably intense about him that wasn't obvious before.

"I'm Ewan... Mitchell," he blurts, his words a little rushed.

You smile, tilting your head. "Nice to meet you, Ewan."

He fumbles for a response, his cigarette dangling precariously from his fingers. "I, uh, think we bumped into each other earlier. Inside."

"Yeah," you say lightly, your lips curving into a faint smirk. "I like your outfit, by the way. Very vampiric. Dior, right?"

He blinks, then chuckles softly, almost self-deprecatingly. "Yeah. Thanks. I like you too... I mean, I like... I like your dress, too."

You laugh at the accidental remark. There's something undeniably charming about him, despite his nervousness. "Why, thank you, Ewan."

The blush that creeps on his cheeks shows through the powder. He must have felt it, because he immediately trained his gaze down to his polished shoes.

Cute. So you make it your mission to break through his shell. These events tend to get repetitive after a while, but maybe tonight will be a lovely exception.

And so the game begins.

The two of you peacefully take hits of your respective choices of poison, your bubblegum-flavoured vapour melding in the air with his Marlboro red.

"You're quiet," you point out the obvious eventually, a teasing grin playing at your lips.

He almost laughs at the understatement but only shrugs. "Not much to say, I suppose."

"Oh, I doubt that." You lean against the balustrade, studying him. Ewan feels his pulse quicken under the weight of it.

You're so at ease. It's infuriatingly attractive. Your disarming allure, your grace in this world of make-believe, only deepens his self-consciousness. He knows what he must look like: an odd man out, fumbling at the edges of fame while you shine at the centre of it all.

He exhales shakily and finally replies, "Don't let me bore you."

"You're not boring me," you reassure him, before playfully adding, "Not yet at least."

There's a flicker of something unclear behind your eyes when you move closer and ask, "So what are you thinking?"

What he's thinking is that he's out of his depth, that he hasn't felt this kind of raw attraction in years—if ever. He's thinking you're the kind of woman who doesn't even have to command attention, and he's already hopelessly drawn in. But what he says is, "Just... wondering how I got here."

Your laugh is soft, rich with amusement. "To this party?"

"Or this moment."

His words surprise him, his ears burning as they register. You don't say anything, causing Ewan's nerves to spike. Did he sound too eager? Too pathetic?

But then, you smile. That damned megawatt smile that looks even better in person than on screen. "Well, it's a good place to be, isn't it?"

You lean a fraction closer, and could swear his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

"Do you always look so serious?" you ask, your gaze flicking to his lips, admiring the way they seem to be in a state of being perpetually curled. "Or is it just the brooding artist thing?"

"I'll take it if it works," he manages, his voice uneven.

"Oh, it's working," you say softly.

Ewan shifts his weight, tapping the cigarette against the edge of the balustrade. "Sorry, I just... I don't get it. These things. Everyone pretending they know everyone, like it's all some bloody performance."

You exhale a stream of vapour, watching it swirl into the night. He's finally opening up, and there is no way you're letting this slide. "It is a performance," you reply. "That's the point."

He shakes his head, gazing at you with a genuine softness you haven't been at the receiving end of in far too long. "But why? Why not just let the work speak for itself?"

There's something innocent in the way he says it, and it's endearing and definitely rare among your crowd. Ewan Mitchell isn't like the men you usually find at these industry events. He's no preening peacock, no walking cologne ad praying to be noticed.

There's something boyish in the way he fidgets, and yet also something undeniably grown in the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you're not looking.

You reply, "It's so people know who you are. Why would anyone want to go see your movie if they don't give a shit about you?"

"You see, darling, that's where talent comes into play."

"Hmm, okay. But do you not know how many thousands upon thousands of aspiring actors come to LA every year just to witness the death of their dreams, because nobody gave a shit about who they are? And I'm certain that a lot of them can outact us under the table."

Ewan takes a slow drag from his cigarette, buying himself time. The way you said "us" sends a thrill through him he's desperately trying to smother. "Well," he begins, "if you're talented enough, you'll eventually catch a break. People notice, don't they?"

"Talent isn't everything," you point out. "You need to have drive."

"That I have," he counters quickly, his voice laced with quiet conviction. He wouldn't have been able to climb out of a life of near-guaranteed anonymity in Derbyshire if he didn't possess drive. There's a confidence in him now, a spark you seem to notice, judging by the faint curve of your lips.

"And charisma," you add, your smile widening, "which, clearly, you also have."

"Thank you," he says on instinct. There's a pause, just long enough for him to wonder if he's again blushing under your watchful gaze.

"And," you continue, dragging the word out with deliberate weight, "in this day and age, you need to get people talking."

Ewan exhales, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "How do I do that, superstar?"

"A big, fat scandal usually does the trick." Your voice is casual, but your eyes gleam with mischief.

"Oh, brilliant," he deadpans. His sarcasm earns him another laugh, and he feels it in his chest like a warm shockwave.

"Or... you could date someone famous. Get on the PR train."

Ewan shakes his head, his brow furrowing. "Not for me, I think."

You drift closer, eyes narrowing slightly as if you're sizing him up. "Oh really? You wouldn't get with me if you had the chance?"

The question lands like a lit match in the conversation. He swallows nervously, "Of... of course I would. But I don't want it to be manufactured."

"How would it go then?" There's no mocking in your question, no cruelty in your smile—just curiosity, maybe a touch of challenge.

He falters, betraying the battle waging between his nerves and his growing comfort in your company. "How would what go?"

"How would you, Ewan Mitchell, get me?"

His throat goes dry. He considers dodging it, turning the conversation back to you with one of the rehearsed quips he uses for interviews. But that feels cheap in the face of your boldness, so unabashed and expectant. "Well, I'd ask you on a date."

"And I'd say yes... go on."

"And we'll go to... the cinema," he says simply, and for the first time tonight, he doesn't feel like treading water.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, you're such a purist."

"What's wrong with that?" he asks, a touch defensive but also playful, emboldened by your attention.

"Nothing, you tortured artist, you," you tease, your tone lilting. "And then what?"

"Then... we could grab dinner or—"

"Would you kiss me?" you interrupt, your voice low and threaded with something heavier. Most would hesitate, worrying they'd gone too far, but you're not like most people. You never have been.

"If you... if you wanted me to," he replies, his own voice rough with honesty.

"But would you want to?"

His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back to your eyes. The words spill out of him. "I'd be a fucking idiot not to want to kiss you, darling."

Back in the pavilion, music from the DJ booth intensifies, signalling the post-dinner stage of the festivities. But the booming bass that reverberates is nothing compared to the beating of your hearts.

"On this hypothetical date... do we take it a step further?"

Ewan's thoughts run wild, and they are betrayed by the way his pupils dilate. "What do you mean?"

"I am talking about hooking up." Your words are relaxed, but the way you say them is anything but. They drip with intention, with heat, as if you're privy to the fact that he has pictured that scenario a hundred times over.

"What do you take me for?"

"A warm-blooded man who's clearly attracted to me... and who I'm also attracted to."

"You like me?" he whispers hoarsely.

Instead of answering, you close the distance, your lips brushing featherlight against his. The tentative touch sets him ablaze. When you press harder, surer, he melts into you. His hands tremble as they come up to your waist, anchoring himself in the reality of you.

"Fuck me," he breathes when you pull back, leaving him dazed. "I can't—"

"Do this?" you ask, your lips hovering over his, pulling at the fringes of his restraint.

"No... I mean, I can't believe I'm kissing you." He stumbles over his words, clearly in awe. "I love you."

It's your turn to be taken aback. "Woah, what?"

"I mean, I've loved your work," he stammers. "You inspire me as an actor, you know. I've watched you since your early days. You're fucking amazing."

"Mmm." When he allows his hand to drift along your spine, you ask, "Have you ever... fantasized about... sleeping with me?"

"I... I don't—"

"I'm used to it. Being looked at. Thought of, in that way." There's a tinge of raw sensitivity in your admission, letting him see the real you.

Ewan wants more of it. After just a taste of who you are underneath the surface, he is left craving the rest. "Then I think you know my answer," he says.

You let out a low hum. "I know."

"You're such a goddamn liability," he murmurs, managing to sound equal parts affectionate and exasperated.

"I know that too. Come with me," you say, your tone suddenly commanding. You grab his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and tug him towards the pavilion. He follows without a shred of hesitation, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of his chest.

The two of you weave through the edges of the party, slipping past clusters of inebriated guests until you find yourself in the dimly lit, unattended coatroom. The small space is as luxurious as the rest of the venue, the perfect backdrop for the tension threatening to explode.

The moment the lock on the door clicks shut, Ewan's restraint snaps like a taut wire. His hands cradle your face as he initiates the kiss this time, his hunger for you bleeding through every press of his lips.

The rest of the party fades away, and there is only you. He didn't care about any of it anyway.

"You are so fucking hot," he groans into the kiss. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Believe it, handsome," you purr, sliding your hands down the material of his coat.

"Are you sure about this?" His question comes out as a whisper, his forehead resting against yours, his cigarette-scented breath fanning your face.

"Ewan," you say, "get on with it before they all notice we've been gone too long."

He huffs out a nervous laugh. "The way you talk makes me think you wouldn't give a shit."

"No, I wouldn't," you confirm, your grin wicked. "They should fucking wait for us."

"You have an attitude, princess," he mutters, his fingers digging into your exposed back.

"Been told I have a big head," you joke.

He hums, before dropping a line that floors you. "Bet you have a sweet pussy, too."

Your eyes flash with amusement, drawing closer until your lips graze his Dior earring. "Wanna find out?"

"Fuckin' hell," his breath shudders out of him, "yes... yes... yes." He knew it might make him come across as desperate, as a damn simp, but he could not bring himself to give a single flying fuck. Not when you perch atop the gleaming marble edge of the table, and spread each leg out to the side, tantalisingly slow. A precious flower to be plucked, right there for the taking.

For him. He feels unworthy. He has half a mind to check the room for cameras—maybe this is all a prank. But what a lascivious, cruel prank that would be.

Is this some twisted initiation ritual into the Hollywood elite?

You trail a smooth, manicured finger along his jawline, igniting a shiver that ripples down his spine. His nerves come alive under your touch, each one crackling with electric anticipation, flipping a switch deep within him directly connected to his cock.

As he has revered you as a goddess on the silver screen all these years, he now reveres you in reality, sinking to his knees.

"Don't keep me waiting," you whisper silkily.

Ewan takes a steadying breath, before diving in. His hands lift the smooth material of your dress, revealing the sacred area between your legs, barely covered in a white sliver of a thong. You might as well have come with no underwear.

The coat suddenly feels too constricting, so he unbuttons it with a sharp motion, letting the heavy garment slide to the floor. But almost immediately, a flicker of concern crosses his face. The Dior number is a rental, and if it gets damaged, it won't be his head on the block—it'll be Davey's. With a hint of sheepishness, he retrieves it, carefully draping it over the back of an upholstered chair.

You notice the gesture, subtle but telling. He doesn’t quite belong to your world—or perhaps he does, but he moves through it without succumbing to its superficial trappings. Your friend Timothée wouldn’t have spared the coat a second glance, long since desensitized to the weight of designer labels.

But Ewan? He handles it all with a kind of quiet reverence, as if even in a borrowed piece of luxury, he remains grounded in something real.

And it only intensifies your desire for him.

There's a wanton intrigue in your eyes as you take in the bareness of his torso. His muscles are defined, but not in the off-putting gym rat kind of way. Instead, there's a natural leanness to his form—a testament to a body honed not for vanity, but for purpose.

Kneeling before you, eyes bright with awe, he gets right down to work. He pushes the fabric of your dress higher, out of his way, and you help him along, your fist bunching the skirt to one side.

"God, you're... perfect," he whispers. His palms rest on your thighs, and when his lips press to the sensitive skin just above your knee, you let out an involuntary sound that draws a low groan from his throat.

"Ewan," you breathe impatiently, unable to conceal your need for him. But he doesn't rush, dragging his mouth higher, trailing kisses along your inner thigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he savours the sensation.

He pauses just before pulling down the waistband of your thong, glancing up at you with wide, darkened eyes. "Tell me if I'm... if I'm doing too much," he says, almost shyly.

"You're not doing enough," you reply. "Keep going."

So he does. He slides the white lace down your ankles, then presses his mouth to your core, his tongue pushing between your folds with a fervour that makes your head fall back. His guttural moan is muffled as he goes down on you, the vibration of it causing heat to pool in your lower belly. You press the flat stem of your heel to the back of his head, drawing him closer.

"Fuck, Ewan," you gasp aloud, your hips rolling instinctively against his mouth as he works you over. He licks you, sloppy and desperate, his inexperience showing but somehow making it even better. He's so determined to give you pleasure, so eager to make you come undone, that he doesn't care about anything else.

He doesn't care about acting like a starved animal as he sucks on your pussy. All Ewan wishes for, in that very moment, is that you cum all over him—the sweet substance flooding his tongue, dripping down his chin, far more sumptuous than everything they have on offer in the party's banquet.

He's seen you fake an orgasm for a scene before, but this is real.

His tongue flicks over your bud, and when you cry out, he doubles his efforts. He wraps his lips around the aching nub to suck gently, then slides a finger into you, curling it just right. Adding another, he increases the pace, his fingertips pulsing into that damned spot within your walls each time.

The defined bridge of his nose is flush against your clit as he moves, augmenting your pleasure. The whole thing is messy, unrefined, and so damn good that it has you teetering on the edge in no time.

Your thighs quiver around his head, and when your orgasm crashes over you, you clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Ewan keeps going, his tongue and fingers refusing to let up, coaxing every last shudder from you until you're trembling and gasping for air.

"Holy. Shit." You lean back on your elbows to recuperate as white spots flood your vision.

"Did I... was that... was that good?" he asks with his lips shiny and swollen, practically yearning for your approval.

"Yeah," you manage, but it escapes your lips as a small, incoherent sigh.

"Hmm? What? What was that... baby?"

Baby, he says. But with the way, he's being so sweet, so dumbstruck, he's certainly the baby in this dynamic.

"More," you give him a better answer, "C'mere." You pull him up to your level, tasting yourself on his lips. Leveraging your legs around his waist, you keep him caged in. The outline of his hardened cock presses against your pelvis, and when you grind into him, his teeth clamp down on your bottom lip.

"Aghhh, hey!"

"Shit, I'm sorry—"

"It's okay," you whisper, not letting him pull away. "I liked it. And I want more."

"Anything, baby," he promises, and the raw honesty in his tone makes your chest tighten. "Anything you want. I'll—fuck—I'll give it to you. I'm all yours."

You nod once, before he claims your lips again in a bruising kiss. One of the thin straps of your dress falls from your shoulder, and he visibly shivers in excitement at the sight of your exposed breast.

"Fuck," he sighs, his hand coming up almost hesitantly to cup you. His thumb brushes over your nipple, as he takes you in with lust-clouded eyes. He leans down and captures the flesh with his mouth, his tongue swirling around your tender peak until you're left squirming.

You reach for him, fumbling with his belt and his zipper, and he helps you, his movements even more hurried and uncoordinated than yours.

When he frees himself, you can't help but stare—his cock is long and hard, already slick with precum. The sight makes your mouth water, and when you drag your gaze back up to his face, you find him watching you, his expression somewhere between bashful and utterly wrecked.

Ewan's hair, once gelled to immaculate perfection, now lies in disarray. He'll need to borrow your comb before he dares rejoin the party. The lower half of his face bears the unmistakable traces of cum and smudged rouge, a vivid testament to the chaotic indulgences of the evening. And somewhere in the frenzy of fumbling and fondling, his clip-on Dior earring has gone astray. He feels the absence keenly, like a phantom limb, yet he resigns himself to the loss—for now, it's a dilemma best left for another moment.

"You're staring," he says, an uneasy laugh escaping him, but there's heat in his gaze, a newfound confidence grounding his nerves.

"Because I like what I see," you reply.

"Tell me if this is too much," he says, his anxiety resurfacing through the haze of lust. It's endearing—so much so that you can't help but smile.

"Ewan," you say firmly. "I want everything."

He groans faintly as he lines himself up. Carefully, he pushes into you, and the stretch is exquisite, sending a shiver rippling up your spine. You both moan, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room. He buries himself to the hilt, pausing to catch his breath, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he murmurs, looking down at where your bodies meet. "Your pussy feels so good."

The compliment makes you feel something you can't pinpoint, but there’s no time to dwell on it. He starts to move, his thrusts tentative at first, testing the waters. But the whorish mewls spilling from your lips spur him on, and soon, he finds a rhythm—deep, steady, and just rough enough to leave you begging for more.

"Fuck, Ewan," you gasp, your nails scraping lightly against his back. "Yeah... just like that."

Your words are the only encouragement he needs. His pace quickens, and his grip on you tightens as if he's about to confess that he wants to own you. He's already yours, so it's only fair, isn't it?

He's spent years fantasizing about how your pussy would feel, squeezing his cock like a goddamn vice, and he's happy to find out that his imagination is nothing compared to the real thing.

"So sexy, baby," he mutters, his voice muffled as he nips at your neck. "Better than I ever—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his teeth grazing your skin.

You raise your legs higher up his torso to draw him deeper. The angle sends a bolt of pleasure through you, and your moans grow louder despite your attempts to keep quiet.

Then, suddenly, the doorknob rattles.

Both of you freeze, Ewan still buried deep inside your fleshy walls, his eyes wide with panic. The sound of a familiar voice seeps through the door, followed by a frustrated sigh.

"Where the hell did I leave my phone?" It's your friend, Florence Pugh. Her voice is unmistakable, and the realisation makes your stomach drop.

Ewan’s lips form a silent oh my God. You bite back a laugh, pressing a hand over your mouth as Florence jiggles the doorknob again.

"Seriously?" she mutters. "Locked? For fuck's sake."

You hear her footsteps retreat, her voice fading as she calls out to someone else. "Have you seen my phone? I swear I left it out here."

The moment the coast is clear, you both exhale in unison, the tension breaking into a mix of laughter and relief. Ewan drops his forehead to your shoulder, shaking his head. "This is insane," he whispers, though he doesn't feel a single ounce of regret.

"You're the one who couldn't keep it in his pants," you tease, rolling your hips slightly to remind him of your still-connected bodies.

His response is a low growl, and he resumes his thrusts, harder this time, filled with unfiltered desire. The near-miss only seems to have fueled him, the snap of his hips more frantic, more intense. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room—mumbled curses, breathless moans, sticky slapping of flesh meeting flesh.

"God, you're incredible," he says, his voice strained. "I can't get enough of you."

You feel the coil in your belly tightening again, the pressure building with each thrust. Your delicate fingers dig into his shoulders, and he groans at the sensation, his cock twitching deep inside you. His rhythm falters for only a second before he recovers.

"Ewan," you gasp, your voice breaking. "I'm so close—don't stop."

"Come for me, baby," he says, his hand slipping between your bodies to find your clit. It sends you spiraling, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cry out, your body tensing and shuddering beneath him as he continues to move, chasing his own release.

He reaches up and twists your nipple, the sharp sensation making you gasp just before he comes. The sight of you—head thrown back, breast bouncing free from your designer gown, your smudged red lips parted in bliss—drives him to the brink. With a strangled growl, he slams into you one final time. His body shakes as he spills inside you, the warmth of his release flooding you completely. You both tremble in the aftermath, caught in the intensity of the moment, gasping for air, drenched in sweat and tangled in raw desire.

You blink lazily at him, a beautiful mess of tousled hair and make-up in dire need of a retouch. "Still think I'm a liability?" you ask.

"Oh, absolutely. But one worth keeping anyway."

Ewan sits in his dimly lit London apartment, the glow of his phone the only other source of light in the room. A half-empty bottle of Guinness sits forgotten on his coffee table. The screen displays your Instagram profile—your impossibly gorgeous face beaming at him from your latest post, which happens to be a professional photograph of you at the GQ party.

His finger hovers above the Follow button like it's the trigger of a detonator.

His newly-created account is laughably barren—no posts, no followers, no following. Just a desperate, last-ditch attempt to tether himself back to you, even if only digitally.

Ewan had always sworn off social media, claiming it wasn't his style, that he preferred the privacy and the mystique. Yet, here he is, spiraling, drunk on the memory of you and of that night.

The coatroom had been a blur. The attendant had returned far too soon, a flurry of apologies as Florence appeared behind her, claiming her phone from her coat pocket with a triumphant smirk.

Ewan remembers how Florence had tugged you aside, your laughter ringing out as she swiped her thumb across your lips, erasing the evidence of that kiss—or maybe just rearranging it. You had been whisked away to the ladies' room, leaving him standing there, disheveled, speechless, and utterly entranced. He hadn't even managed to get your number.

It's been days since, but he still feels the ghost of your touch, the echo of your moans, the scent of you on his skin. He's tried to focus, tried to pick up his scripts, but his mind keeps replaying the way you looked as you came.

He has even rewatched a film of yours, with special attention paid to a particular love scene. Watching it over and over, repeatedly going back to the timestamp where you're seen riding your male costar.

He felt aroused watching you. Also, incredibly fucking jealous.

"Pathetic," he mutters to himself, his finger still hovering. His thumb twitches, brushing the screen, but before he can commit to his descent into full-blown thirst, his phone buzzes violently, the vibration startling him into dropping it onto the couch.

"Shit." He snatches it back up, squinting at the screen. It's a call from his agent.

"Ewan," comes the voice on the other end, crisp and faintly incredulous. "What the hell did you do at that party?"

His heart stops for a beat. "Uh... what?"

"The party. The GQ one. The one where you disappeared for, what, an hour? Maybe more?"

Ewan's brain scrambles. "I don't—I mean, I just mingled. Like you suggested,” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "Why?"

"Because," the agent says, drawing out the word like it's a prize reveal, "you've been shortlisted for a chemistry test next week."

"A chemistry test?" Ewan echoes, blinking. "For what?"

"For her film," his agent says, emphasizing the pronoun like it's blasphemous not to know who you are. "It's one of those secret big-budget Hollywood projects only top actors are getting called for. We didn't submit you because—well, not to be rude, but you're not exactly on their radar for that level yet."

Ewan's heart starts pounding. He sits up straighter, gripping the phone tighter. "Wait, wait. What film? Who's—who's her?"

But he already knows the answer.

His agent drops your name, exasperated now. "Apparently she petitioned for you, Ewan. Said you'd be perfect. So what did you do?”

Ewan is stunned into silence. He leans back against the couch, a slow grin spreading across his face as the pieces click into place. You. You'd done this. You’d reached out and used your pull to bring him into your orbit again.

"What did I do?" he repeats. "Oh, nothing much. Just... made an impression."

"Well, whatever it was, it worked. Chemistry tests are next week in L.A. They'll send over the details. And Ewan," the agent pauses, lowering their voice slightly, "don't screw this up. This is huge."

"I won't," Ewan says, his tone confident now. "I promise."

When the call ends, he stares at his phone for a long moment, the grin still lingering. He glances back at your Instagram profile, his thumb poised over the Follow button again. Then he snorts, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside him.

"What's the point?” he mutters to himself, his grin turning into a full-on self-satisfied smirk. "I'll see you soon enough."

He reaches for the bottle of Guinness instead, lifting it in a silent toast to fate—or whatever it is that's tied you two together.

Something came out of all that mingling after all.

taglist: @bitchception @insideyourimagination @angels-wouldnt-help-youu @seamaiden @silverdragonfly @powpowjinxlife @starfishjellyfish5 @shellysa14 @delespresso @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @ninihrtss @believeinthefireflies95 @peachysunrize @darktrashsoulbear

#do me no good #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell smut #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd

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its-avalon-08 · 5 months ago

Note

Can I request something where Reader is with Lando and she actually more famo then him and he feels like she could do better then him. But reader reassures him that he is the best boyfriend she has ever had.

he's just ken (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - a little angst, tears, A LOT OF fluff

The soft glow of the city lights filled the room, casting a gentle glow over the sleek furniture and large windows overlooking Monaco’s glittering skyline. Lando Norris sat on the edge of the bed, his hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His girlfriend, Y/N, was getting ready in the adjoining bathroom, her melodic hums filling the space.

Y/N was more than just Lando’s girlfriend. She was a globally renowned actress, her face gracing billboards and magazines across the world. Her fame was astronomical, dwarfing even the recognition Lando received as a Formula 1 driver. And lately, this disparity had started to gnaw at him.

Lando sat in his hotel room, scrolling through his phone. He was used to seeing news articles and interviews featuring Y/N; she was one of the most famous actresses in the world. But today, as he absentmindedly browsed through his social media feed, a headline caught his attention: "Y/N Asked About Her Relationship with Lando Norris."

Curiosity piqued, he clicked on the video. It was an interview she had done recently, her radiant smile lighting up the screen. He watched as the interviewer, a man with a smug expression, leaned forward.

"So, Y/N," the interviewer began, his tone dripping with condescension, "you’re one of the biggest stars on the planet. You’ve got legions of fans, countless awards, and a career most people can only dream of. Why are you dating Lando Norris? I mean, he's just a race car driver. Don’t you think you could do better?"

Lando's heart sank. The interviewer’s words echoed in his mind, each one a stab at his already fragile confidence. He couldn’t bear to hear her response, too afraid that she might hesitate or, worse, agree. His thumb hovered over the screen, and with a heavy heart, he closed the video, the reporter’s sneer still haunting him.

He tossed his phone onto the bed, running a hand through his hair. The doubt that had been festering in the back of his mind surged forward. He loved Y/N more than anything, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t good enough for her. She was a superstar, adored by millions, and he was just Lando—a guy who drove fast cars and occasionally made it to the podium.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, the reporter's words playing on a loop in his mind. By the time Y/N returned to the hotel room, Lando was sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in his thoughts.

“Hey, babe!” Y/N called out as she walked in, her face lighting up when she saw him. “I’ve missed you.”

Lando tried to muster a smile, but it felt forced. “Hey.”

Y/N’s smile faded as she sensed his mood. She crossed the room and sat beside him. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitated, not wanting to burden her with his insecurities. “Nothing, just a rough day.”

She frowned, concern etching her features. “Talk to me, Lando. What’s really going on?”

Lando took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers. “Nothing baby, I love you."

She could sense the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were hunched slightly forward. "Baby tell me the truth." she asked softly, crossing the room to sit beside him.

Lando glanced at her, a forced smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing, just thinking.”

Y/N took his hand, her thumb gently rubbing circles on his skin. “Thinking about what?”

He hesitated, his eyes dropping to their intertwined hands. “About us,” he finally admitted. “About you and me.”

Her brow furrowed in concern. “What about us?”

Lando took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if you could do better than me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why would you think that?”

Lando looked away, the weight of his insecurities pressing down on him. “You’re… you’re Y/N. Everyone knows you. You’re this incredible actress, and I’m just a guy who drives cars really fast. People adore you. They look up to you. And I feel like… like I’m not enough for you.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words. She gently cupped his face, turning him to look at her. “Lando, listen to me. You are more than enough. You’re kind, funny, and so incredibly talented. Do you know how proud I am to be with you? How much I love you?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But people—”

“I don’t care what people think,” she interrupted, her voice firm but filled with love. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Fame, awards, none of that matters without you. You make me happy. You make me feel loved and cherished. I don’t need anyone else because I have you.”

Lando’s expression softened, the vulnerability in his eyes breaking her heart. “But what if—”

“No what-ifs,” she said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You are my person, Lando. My heart chose you, not anyone else. And I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything in the world.”

He took a shaky breath, her words slowly melting away his insecurities. “You really mean that?”

“With all my heart,” she whispered, her forehead resting against his. “I love you, Lando Norris. And nothing, no amount of fame or success, will ever change that.”

Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as he buried his face in her hair. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for always being there, for believing in me.”

Y/N smiled, her hand gently stroking his back. “Always, Lando. I’m here for you, always.”

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Lando felt a sense of peace wash over him. In that moment, he realized that Y/N’s love was more valuable than any trophy or accolade. She was his anchor, his home. And with her by his side, he knew he could face anything the world threw at them.

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 6 months ago

Text

Chthonic - Takao 2011

Chthonic is a Taiwanese heavy metal band, formed in 1995 in Taipei. The group incorporates influences from traditional Taiwanese music, including adaptations of folk songs and the use of traditional instruments, most notably the erhu (often called the hiân-á in the band's native Taiwanese Hokkien). Their stated goal is to use their music to bring ancient history and mythology into the modern era especially to build awareness of the myths of Taiwan and tragic events in that country's history. Since 2011 their trademark erhu has been complemented with stringed instruments including the koto and shamisen, as well as Tibetan Bells and shakuhachi and Seediq hunting flutes, the last of which are traditionally used by the indigenous people of Taiwan.

Takasago Army is Chthonic's sixth studio album, released in 2011. The title is a reference to the Takasago Volunteers in the Imperial Japanese Army, recruited from the Taiwanese aboriginal tribes during World War II. Takasago is an ancient Japanese name for Taiwan. This album serves as the final record in Chthonic's "Souls Reposed" Trilogy. Takasago Army reached number 109 on Japan's Oricon music chart, and the video for the song "Takao" was nominated for the 2012 Golden Melody Award in Taiwan for best music video. The album was named the year's best melodic black metal album by the critics' webzine Metal Storm, and French music critics' site Boulevard Brutal selected Takasago Army as the best black metal album of the year. The Japanese rock magazine Burrn!! awarded the band a number 7 rank for best album of the year and number 23 for best heavy metal band.

"Takao" received a total of 54,3% yes votes.

youtube

#submitted #new to admin :D #finished #low reblog #10s #chthonic #english #taiwanese #o2 #lo1 #lo3

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floresierss · 24 days ago

Text

୨୧ RIGHT WHERE WE BELONG — mark lee x reader

WORD COUNT : 5.4k (i think)

TAGS 🏷️ : meet-cute, fluff, slice of life!! no tws!

AUTHORS NOTE : lmk if you liked this part, send an ask and i’ll make a part 2! also taking requests just check my pinned first :p

The café was alive with soft chatter, the quiet clinks of cups against saucers, and the faint aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. It was your first time visiting this little corner shop, tucked away on a side street you’d stumbled across while exploring your new neighborhood. The atmosphere felt like a warm embrace—a blend of earthy tones and cozy, mismatched furniture that exuded charm.

You sipped on your latte, letting the foam settle on your lips as you scanned the room. Your gaze caught on a figure just as the door chimed open, letting in a gust of cool winter air.

He stepped in like he belonged, effortlessly cool in his slightly oversized hoodie and jeans that looked a little too well-worn. A guitar case hung from his shoulder, and his tousled dark hair framed a face so striking it could’ve been plucked from a magazine. His eyes, deep and thoughtful, held a softness that made you feel like you were intruding on a private moment just by looking.

Your heart stuttered when he ran a hand through his hair, giving the slightest smile to the barista behind the counter as he placed his order. It was a simple gesture—barely anything, really—but it sent a small thrill coursing through your chest.

You told yourself to look away. Don’t be weird, you thought, sinking a little lower into your seat. But as he glanced over his shoulder, your gazes locked.

His eyes lingered on you for just a moment, a flicker of curiosity flashing across his face. You panicked, quickly turning your attention back to the open book on your table, though you couldn’t process a single word of the page in front of you.

“Hi,” came a voice—low, melodic, and way too close for comfort.

Your head shot up, heart racing as you realized he was standing right there, his coffee in one hand and a small smile tugging at his lips. Up close, he was even more breathtaking.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice barely audible over the sudden pounding in your ears.

“Mind if I sit here for a sec?” he asked, motioning to the empty seat across from you. His voice was gentle but carried a certain warmth that made you feel at ease despite your nervousness.

You nodded quickly, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

He set his coffee down and slung his guitar case off his shoulder, resting it carefully against the table. You glanced at it, unable to hide your curiosity.

“You play?” you asked, gesturing toward the case.

He followed your gaze and chuckled softly. “Yeah, I do. Not great or anything, but enough to get by.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his modesty. “I don’t believe that. People who say they’re ‘not great’ are usually amazing.”

He laughed then—a quiet, breathy sound that made your stomach flutter. “You’re setting the bar too high for me,” he said, shaking his head. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for you to feel the heat creeping up your neck again.

“I’m Mark, by the way,” he said, offering a hand.

You took it, feeling the slight calluses on his fingertips. “Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, as if testing how your name sounded on his tongue. “Nice name.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a ridiculous amount of pride over something so simple.

Mark leaned back in his seat, his gaze wandering over the open book on your table. “What are you reading?”

You glanced down, realizing you hadn’t even touched the book since he walked in. “Oh, uh…” You turned it over to show him the cover. It was some novel you’d picked up at a thrift store—hardly something noteworthy, but he seemed genuinely interested.

“Cool,” he said, nodding as if you’d just presented him with a masterpiece.

And just like that, the conversation flowed easily. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, his attention unwavering as you talked about books, music, and your favorite spots in the city. You learned that he was a musician—though he downplayed it, saying he was just “messing around” with a few friends—and that he came to this café often because it was the only place where he could write without distractions.

“Guess I’m ruining that streak, huh?” you teased.

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not at all. Best distraction I’ve had in a while.”

Mark’s smile lingered, his eyes bright with curiosity. He took a sip of his coffee, leaning slightly forward as if settling into the conversation. You couldn’t believe how naturally the moment had unfolded—it felt almost surreal, like you’d stepped into the pages of one of the books you loved so much.

“So, what brings you to this part of the city?” he asked, resting his elbow on the table.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how much to reveal. “I just moved here, actually,” you admitted. “Still trying to figure out where everything is. This café was a lucky find.”

His eyebrows lifted, an easy smile spreading across his face. “No way. First time here, and you’re already sitting at the best table in the house? That’s impressive.”

You glanced around, noticing how the cozy corner where you sat gave a perfect view of the whole café, with the added bonus of a big window letting in streams of golden afternoon light. “Guess I’ve got good instincts,” you said, smiling back.

“Clearly,” he said, and for a moment, the way he looked at you made the world seem a little quieter.

Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to steer the focus back to him. “So, you said you write here? What kind of stuff do you work on?”

He looked a little bashful at the question, his fingers tracing the edge of his coffee cup. “Mostly music. Lyrics, melodies… that kind of thing. It’s nothing fancy, though.”

“You’ve got a guitar and a place you go specifically to write music,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like ‘nothing fancy’ to me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re really making me sound cooler than I am.”

“Well, you seem pretty cool to me so far,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Mark paused, his lips twitching into a small smile as he tilted his head. “Yeah?”

You opened your mouth, scrambling for a way to backtrack, but he didn’t give you the chance. “Thanks,” he said softly, his sincerity disarming.

Before you could say anything else, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting into something between reluctant and amused. “Ah, sorry,” he said, picking it up. “My friend’s been waiting for me at the studio. He’s probably losing his mind wondering where I am.”

Your stomach dropped a little at the thought of the conversation ending so soon, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside. “Don’t let me keep you,” you said, mustering a smile.

Mark hesitated, his fingers lingering on his phone. Then he looked at you again, his expression thoughtful. “Tell you what,” he said, leaning down to rummage through his bag. He pulled out a small, battered notebook and a pen, flipping it open to a blank page. “I’m gonna write my number down. In case you ever want company next time you’re exploring the city.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as he tore the page out and slid it across the table to you. His handwriting was a little messy, but you could clearly make out the digits.

“Only if you want to, though,” he added quickly, his voice carrying a hint of shyness. “No pressure or anything.”

You took the paper, feeling a little dazed. “Thanks,” you managed, tucking it carefully into your bag.

Mark stood, slinging his guitar case back over his shoulder. “It was really nice meeting you, Y/N,” he said, his gaze holding yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

“You too, Mark,” you said, your voice a little softer now.

As he walked away, the door chimed again, and you couldn’t help but watch as he disappeared into the street, his figure blending into the crowd.

You sat there for a while after he left, the piece of paper burning a hole in your bag. The café felt a little quieter now, a little less vibrant without him in it. But as you replayed the conversation in your head, you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

Mark Lee.

You didn’t know much about him yet, but something told you this wasn’t the last time you’d be seeing him.

────────────────────────

The city felt different after meeting Mark. Every street corner seemed to buzz with new possibilities, and the café where you’d first met him became a spot you found yourself gravitating toward more often than not. You didn’t text him right away—part nerves, part overthinking—but a week later, you found yourself staring at his number one evening, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Hi, Mark! This is Y/N from the café last week. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.

The reply came quicker than you expected.

Mark: Hey, Y/N! Not interrupting at all. Actually, you just saved me from staring at a blank notebook for the last hour.

The ease of his response settled your nerves, and soon, the conversation flowed effortlessly. After a few back-and-forth messages about your respective weeks, he typed:

Mark: What are you up to tomorrow?

Your heart skipped a beat.

You: Nothing planned. Why?

Mark: There’s this spot I think you’d like. If you’re free, we could check it out together.

The next day, you met him at a small park near the river. He was already there when you arrived, sitting on a bench with his guitar case propped up beside him. He looked up as you approached, a wide smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he said, standing to greet you. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hey,” you said, feeling the warmth of his smile settle over you. “I almost didn’t recognize you without a coffee cup in your hand.”

He laughed, his nose scrunching slightly. “Trust me, it’s only because this place has no café nearby. Otherwise, I’d be double-fisting americanos.”

The two of you wandered along the riverbank, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the water. Mark led the way to a small clearing where a few people were scattered about, some picnicking, others just enjoying the view.

“This is where I come when I need to clear my head,” he said, setting his guitar case down on the grass. “It’s quiet, but not too quiet, you know?”

You nodded, taking in the serene atmosphere. “It’s perfect.”

Mark looked at you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It kind of is.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the sounds of the river and the distant chatter of people filling the space between you. Then Mark unzipped his guitar case, pulling out the instrument and sitting cross-legged on the grass.

“I thought I’d bring this along,” he said, glancing up at you. “Maybe you’d want to hear something?”

Your eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”

He started strumming softly, the notes flowing effortlessly from his fingers. The melody was light and warm, matching the golden hour perfectly. As he played, you couldn’t help but admire the way he seemed so at ease, his entire focus on the music.

When he finished, you clapped lightly, a wide smile on your face. “That was beautiful. Did you write it?”

He nodded, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, just something I’ve been working on. It’s not finished yet, though.”

“I think it’s amazing,” you said sincerely.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing, the conversation flowing even more naturally than it had in the café. You learned more about him—how he got into music, the songs that inspired him, and the silly inside jokes he shared with his friends.

“Okay, your turn,” Mark said at one point, resting his guitar on his lap. “What’s something you’re passionate about? Like, the thing that makes you lose track of time.”

You hesitated, feeling a little self-conscious under his earnest gaze. But there was something about the way he looked at you—genuine and patient—that made you feel safe enough to open up.

As you spoke, he listened intently, nodding and asking questions that made it clear he cared about every word you said.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you felt like you’d known him for years instead of just days.

“I should probably get going,” you said reluctantly, noticing how late it was getting.

Mark stood, slipping his guitar back into its case. “Yeah, me too. But hey—this was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at the thought. “I’d like that.”

As you walked back toward the park entrance together, Mark hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Y/N?”

You turned to look at him, your steps slowing.

“I’m really glad I sat at your table that day,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

Your breath caught, warmth blooming in your chest. “Me too,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” you promised.

────────────────────────

A crisp breeze swept through the park, rustling the leaves that clung stubbornly to the trees. You and Mark walked side by side, the warmth of your coats warding off the chill. It had become your thing—these unplanned walks where you let the city guide you.

Today, Mark had insisted on showing you his favorite bookstore, tucked away on a quiet street you never would’ve found on your own. The shop was magical—walls lined with mismatched shelves crammed with books that practically begged to be explored. A faint scent of paper and dust hung in the air, accompanied by the soft murmur of classical music from an old radio in the corner.

“Do you always come here?” you asked, trailing a finger along the spines of the books as you wandered through the aisles.

“Yeah, when I’m stuck,” Mark said, his voice warm. He was a few steps ahead, pulling out a book to examine it. “It’s like the energy of this place helps me think. Plus, the owner doesn’t mind if I sit in the corner for hours without buying anything.”

You laughed, picturing Mark cross-legged on the floor, lost in his own world. “You sound like you’ve tested that theory a lot.”

“Guilty,” he said, grinning over his shoulder. “I even have a favorite corner.”

“Show me.”

Mark led you to a small nook at the back of the store, where a battered armchair sat surrounded by stacks of books that didn’t quite fit on the shelves. A tiny lamp perched on a side table gave the space a cozy glow.

“This is it,” he said, gesturing proudly. “My thinking throne.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “It suits you.”

Mark plopped down in the chair, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not as comfortable as it looks, though. I always end up with a crick in my neck.”

“Sounds like you need a better throne,” you teased.

“Nah, it’s part of the charm,” he said, patting the armrest. He glanced up at you, his gaze softening. “You should sit.”

You hesitated. “What about you?”

“I’ll manage,” he said, standing and motioning for you to take his place.

With a small smile, you sat down, sinking into the worn cushion. The chair wasn’t particularly comfortable, but the way Mark watched you made it feel like the coziest spot in the world.

“So,” he said, crouching down to sit on the floor beside you. “If you had to pick just one book from this whole place, what would it be?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You can’t ask me that. It’s impossible.”

“Come on,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the armrest. “First one that comes to mind.”

You thought for a moment before naming a book that had stuck with you for years. Mark listened intently as you explained why it meant so much to you, his expression thoughtful.

“I’ve never read it,” he admitted when you finished. “But the way you talk about it makes me want to.”

“You should,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I think you’d like it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet hum of the bookstore filled the air, but all you could focus on was the way Mark looked at you—like you were the most interesting story in the room.

“Y/N,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“You… you make things feel different. In a good way.” he said, his voice steady.

Your heart fluttered, the sincerity in his words catching you off guard. “really?,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mark’s lips curved into a small smile, and he reached up to gently tap the side of your armrest. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” you said, your smile matching his. “We really do.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of quiet laughter and shared stories, the bookstore becoming your little world. And as you left together, walking back out into the crisp evening air, you couldn’t help but think that the bond you were building with Mark was something rare—something you never wanted to let go of.

────────────────────────

The following days felt like a string of golden moments tied together. You and Mark fell into an easy rhythm, meeting up whenever your schedules allowed, sometimes with a plan and other times simply wandering until the city gave you something to do. Each encounter left you learning more about him, peeling back layers of his personality and finding yourself even more drawn to the kind, funny, and thoughtful person he was.

One evening, Mark texted you out of the blue.

Mark: Do you like ice skating?

You: I’ve never tried it. Why?

Mark: Great. Meet me at the rink tomorrow at 6. I’ll teach you.

When you arrived at the outdoor skating rink the next day, the air was cold enough to make your breath visible. The rink was surrounded by strings of twinkling lights, their glow reflecting off the ice. Mark was waiting for you by the entrance, bundled up in a puffy jacket and a beanie that made him look impossibly cozy.

“You made it!” he said, grinning as you approached.

“Of course,” you replied, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck. “But just so you know, I’m expecting to fall a lot.”

“That’s fine,” he said, handing you a pair of skates. “I’ll be there to catch you.”

The warmth in his voice made your cheeks flush, though you blamed it on the cold.

After lacing up your skates, you hesitated at the edge of the rink. The ice looked smooth and unforgiving, and your balance already felt shaky just standing still.

Mark skated up to you, gliding effortlessly across the ice. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “I won’t let you fall.”

You took a deep breath and reached for his hand, the steadiness of his grip reassuring. As you stepped onto the ice, your legs wobbled immediately, and you clung to his arm for support.

“Okay, okay,” you said, laughing nervously. “This is harder than it looks.”

“You’re doing great,” Mark said, his voice warm with encouragement. “Just keep your knees slightly bent, and let me guide you.”

He skated backward slowly, holding both your hands as you shuffled forward. His calm confidence made you feel braver, and soon you were laughing along with him as you found your footing.

“You’re a natural,” he said after a while, his tone teasing.

“Oh, sure,” you replied, rolling your eyes as you nearly stumbled. “Totally natural.”

Mark chuckled, his laughter light and genuine. “Hey, you’re still standing, aren’t you? That’s a win.”

As the evening went on, you grew more comfortable on the ice, even daring to let go of Mark’s hands for short bursts. But every time you wobbled, he was right there, steadying you with an easy smile and a reassuring word.

By the time you both left the rink, your cheeks were flushed, and your laughter echoed in the crisp night air.

“See?” Mark said as you walked toward a nearby café to warm up. “I told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You looked at him, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks, Mark,” you said softly.

“For what?”

“For always making things feel… safe,” you admitted, your voice quiet but sincere.

He stopped walking, turning to face you. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours. Then he smiled, the kind of smile that felt like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Anytime,” he said simply.

────────────────────────

A month after the ice-skating night, winter seemed to tighten its grip on the city. The streets were dusted with snow, and holiday lights twinkled in every window. The days had grown shorter, but somehow, your time with Mark felt fuller.

One evening, Mark texted you with a request that immediately made your heart race.

Mark: Hey, my band’s playing a small gig tomorrow night. Would you want to come?

You stared at the message, your stomach flipping. You’d heard Mark talk about his music countless times and had seen him casually strum his guitar, but the idea of seeing him perform in front of a crowd felt like stepping into an entirely new part of his world.

You: I’d love to. Where is it?

The venue was a small but cozy bar tucked into a quiet street. When you arrived, the place was buzzing with people, the warm glow of fairy lights casting a golden hue over the room. You spotted Mark near the stage, tuning his guitar. His friends—who he’d mentioned in passing but you’d never met—were gathered around him, laughing and teasing each other.

Mark caught sight of you and immediately broke into a smile, waving you over.

“Y/N! You made it!”

“Of course,” you said, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He introduced you to his bandmates—friendly, energetic guys who welcomed you with easy smiles—and then excused himself to get ready.

“Wish me luck,” he said, leaning in slightly.

“You don’t need it,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

As the set began, you found a spot near the front, your gaze fixed on Mark. He was in his element—his fingers moving effortlessly over the guitar strings, his voice filling the room with a raw, unfiltered energy that sent chills down your spine.

It wasn’t just his talent that struck you, though. It was the way he poured himself into the performance, his passion evident in every note. Watching him was like seeing a different side of him, one that was bold and unreserved in a way that left you breathless.

When the set ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and Mark’s gaze flickered to you. The look in his eyes made your breath catch—like you were the only person in the room.

After the show, you waited as Mark packed up his gear. He made his way over to you, his face still flushed from the performance.

“So?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervous excitement. “What’d you think?”

“You were incredible,” you said honestly. “Like, seriously. I had no idea you were that good.”

Mark laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, your eyes meeting his. “You were amazing, Mark. I’m so glad I came.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Can I tell you something?”

Your heart raced, the noise of the bar fading into the background. “Of course.”

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for someone like you my whole life,” he said, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his words. “And now that you’re here, I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

His confession left you breathless, your heart swelling with emotions you’d been holding back.

“Mark…” you began, your voice catching.

But before you could say anything else, he reached for your hand, his touch warm and grounding.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his gaze earnest. “I just wanted you to know.”

The world around you seemed to fade as you looked at him, and in that moment, you knew you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I feel the same,” you said softly.

Mark’s eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face. “You do?”

You nodded, your own smile mirroring his. “I do.”

The space between you seemed to disappear as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world holding its breath.

And then, with a quiet certainty, Mark closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that felt like the culmination of every moment you’d shared.

When you pulled away, his smile was radiant, his hand still holding yours.

“Best gig ever,” he said, his voice filled with quiet joy.

You laughed, your heart feeling impossibly full. “Yeah,” you said, squeezing his hand. “It really was.”

────────────────────────

After that night, everything shifted—but in the most wonderful way. The kiss, soft and sincere, had opened a door between you and Mark, a door that led to something deeper, more certain. No longer was it just the occasional meeting or casual conversation—it was real, and it felt right. The space between you was now filled with trust, laughter, and a mutual understanding that grew with each passing day.

The next morning, your phone buzzed, and you saw a message from Mark:

Mark: Good morning :) Did last night really happen, or did I just dream it?

Your heart fluttered. The memory of his smile, the feel of his lips against yours, was still so fresh, so vivid.

You: Pretty sure it happened. Unless we had the same dream?

Mark: Crazy. So… what’re you doing today?

You smiled at the casual text, feeling a warmth spread through you. It had only been a few hours since you saw him last, yet his message made it feel like forever. You responded quickly, eager to continue the connection you were building.

You: I was thinking of going to that little café on Maple Street. Want to join?

Mark: You’re on. See you soon.

That question marked the beginning of another perfect day. You met Mark at the café, a cozy little spot you had both passed by several times but never had the chance to sit in. The moment he walked in, your eyes met, and a smile tugged at your lips. As always, his presence felt easy, like he belonged there, like he belonged with you.

The two of you found a corner by the window, sunlight streaming through and casting a warm glow on the table between you. As usual, the conversation flowed effortlessly, but there was an unspoken shift—a depth to your words, a quiet understanding that you had crossed into something different. Mark had this ability to make everything feel like it mattered, even when you were talking about the most trivial things. He listened with a sincerity that made your heart ache, and for the first time in your life, you felt seen, really seen, in the way that you’d always longed for.

After sipping your drinks and sharing a few laughs, you found yourselves strolling through a nearby park. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the ground, and there was a crispness to the air that felt perfect for walking side by side.

As you walked, your hands brushed—just the lightest touch at first, a casual accident. But then, his fingers lingered near yours, just enough for you to feel the pull of his touch. Without a word, you slid your hand into his, his fingers intertwining with yours as if it was the most natural thing in the world. A quiet thrill ran through you at the simplicity of it—the way your hand fit perfectly in his.

“Y/N,” Mark said, breaking the silence, his voice soft but steady.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his gaze on you. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about last night,” he continued, his voice carrying a seriousness that made your heart beat faster. “About us. And I know this is… kind of sudden, but I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to be with you. To kiss you. To be close to you. And I just want to be honest with you about something.”

Your pulse quickened, wondering what was coming next.

He took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts, and then he turned to face you fully, stopping in the middle of the path. “I want to be with you, Y/N. Like, really be with you. I don’t want to just keep hanging out and pretending like it’s not something more. I want to be your boyfriend, if that’s something you want too.”

The words hung in the air between you, so simple, yet so loaded with meaning. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the weight of the question settling over you, mixing with the warmth in your chest.

“I—” you started, your voice soft but full of emotion. “Mark, I want that too. More than you know.”

His face lit up at your response, his smile reaching his eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, as though he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, your hand tightening around his. “Yeah. I think I’ve been waiting for something like this—for someone like you.”

Mark’s smile softened, and he stepped closer, closing the space between you. “I don’t want to mess this up. I just—everything about this feels so right, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t expected—something far beyond what you’d imagined. “It does,” you agreed. “It really does.”

Mark’s gaze softened, and in that moment, all of the uncertainty you had both carried with you melted away. His hand cupped your cheek gently, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The world seemed to quiet around you, leaving only the steady thrum of your hearts in the air.

“I guess this is the part where I kiss you again?” Mark whispered, his lips teasing the air between you.

You nodded, feeling a playful grin tug at your own lips. “I think that sounds like a pretty good idea.”

With that, Mark closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender, but full of promise. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was the beginning of something more. Something real.

When you pulled back, Mark’s expression was filled with joy, but also an undeniable relief. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

You laughed softly, your heart still racing. “Me too.”

And just like that, everything between you clicked into place. It wasn’t something you had to define—it just was. There was no need for more words, because the feeling was clear, and it was mutual. You were Mark’s, and he was yours. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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tinkaaabutt · 7 days ago

Text

Supermodel- ekko.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A fix inspired by Supermodel by our fav liar sza!

Ekko leaned against the brick wall of the bodega, his skateboard resting beside him. The low hum of the city was like a song he couldn’t get out of his head—car horns blaring, laughter spilling from a nearby hookah lounge, and the faint bass of a song blasting out of someone’s car. He pulled his hoodie tighter against the chill of the evening, but his attention wasn’t on any of it.

It was on you.

You stepped out of the corner store, all legs and confidence, carrying a bag of snacks and a look that could stop traffic. Your oversized leather jacket fell off one shoulder, showing off a fitted tank top underneath. Gold hoops glinted in your ears, catching the light, and your sneakers—freshly creased Air Forces—were spotless, as usual.

You looked like you belonged in the pages of a magazine, but the thing was, you didn’t care about being noticed. And that’s what made it impossible not to.

“Damn, you just gonna keep staring?” you called out, your voice cutting through the city noise like a melody.

Ekko smirked, pushing off the wall. “Maybe. You make it kinda hard not to.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile playing on your lips betrayed you. “Don’t start, Ekko. What’re you even doing out here? Waiting for me?”

“Who says I wasn’t?” he shot back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, brushing past him. “Well, if you’re gonna waste your night following me, at least make yourself useful.”

You didn’t wait for him to catch up, but you didn’t have to. Ekko grabbed his board and fell into step beside you, matching your pace as you strolled down the block.

“Where we headed?” he asked, glancing over at you.

“Nowhere special,” you said with a shrug. “Just needed some air. You know how it is.”

Ekko nodded. He did know. Life could feel heavy sometimes, like you were carrying the weight of everyone else’s expectations. You wore yours well, though—like armor. But Ekko had seen enough to know it didn’t always feel like it fit.

“You good?” he asked after a moment.

You side-eyed him, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just asking,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You know, in case you needed someone to talk to or whatever.”

You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made his chest tighten. “You’re cute for that. But I don’t need a therapist, Ekko. I’m fine.”

He didn’t push it, but he didn’t believe you, either. Instead, he pulled a snack out of the bag you were carrying—a bag of spicy chips—and opened it without asking.

“Seriously?” you said, stopping to glare at him.

“What?” he said, popping a chip in his mouth. “You weren’t gonna share?”

“I didn’t say that,” you muttered, snatching the bag back. But your lips twitched, and Ekko knew he’d won.

The two of you wandered aimlessly, weaving through side streets and alleys lit by the warm glow of streetlights. The conversation shifted from light jokes to music recommendations, to shared memories that made both of you laugh until your stomachs hurt.

By the time you found yourselves sitting on a park bench, the city had quieted, and the air was filled with that late-night stillness that made everything feel softer.

“You ever think about how people see you?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Ekko glanced at you, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Like…” You hesitated, your fingers toying with the hem of your jacket. “People think I’ve got it all together, you know? Like I’m some kind of supermodel or whatever. But they don’t actually see me.”

Ekko leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you. “I see you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I see you. Not just the way you walk into a room like you own it, or the way you roast me every chance you get. I see the way you care about people, even when you don’t want them

to notice. I see the way you hustle, the way you never let anyone catch you slipping. I see you.”

Your laughter faded, replaced by a soft, almost vulnerable expression. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. For once, you didn’t have a witty comeback or a sharp edge to deflect with.

“You don’t gotta do that,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Act like I’m… more than what people see.”

“You are more,” Ekko said without hesitation. His brown eyes met yours, steady and unshaken. “And if nobody else is gonna remind you of that, I will.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. The city lights reflected in your eyes, and for a moment, Ekko forgot where he was.

“You’re really good at this, huh?” you said after a while, breaking the tension with a smirk.

“Good at what?”

“Making a girl feel seen,” you teased, though your voice was softer than usual. “Careful, hero. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Ekko chuckled, leaning back against the bench. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, clearly not expecting him to admit it so easily. “You don’t scare easy, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time, you didn’t have a quick retort. Instead, you leaned back, the tension in your shoulders easing as you let out a quiet sigh.

“Alright, Ekko,” you said, your voice light but sincere. “You think you can handle me? Let’s see if you’re about it.”

He grinned, pulling out his phone and holding it up like a microphone. “I’m ready for the interview. First question— how does it feel to be the most smartest caring girl on this lousy ass planet?”

You burst out laughing, swatting at his arm. “Shut up!”

“Not until you answer!”

And just like that, the heaviness between you melted away. The two of you stayed in the park for hours, talking about everything and nothing, stealing chips from each other’s bag, and daring the city to try and interrupt.

Because if ekko couldn't see anything he'd always will see you.

Ahhh i love him sm👌🏾👌🏾 i wrote this one for the non gay gyals hopefully theyll enjoy it

#ekko arcane #ekko x reader #black reader #league of lesbians #arcane #sevika #vi arcane

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bradshawssugarbaby · 11 months ago

Text

Can’t Help Falling In Love - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: -> When your newborn daughter can't sleep one night, Bradley knows just what to do.

A/N: Here’s a little blurb I did for @ohtobeleah’s Galentine’s Day challenge 🩷 This song is one that I sang/sing to my own baby, so I felt really inspired to just write some wholesome fluff with Bradley as a new dad singing it to his baby, and his wife 🩷

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x fem! reader

warnings/content: sickly sweet fluff with Bradley as a new dad and being romantic.

word count: 1k

“Shall I stay, would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling in love with you?”

You padded down the hallway to where the sound of your husband’s soft, melodic voice was echoing from. You entered your infant daughter’s room and smiled softly as you saw Bradley cradling baby Sawyer in his arms, humming softly to her as he kissed her head. You stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame as you looked on, Bradley none the wiser as you watched him comfort your baby.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Bradley shut his eyes delicately as he held Sawyer’s tiny body close to his chest, continuing to hum the notes of his favorite Elvis song in a soft, hushed tone as he rocked back and forth in an effort to lull his sweet girl to sleep. Bradley turned towards the door and opened his eyes to see you. His expression softened, melting into a sweet, content smile, his amber coloured eyes gazing at you from behind his thick, dark eyelashes that you’d always been envious of.

“Hi honey, sorry, Sawyer didn’t wanna go down, was just tryin’ to sing her to sleep. My mom used to sing this to me when I was a kid, she always swore it worked. Guess my dad used to sing it too,” Bradley huffed a soft, melancholic sigh as he thought back to his own father and how he had so little to remember him by, having passed just a month after Bradley turned two.

“It was sweet, I love hearing you sing,” you murmured quietly as you cozied up to Bradley’s side, smiling softly while you pressed your lips against his cheek in a tender, loving kiss.

“I think Sawyer likes hearing me too, she settled right down while I was singing to her.”

“That’s because you’re soothing her. She loves you and loves the sound of your voice, feeling you hold her close, it makes her feel safe.”

“It does?”

“Mhmm, you bet it does.”

Bradley smiled proudly as he glanced over at you, still hugging Sawyer close to his bare chest. Stroking her back gently, he pressed his lips to her forehead once again, gently kissing her as she snored softly. His pajama pants hung low on his waist, his toned, tan skin dotted with freckles. He never slept with a t-shirt on to begin with, but the minute he read that letting a newborn sleep on your bare chest was beneficial to the baby, he started to forgo wearing one at home at all. He dove all in, head first, the moment he found out you were pregnant, determined to be the kind of father his dad would be proud of, the kind of father his dad would have been if he’d had a chance to do it for more than two years.

Baby and parenting books had begun appearing throughout your home shortly after you’d told him, multiplying slowly, one by one as they began to collect on the shelf, magazines about raising children suddenly coming in the form of subscriptions to your door on a monthly basis. Bradley had begun coming home from a day of training, spouting off new ideas for names, suggesting whatever he heard or came across that day. He was as involved as anyone could hope for, his determination to be someone who made you proud, made his baby proud, and would have made his parents proud serving as a driving force to motivate him. On one occasion, you came home from spending a day out in the city to find every piece of nursery furniture perfectly assembled, waiting for your direction as to where you wanted it placed. As nervous as Bradley was about making you proud, there was never a single doubt in your mind about it - he was meant to be an excellent father, just like he was meant to be an excellent pilot. It was just who he was.

Bradley gently laid Sawyer down to sleep in her crib, smiling down at her as she stirred for a second, holding his breath as he hoped she stayed sleeping. As she continued to snore softly, he exhaled, relieved she was still sound asleep. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body in close to his as you both watched Sawyer in complete awe, almost unable to believe something so small and sweet could have come from either of you.

“Now, Mrs. Bradshaw, we’ve forgotten something important about today,” he whispered softly, stroking your hair as he tucked it behind your ear, his touch delicate and gentle.

“Hmm?”

“Valentine’s Day. We forgot it. I didn’t even remember to bring flowers home for you.”

“We did? Are you sure?”

“Positive. February 14th.”

You stifled a laugh as you shook your head, smiling at Bradley as he showed you today’s date on his phone screen. He kissed your forehead gently, his lips hovering for a moment as he hummed.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“There’s no need. Sawyer’s a pretty great Valentine’s Day gift.”

“She’s two months old, hun, I don’t think you having our baby counts as your gift.”

“Sure she does. You just gave her to me a little early.”

“More like you gave her to me. I didn’t do much.”

You extended your hand out to stroke Bradley’s cheek fondly, beaming as your eyes met his.

“You gave me her. Without you, I wouldn’t have Sawyer. And I wouldn’t have a loving, wonderful husband either. And, I wouldn’t get to hear you sing all the time.”

“Oh, you like the singing?” Bradley smirked, playfully whispering as he led you out of the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind you.

“I do, in fact.”

“Well then, honey—“ Bradley began before taking a breath and beginning to sing once more.

“Wise men say, ‘only fools rush in’, but I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #leahsgalentinesdayspecial

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chapel-of-ritual · 6 months ago

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Credit: Britt Mae for Melodic Magazine

#the band ghost #ghost bc #impera #re imperatour na #nameless ghouls #ghoul #phantom #era v

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dreamescapeswriting · 10 months ago

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Melodic Rivalry ~ KNJ

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

GENRE: Enemies to lovers, implied sexual interaction, surprise pregnancy, hiding pregnancy trope, angst, soft ending [Didn't include smut as it's an anon and I don't know your age, so it's implied that they have sex xx]

PAIRING: Namjoon x Fem!Reader

⤜MASTERLIST

You stared down at the magazine with a disgusted look on your face, a photo of you and Namjoon on the cover with giant smiles on your faces as you sat together but the shot wasn't real. The two of you could never sit still long enough for a photo to be taken so the magazine had to photoshop the two of you together to fit the story that they had written and published.

All about how you and Namjoon were the perfect team, both of you had undeniable talent and worked well together in the studio. Namjoon was a musician with the knack of composing soul-stringing melodies, his talent knew no bounds and his music had the oer to move even the most stoic of souls. You were a producer with an unparalleled ear for sound, with the ability to transform raw talent into polished masterpieces and despite working well together in the music industry that was where everything stopped.

The two of you were like oil and water - constantly at odds with each other. Your egos clashed, your opinions collided, and your tempers flared at the slightest provocation. Working together was fraught with tension, each session devolving into a battle of wills and creative differences but each time the music came out brilliantly.

As you got to the studio door you pushed it open and found it dimly lit, the only light coming from a soft glow of a mixing console. Namjoon sat at his piano, his fingers dancing across the keys getting lost in whatever he was composing so you stood at the soundboard, your arms folded across your chest as you stared at him. He was supposed to be working on something more upbeat, not another love ballad he was no doubt writing.

"Oh, how touching. Another one of your generic love ballads, I presume?" You asked sarcastically, ignoring the glare that Namjoon shot your way, his jaw tight as he stared down at the keys.

"If you have something to say, Yn, say it. Otherwise, keep your critiques to yourself." He said through gritted teeth.

"Typical. Can't handle a little criticism, can you?" You rolled your eyes at him.

"Criticism? All you do is tear down everything I create! You have no respect for my talent!"

"Respect? Please. You're the one who waltzes in here with your inflated ego and expects everyone to bow down to you."

The tension in the room was thick with unresolved animosity but you stared at one another, your eyes twitching.

"For someone who claims to hate my music so much, you spend a lot of time listening to it." You stared at him, shaking your head and scoffing a little. Of course, you listened to it, you had to because it was your job.

"That's because it's my job, you arrogant prick!" You cried out, your anger way past your boiling point now but Namjoon just stood up and took a step closer to you, his gaze burning with intensity.

"Is that the only reason?" He asked softly, your breath caught in your throat, your resolve weakening with each passing moment.

"Of course not." You whispered, your voice barely coming out. Your eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between you. And in that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet sanctuary of the studio.

Without a word, Namjoon closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. And then, in a rush of pent-up emotion, your lips met in a searing kiss—a collision of desire and frustration that sent shockwaves through you both.

For a moment, you were lost in each other, your bickering and resentment fading into the background as you surrendered to the undeniable chemistry that had always lingered between you.

But as quickly as it had begun, the moment passed, leaving you breathless and uncertain. You stepped away from him, your fingertips gently touching your lips as you stared at him.

"We shouldn't have done that." Your voice trembled a little as you looked up at Namjoon, his eyes were blazing.

"Why not? We both know there's something between us." He stares down at you.

"This... this is madness. We can't stand each other." You whimpered, shaking your head at him, Namjoon stepped closer to you though, his voice dropping as he stared down at you,

"Maybe that's because we're so alike. Two stubborn souls fighting against the inevitable." You determined to hate him, to push him away from you crumbled, your walls tumbling down in the face of Namjoon's unwavering honesty.

"We can't even stand to look at one another." You mumbled at him, it was true. The two of you could barely go ten minutes without a fight breaking out. The kiss had been a one-off, the passion and sparks you'd felt were nothing more than a static shock or something.

"Stop fighting it, are you scared?" He smirked at you and you hated him for it. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face,

"No," You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes as you tried to ignore the way your heart was thumping for him, the way your palms were sweating.

"Everyone knows we should be together, we should just embrace it," Namjoon smirked, your eyes meeting as you bit down on your lip. You had your reservations, the two of you bickered like an old married couple and you weren't sure it was healthy.

"Stop overthinking it," He whined before your lips met once more, the tentative kiss turning quickly into a fiery passion neither of you could deny. Your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as finally that pent-up tension and longer erupted into a raw and unbridled kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for so long." Namjoon rushed out, his voice husky as you worked on unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing,

"Me too." You breathed out, kissing him deeply as he carefully took you over to the sofa, both of your clothes being strewn around the room as the kiss between you heated up once again.

Ever since that night in the studio with Namjoon, you did everything within your power to avoid him, you started working from home, switching to another group to work with not being able to face him but today had been inevitable, you had to go into work because of a meeting with Hannah, your manager and also one of your best friends.

The two of you had shared one night of unbelievable passion but when you woke up the next morning he was gone, his clothes were gone and there was a note on his desk asking you to lock up when you were dressed. Since there you'd not even received a text asking how you were, or even a call and you hated him more for it.

I've wanted this for so long.

Had been such bullshit, something he was saying just so that he could get laid, anger bubbled inside of you until you snapped the pencil you were holding.

"You okay? You look unwell," Hannah said as she gently rubbed your back, you were feeling a little under the weather but you put it down to the fact that you were going to have to face Namjoon sometime soon.

"Just a little queasy, that's all." You said with a forced smile, trying to brush it off but Hannah narrowed her eyes at you and exchanged a look with John, one of your other work friends.

"You've been feeling off for a while now, maybe take some holiday days." He suggested with a furrowed brow. It wasn't like you to get sick which was a little concerning for all of them.

"Yeah, maybe you're right." You muttered weakly, slowly standing up from the desk as your stomach churned with anxiety and a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Yn?" Hannah called out but you sat back down in the chair, your bin between your legs as you threw up the contents of your stomach again.

"Here, drink this," John said as he slid you over a glass of water, Hannah was running to her desk and rummaging through it all.

"Hans? What are you looking for?" You mumbled, wiping your mouth with a tissue and staring at her as she walked back over to you.

She was the only person other than you and Namjoon that knew what happened in that studio 6 weeks ago and John frowned at the blue box.

"Take it," She told you plainly, John sent her a puzzled look with confusion written across his face.

"I...I can't...It'll make it all real," You'd had your suspicions that it was true but you figured if you ignored it long enough and denied it then it couldn't be real.

"Take it, we'll be here for you, no matter what," Hannah told you as John nodded, helping you stand up as they all walked you toward the women's toilets.

Those three minutes you were supposed to wait for the test felt like three hours, each second ticking by tortuously slowly as you, John and Hannah stared around the small office waiting for it to tell you the truth.

"Time," John said as his watch began to beep, your hand linked with Hannah's and you stared down at the pink stick, tears brimming inside of your eyes.

"I'm pregnant." Your voice trembled and instantly you were engulfed in a hug from your two favourite people.

"Work from home until we figure something out," Hannah told you, running her hands over your cheeks and wiping away the tears.

It had been almost five months since discovering you were pregnant and you'd done everything you could to hide it from Namjoon. If he had done everything to get you to leave him alone after your night together then you weren't going to tell him about the kid but the weight of hiding it was crushing you.

You paced around your office, a mix of fear and uncertainty raging inside of you as you waited for John to hurry back with the next stack of assignments you needed to work through.

"Everything is there, I'm sorry I promise next time I'll bring them to you. I'm just swamped." John said as he gave you a bag, you nodded quickly kissing his cheek and making a dart out of the door. You needed to get out of the building before anyone could spot you and the news got back to Namjoon.

Lost in your thoughts as you walked through the halls, you nearly collided with someone as you rounded a corner. You slowly looked up and whimpered finding Jungkook standing there,

"Hey! Sorry! Are you alright?" He frowned staring at you,

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He laughed nervously but you just shook your head at him,

"I'm fine, just a bit...distracted." You said with a forced smile but Jungkook's browns knotted together as he slowly looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your swollen belly/

"Is everything okay? You look like you're about to pop.." He laughed softly and your heart raced, panic bubbling up inside of you as you struggled to come up with an explanation. Jungkook had seen you those seven months back coming out of Namjoon's studio with a freshly "fucked" look on your face.

"Yeah, everything's good. Just...tired, that's all." You said hesitantly, smiling weakly as he stared down at you.

"It's his...right?" He waited for you to say something but you didn't even want to admit it to yourself, admitting it to Namjoon's bandmember was going to be damn near impossible,

"Jungkook." You pleaded, shaking your head at him as if asking him to stop all of this.

"Yn, is it his?" You stared at him, your stomach churning with anxiety as you tried to think of something to say but your mind was racing at a million words a second.

"Please, Jungkook, you can't tell Namjoon. He can't know about the baby." Jungkook's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at you. Everyone knew how badly Namjoon wanted to be a father and hiding something like this from him would no doubt kill him.

"Why didn't you tell him? He has a right to know." He didn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, he knew you were pregnant and in a delicate place right now but Namjoon deserved to know he was going to have a kid.

"He lost that right when he made it clear that night meant nothing to him like he claimed it did." You grumbled, pulling your coat over to cover your bump to make sure no one else was likely to see you.

"Yn," Jungkook said slowly but you held your hand up,

"Don't make excuses for him Jungkook. He fucking used me." Your voice trembled as tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of everything finally causing you to crack.

"You can't hide this from him forever. He has a right to know."

"Just let me figure things out first." You mumbled, begging him as he stared down at you.

"Fine." He stared at you as you nodded, slowly walking away from him as you felt an impending doom hanging over you, threatening to shatter everything you'd built to protect yourself.

After you left Jungkook stood outside of Namjoon's studio, his heart heavy with the weight of the truth he was about to reveal. As much as he wanted to keep your secret he didn't want to do that to his friend and he knew there was more to the story than Namjoon ignoring you after a night together.

"Joonie, we need to talk." He said as he walked into the studio, Namjoon frowned at him but nodded for the youngest member to sit down.

"What's up?" He asked him slowly as Jungkook's throat tightened, his head muddled trying to find the right way to say it.

"It's about Yn." Namjoon's hand on his pen tightened,

"What about her?" He asked, animosity laced in his voice as he thought about you.

"She wanted to come crawling back to us? I don't want her working with us anymore." He grumbled out, Jungkook eyed him up as he stared at him wondering what had gone so terribly wrong between the two of you.

"She's not welcome here anymore."

"Why?" There was going to be no more dancing around the topic and not mentioning your name as if you were Voldemort.

"She knows what she did wrong." He hissed making Jungkook frown. It seemed the two of you believed the other was in the wrong.

"What did she do, Hyung?"

"She slept with me when she had a boyfriend waiting for her at home." Jungkook knew you were single, you'd devoted every single second of your life to music.

"Boyfriend? Noona doesn't have a boyfriend."

"So who was John? He was texting her all night, asking where she was and when she was going to go back to him because he was waiting for her back home." None of that made sense,

"John is one of her co-workers, he works with TXT," Jungkook told him before realisation began to register with Namjoon who the man had been.

"So...W...What did you want to talk to me about?" Jungkook sighed a little.

"She's pregnant, Namjoon. Seven months along." Namjoon's world came to a crashing halt as he stared at him, his mind reeling in disbelief and confusion.

"How?" He asked shocked, Jungkook hesitated, his gaze filled with sympathy as he watched everything hit Namjoon.

"You know how." He said softly but Namjoon just stared at the floor. The truth hits him like a ton of bricks, everything falls into place. Your sudden avoidance, working from home and refusing to be their producer anymore. It was all making sense now.

"She's carrying my child," He whispered as Jungkook sighed a little.

"She asked me not to tell you but you needed to know," Namjoon nodded at him, barely acknowledging him as he slowly got up and made his way out of the studio.

Before he knew what was happening Namjoon was outside your place and knocking on the door. He knew it was going to be hard to talk to you about all of this since so much time had passed but it was time to face the truth.

"We have to talk." Namjoon said as soon as you opened the door to him, your chest aching with seeing him standing there. You knew Jungkook wouldn't have been able to keep his mouth shut so you'd been preparing for him.

"What about?" You stared at him as he took in a deep breath,

"About the baby," His eyes were filled with something you'd never seen from him before, he looked so vulnerable.

"What about the baby?" You asked, stepping to the side and letting him into your apartment.

"I want to be a part of their life, Yn. I want to be there for them, to watch them grow up, to be their father." Your breath caught in your throat at his words,

"Why? You practically kicked me out the night after we had sex so why all of a sudden do you care?"

"I thought you had a boyfriend! Okay? I saw a text from John and I thought-"

"That I was whoring myself out to everyone so you just decided to give me the cold shoulder?" You snapped angrily at him, you couldn't believe he would do something like this.

"You're the one hiding my child from me!" He grumbled at you and you sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

"This is why we can't do it together. We fight all the time, we just scream at each other." You mumbled, sitting down on the sofa and feeling completely defeated.

"Yn."

"Can you look at me and tell me that when this baby comes it'll work out between us?" You didn't want to keep his kid from him but you also were scared of everything that was coming,

"No."

"So-"

"But I love you, okay? Fuck, I've loved you for so long and I just never show it right." You stared at him in complete shock.

"I love you and I love our baby. I may not have been ready to admit it before, but now...now I can't imagine life without you."

"But-" You barely had a chance to object before Namjoon continued.

"The last seven months without getting to see you have been torture. I miss the jabs you used to say, I miss seeing you...Please."

"We've both made mistakes, Yn. But that doesn't mean we can't try and make things right. For the sake of our child, and for the sake of our love." Tears built inside of your eyes as you struggled to process everything.

"I want to believe you, I do...but...But I'm scared. Scared of getting hurt, scared of losing you again." You finally admit, your tears free falling as you finally let yourself admit you loved him back, that you were hopelessly in love with him.

"I won't let that happen, Yn, I promise you. Just give me a chance to prove it to you and show you how much you mean to me."

"I love you too," You whispered to him, your heart racing as he smiled down at you.

"We can try." You told him as he hugged you close to him,

"Tell me everything I've missed? D-Do you have photos?" You nodded at him, slowly taking him through to your bedroom to get the album you'd already started making of your ultrasounds.

A soft glow filled the cosy living room as you and Namjoon sat together on the couch, your laughter mingling with the sound of your son's joyful giggles. It had been a year since that fateful night when Namjoon had shown up on your doorstep, and in that time, your lives had changed in ways you could have never imagined.

Your son toddled around the room with boundless energy, his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement as he chased after his favourite toy. Namjoon watched him with a smile, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of his little boy.

"Look at him go, babe. He's getting so big." He said with a giant grin on his face, you smiled as you stared at him, your eyes shining with love as she reached out to ruffle his hair.

"He's growing up so fast. I can't believe he's already a year old." You whined, you hated that it was going too quickly. You wanted him to stay young forever.

"I'm so grateful for you, Yn. For him. For everything." Namjoon said as he kissed your head softly. Your heart swelled with emotion at his words, your eyes shining with unshed tears as you reached out to take his hand in yours.

"And I'm grateful for you, Namjoon. For giving us a second chance, for never giving up on us." Your voice shook a little and he kissed you softly.

In that moment, as you sat together in the warmth of your shared love, you knew that they had found something truly special—a love that had weathered the storms of doubt and uncertainty, emerging stronger and more resilient than ever before.

@chiisaiblog@sw33tnight@kaitieskidmore97@laylasbunbunny@tinyoonsblog@whitefoxgirl@katnisspeetaprim@acciocriativity@choisoorin@heyjiminnie@btsiguess-kpop@halesandy@gothic4under4lord@soulphoenix1618@aerastus@jin-from-the-block@lenfilms@elizaschuyler18@piratequeen-impact @Namgiswifey@delulu18@xyahrinx@katsukis1wife@anthropologymajorkpopmultistan@blairscott@4-chan-inpadella@swga-ficrecs@niktwazny303@armystay89@myyouthdonut@xakx@kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy@kpopmenace143@loveforred@b1nn1e-1s-cut3@elissasimp @royallyjjk @parkjennykim @piercedddriver

#bts #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts imagines #namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #namjoon imagines #kim namjoon #kim namjoon imagine #kim namjoon imagines #kim namjoon x reader

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jadedxhearts · 11 months ago

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𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐞

Law ends up falling asleep in his office, but is quickly waken up as he starts having a wet dream about you. Needing to get off, Law discovers you’ve left a pair of panties on his desk; the perfect thing to help aid him.

Warnings: afab reader, no pronouns, nsfw minors dni

Originally posted on Aug. 18th, 2023

repost from my main @jadedrrose as a part of my most popular fics event.

While it wasn’t strange for Law to be up late, it certainly was odd for him to fall asleep at his desk. He’d almost always avoid it, saying things about how it’s bad for his back.

Which is why you found it quite odd that he hadn’t come back to your room yet. You’d woken up for some water, only to find the other half of your bed cold and empty.

Sighing, you stretched and drank some of the water on your nightstand, before deciding to go drag your boyfriend back to bed.

—

It’d only been about fifteen minutes.

The day was long and tiring, especially with the crew having routine medical exams all day. Law was exhausted, to say the least. He’d been reviewing papers at his desk when he felt his eyes become heavy. The last thing he’d managed to see before passing out was the clock, which read 12:16 am.

At 12:31, Law woke up. He found it odd he’d only slept for such a short amount of time. Normally he’d be passed out for a good hour before either he woke up and went to bed, or before you’d come and bring him back.

His body was heavy and tense. He felt hot and disheveled, despite only being asleep for not even half an hour. Yawning, Law realized there was a certain tightness constricting his body that could only mean one thing.

Glancing downward with a tired gaze, Law groaned and promptly rolled his gray eyes at the sight. He was hard. Extremely hard, enough that it was nearly painful as his length strained against his jeans. That’s when Law remembered…

He’d dreamt about you in those fifteen minutes that he’d fallen asleep.

In the dream, Law entered his office, feeling upset over various things, just generally feeling annoyed and irritable. But of course, you could always make him feel better.

You were sitting on his desk, bare body just barely illuminated underneath the dim candle lighting of the room. Your legs hung off the front of the desk, arms behind you as they held your body up. Your breasts seemed so round and full underneath the lighting, drawing Law’s attention to them before anything else. He licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to suck on them, feed off of you.

But then your face stole the attention away. Your cheeks were flushed red, mouth hung open with drool spilling past your wet lips. Your eyes were halfway closed, lazily. There was a look on your face that seemed somewhere between desperate and fucked-out.

You looked something straight out of one of those magazines with prostitute pirates in them. Something Law always turned his nose up to, having less than zero interest in. But now, he can’t help but think how good you’d look on one, displayed so prettily for everybody to see.

He approached you, placing a hand on your right thigh, squeezing the soft skin. “Need some help, y/n?”

“Please Law,” you begged, biting down on your lips. “It hurts so bad, need you in me now.”

He kissed you before looking over your body from a front angle now, his eyes landing on your swollen pussy. Your body would tense every other moment, your cunt slightly contracting as you squeezed the muscles in it, clenching on nothing.

Law moved to kneel, burying his face into your sopping cunt after he took in a deep breath, inhaling your sweet lewd scent.

But just as his tongue could squirm inside you with a loud, melodic moan leaving you, it was all over.

Law panted, realizing he had to do something about the monstrosity in his pants right away. There was no way he could walk back to his room like this, and in his state of being blinded with lust, he entirely forgot to think of using his powers to teleport you into the office.

Law quickly tossed his shirt off, unzipping his jeans before throwing them open and freeing his aching cock. Wrapping one hand around the shaft, he let out a hiss from the contact. Shit, he was already feeling as though he could cum at any moment.

Then, in the back of his mind, Law recalled you coming in here last night and riding him while he sat at the desk. And how you’d left your panties in the corner of his desk.

Gray eyes searched his desk, finding the pair of black lace panties sitting just where you’d left them. Law, unable to control himself from the horniness, snatched the pair with his right hand, using his left to squeeze his length. It was so dirty, but Law didn’t quite care right now. He was so turned on by the idea that he didn’t even question doing it; Law brought the black panties up to his face, breathing in the sweet scent of your cunt lingering on them.

As the smell hit his nose, Law’s hips bucked upward, and suddenly he was stroking his cock with fever, needing to cum as soon as possible. Taking in one last breath of your intoxicating scent, Law reluctantly let go of his cock, fisting the panties into his left hand as he wrapped them around his engorged, needy cock, now using them to jerk himself off.

A moan escaped him, head falling forward as he rutted up into his hand, feeling the lace of your panties pleasantly rubbing against his reddened, swollen tip.

“Fuck, y/n…” he breathed out, biting his lip and clenching his right hand as he kept rubbing his length.

—

You’d expected Law to be completely passed out when you found him. However, what you ended up discovering was the last thing you expected from somebody like him.

With a careful hand, you quietly opened the metal door so as to not wake up your lover. But as soon as your head poked into the room, taking one step in, you could hear it.

Law’s voice sounded broken and weak, as he moaned and whimpered your name. You scanned the room before your eyes landed on where he sat, jeans around his ankles as he had a hand wrapped around his cock, some sort of fabric in the hand which held his member… but, were those-

Your panties?

Law was using your panties to get off.

Gasping, you quickly shut the door behind you before somebody walked by and walked into the scene, much like you had. Only, this is something that only you’d like to witness.

Law seemed scared by the sudden noise, his entire body jumping as he turned his head to look at you. But, his hand never stopped moving. His mouth hung open, pathetic whines leaving his lips as he looked at you, pitifully.

“Y/n,” he whined, dragging out the end of your name. “Baby, h-help.”

You approached Law, getting a better look at the sight before you.

“This is what you’re doing? Instead of coming back to bed?”

“I fell asleep, a-nd… when I woke up, I was so hard,” he mumbled, a few gasps escaping him as his hips jerked and rutted upward.

“What do you want me to do?” You asked, pulling his hat off of his head to reveal messy, sweaty locks of black hair.

“J-just… undress, or something, I dunno…”

“Okay,” you smiled, placing a kiss onto Law’s forehead, before pulling your tank top over your shoulders, revealing your breasts to Law. As the shirt got pulled away, they bounced as they released from their hold. The sight caused Law to let out a loud, desperate moan.

Next was your pajama shorts, quickly followed by your panties. You figured Law needed more of a show to get off, so you hopped up onto his desk, spreading your legs for him to see your glistening cunt.

You could feel yourself throbbing, knowing Law masturbating to you was turning you on way more than it should’ve. So as to not waste time, you licked two fingers, bringing your hand down to begin playing with your puffy pussy lips.

Using the two fingers to spread your lips, Law got a good look at your hole, a groan leaving him as you clenched around nothing, much like you had in his dream.

Once you deemed yourself wet enough, you dove in, inserting one finger into your cunt. You whined, using your free hand to grope your breast, kneading at the plushy skin while pinching and pulling your nipple in between.

Quickly, the room became filled with the lewdest noises you’d ever heard. Law’s desperate whimpers, the squelching of your wet pussy as you fingered yourself, combined with your’s and Law’s mixed moans, both of you coming undone at the sight of each other.

With you now aiding him, Law was able to finish. But, the urge to finish in you took his body over, as he tossed the panties away, grabbed your hips with one hand and used the other to pull your hand out of your cunt, before shoving his aching cock into your wet hole.

As soon as his length was buried in you, Law’s hot sticky cum spilled inside you, whimpers and cries escaping his mouth as he gripped your hips so harshly you knew there’d be marks later.

Feeling the seed filling you up, you began cumming too, body shaking as your hips jerked up to meet Law’s thrusts, pretty moans leaving your lips.

You both eventually calmed down, you collapsing backwards to lay flat on the desk, while Law fell forward to lay on top of you, his cock still deep inside you.

“F-fuck,” he cursed, burying his face into your neck.

You let out a light-hearted chuckle, beginning to run your fingers through his hair. “Should’ve just told me you needed help, baby,” you whispered, feeling Law’s exhausted body tremble against you. “Though, I did enjoy the show.”

“Y-you’re not mad I used your panties?” He asked, voice weak.

“Of course not,” you smiled, a cute giggle leaving you.

“Th-that’s… good to know.”

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