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annievrse · 10 days ago

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ship's seamstress

roronoa zoro x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: as the sunny's seamstress, it's your job to make new clothes for the crew. so what happens when it's zoro's turn for his measurements? w/c: 1.4k c/w: (very) suggestive, flirting a/n: its cuffing season soon, after all. this is pure thirst.

"Alright! Zoro, it's your turn," Nami says, walking out of the stairs that lead under the ship.

Hiding his smug look, Zoro brushes past the navigator as he takes lazy steps down to your studio. The rest of the crew had their measurements taken for their new clothes, but Zoro stayed behind and insisted that he be the last one to do so.

The chatter of his crewmates fades to silence as the door closes, and he walks down the barren hallway, only the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. A familiar but restless feeling rises in his chest, one that can only be roused by you, and Zoro rubs at his sternum. He can hear you humming, something that only happens when you’re giddy, and the feeling in his chest grows tenfold.

Without knocking, the swordsman pushes the door open. Despite the red silks hanging from the curtain rod, the blue muslin draped on the hutch against the wall, and the chest of buttons that had spilled on the rug, Zoro's gaze zeros in on you like it always does.

You stand at your desk, your back to the door, different fabrics splayed over your workspace. Your hands move, calculating and purposefully as you pair colours and materials together.

"Don't think too hard about what to put me in," Zoro quips, shutting the door behind him. "I don't wear a shirt that much anyway."

The sound of his voice, paired with his words, warms your whole body. You turn around and lean against the desk, hands gripping the edge.

Tilting your head, your eyes scan his build. His thick biceps and broad chest make it hard to focus on the task at hand, and the look in his eye isn't helping either.

"Not sure my measuring tape will go the whole way around."

Zoro scoffs, dropping his head. "Were you like this with the rest of your clients today?"

"Only the annoying ones."

Rolling his eyes, Zoro steps before you, his knee slipping between your thighs. "You think everyone's annoying."

You shrug and reach behind you for the string. "Back up, big boy."

Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Zoro reaches behind his neck and pulls the back of his shirt over his head. You refrain from glancing at his happy trail for too long.

But Zoro notices everything about you and stretches his arms out with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"

You blink. "Well, what?"

"Will it fit?"

There's a mischievous glint in his eye that excites you. Clearing your throat, you sigh. You're both on thin ice with the crew waiting impatiently for their clothes; who knows when they'd barge into your studio to get their hands on their goods.

"Maybe if your boobs weren't so big..."

"They're pecs." His eyes flicker to your chest, and he runs his hand over his hair, his earrings clinking together as he tilts his head slightly.

Ignoring him, you run the string through your fist and stretch it out.

Standing this close to Zoro will never fail to make your head spin and your breath shorten. His usual musky man smell engulfs you, and you swallow the dryness in your throat. Wrapping your arms around his back, your chest presses against him, the feeling all too familiar.

Shoving the thought to the back of your mind proves more problematic than anticipated, but nonetheless, you catch the other end of the string with your right hand and circle it around to his sternum.

Much to your chagrin, the ends of the string barely meet.

You can practically hear the smirk on his lips.

"Do you still need me here? Or do you have all my measurements memorised, pretty girl?"

Scoffing, you let go of the string and step back, meeting his piercing gaze with your own. "Shut up and sit down."

Raising his hands in faux surrender, Zoro smiles. "Yes, ma'am."

Turning back to your desk, you quickly get to work. You won't give Zoro the satisfaction of saying you did, in fact, already have his measurements retained, but what can you say? You're good at your job. It's definitely not from the countless hours you spend admiring him, watching him hone himself into a weapon, or pressing yourself against him whenever the moment arises.

It's definitely, only because you're a trained seamstress.

You round your desk and sit in the chair, pulling the machine closer to you. Shaking your head softly, you rid your mind of flashes of his sweaty abdomen and thick thighs. He'd invited you to watch his previous workout, cocky bastard.

With shaky hands, you narrowly miss putting your thumb through the sewing machine — you should've sent him away before you started thinking of him like this. And with him not 5 feet away, you're sure he can see what you're thinking.

But unbeknownst to you, Zoro watches you from across the room, his skin hot and mind full of thoughts of you, you, you. He sees you swallow thickly, and he shifts in his chair, the creak jolting you from your daze.

"What?" Zoro asked, his eyebrows furrowed at your surprise.

"Nothing," You squeak, running the sleeve hem through your sewing machine. "Just forgot you were there."

"Forgot, huh?"

Rolling your eyes, you ignore his cocky expression.

Instead of pushing you further, Zoro gets comfortable, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. His eye follows your hands as you work, and all he can think about is your fingers wrapped around—

"Zo?"

Blinking, Zoro's head snaps up, and he fears you can hear what he's thinking. "Yeah?"

His unusual demeanour confuses you, but you stand from your chair and walk toward him, a black garment in your hands.

Your hands—

Zoro clears his throat and sniffs, looking everywhere but your fingers.

"Try this on."

It's not a question but a demand, and Zoro can feel his cocky facade slipping as he stands, muscles rippling as he rolls his shoulders back.

You hand the shirt over to him gingerly, hands clammy. Zoro smiles softly and takes it, tongue darting to wet his lips.

Zoro doesn't inspect it before he puts it on—he already knows it'll fit perfectly. The fabric is soft on his skin, and it's the right amount of tight.

A black long-sleeve that hugs his narrow waist and broad chest, his veiny forearms and thick biceps.

You have to refrain from squealing at the sight of him, and he knows it, too.

Zoro hums in approval, turning to the small mirror you have by the hutch to look over the shirt. He smirks at you through the mirror and you shake your head, a giggle leaving your lips at what you know he'll do next.

And if you had a berry for every time Zoro had purposefully flexed in front of you, you'd have enough to pay his bounty. So, when the fabric stretches just right to accommodate the pressure of his flexed bicep, you physically swoon, and Zoro laughs a laugh only reserved for you.

You walk toward him and place your hands on his waist. "Do you like it?"

Zoro rests one hand on the back of your head and the other on your neck.

"Silly question, pretty," He presses his lips to your hairline. "Thank you."

You close your eyes and bask in his strong embrace. "I—"

A sharp rip, followed by a gasp and a deep laugh, draws you from your stupor. Maybe he had gotten bigger.

"Turn," a shocked laugh leaves your lips, and you inspect the damage with your other hand covering your mouth. Shocked because you're surprised it happened this quickly.

Your fingers trace his spine, fingertips probing the raw edges of the fabric. As you do so, you calculate how much extra fabric to leave on the new shirt so this doesn't happen again.

Zoro tries to look over his shoulder. "Well, shit, that sucks."

"Terribly," You sigh absentmindedly, feeling goosebumps arise on his skin. "I wasn't aiming to boost your ego this fast."

Scoffing, Zoro turns back around. The shirt sits loosely around his shoulders but still tightly on his arms, and you can barely take it anymore.

"Take your shirt off."

Zoro inhales sharply, his eye narrowing. "Keep talkin' like that, and we're gonna have problems."

"Oh, yeah?" You smile. "Would you like new pants too?"

The swordsman looks to the ceiling and mumbles something incoherent. He lowers his head, and you can feel your chest tighten at his fiery gaze. "You're gonna kill me."

Shrugging with a smile, you begin cutting more material, leaving just enough allowance to get the desired look without the possibility of the shirt ripping (not that you're complaining).

#roronoa zoro x fem!reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro imagine #zoro imagine #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #— ann writes!

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endless-ineffabilities · 4 months ago

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chemical override (5)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: the support for this fic has been amazing, so trust me when I say that I take no pleasure in all the angst and heartache that follows (or do I?) I'm sorry, readers. I'm sorry, Ewan. We'll sort this out somehow - all my love, Freyja <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

A beginning. A first date. Whispers, sightings abound. Falling in love. A necessary lie. Hearts breaking. An end.

Ewan stands in a studio backlot in LA, bouquet of flowers clasped in one hand while the other is nervously stuffed in his tracksuit pocket.

He's itching for a smoke, but he stops himself from doing so, in some lovesick attempt to keep himself as clean and nice-smelling as possible when he sees you again. He already mentally kicked himself for not dressing better, clad in his staple Adidas blacks. But he couldn't wait any longer.

His flight from New York to LA hadn't been the most pleasant. His mind raced for hours, the thought of you being his only consolation. His meeting did not go well.

But enough of it. There is you, here, now.

In this moment, you are all that matters.

The first couple of workers make their way out the studio doors, chatting enthusiastically despite their tired faces. Ewan shuffles on his feet, keeping an eye out for you. Soon enough, your assistant Clara exits, and he waves in an attempt to get her attention.

"Ewan!" she greets brightly. "She'll be out in a while. Are those flowers?" A blush materialises on her face, and she looks so excited Ewan awkwardly thinks she would take them for herself.

"Yeah, do you think she'll like them?" he asks, giving the bouquet a once-over. The classic dozen long-stemmed red roses, kept together with black-dyed muslin wrap.

"She'll love them!" As if perfectly timed, the doors open again, and they spot you walking out with several of your co-stars. Clara smiles to herself as she walks away to give you two some space.

When your eyes land on him, it's like everything falls into place, the ear-splitting smile you give him enough to quell any worries he might have. You meet each other halfway, melding together in an embrace so tight he nearly drops the flowers to the ground.

"Look who it is," you say, still wrapped in his arms, "the internet's babygirl."

"Just your baby, darling." He pulls apart, but only just enough to look at you. "I missed you."

"Mmm, I can see that."

You're about to comment on the flowers, but he can't hold back any longer.

And so your first proper kiss happens behind an LA studio, adjacent to the parking lot and surrounded by prying eyes. The burnt orange haze of the sunset peers from the horizon, casting a glow on the scene. And it's perfect. His lips are gentle as they dance with yours, his warm breath fanning your face when he breaks apart for mere milliseconds, only to resume the kiss as if he can never get enough.

A moment later, there's a couple of woohoos from a distance, your costars oooing and aahing at the sight, making you giggle against Ewan's lips.

"Shall we, then, darling?" Ewan asks.

"Shall we?" Your brows raise, mirroring his question.

"Our first date." He takes a step back, but only to ceremoniously hold his hand out for you to take. "Will you do me the honour?"

"Why, good sir, are we going on a regular date or some super fancy ball?" you laugh, lacing your fingers with his anyway.

He only smiles, planting yet another kiss on the corner of your mouth. "God, I missed you."

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You can't help but cast glances at him every now and then. Ewan, effortlessly cool as he drives the both of you across LA, with one veiny hand gripping the steering wheel while the other envelops yours on your lap.

His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, and you're thankful for it; you need the comfort because you're growing nervous. A first date.

A first date! And not just with anyone.

"What is it?" he smirks, his eyes finding yours as the car idles at an intersection. There's a smugness there. He caught you staring.

You avert your gaze, a pleasant wave of heat rising to your face.

"Hmm?" he leans across, pecking your cheek and resting his forehead against your hair, eager to get a rise out of you. "I mean, I've been told I'm handsome, darling. You already know, something of a babygirl. But it's even more special that you think so."

The light turns green. You grab his jaw, and lightly push him away, raising your eyebrows. "Careful, baby," you smile knowingly. "Your Aemond is showing."

"Oh, yeah?" The car revs up again, rows of palm trees speeding past in a blur. "Does that - uhh - turn you on?"

Your head snaps to him at his bold insinuation. He gives off an unaffected air, smirking to himself in an undeniably hot what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it way. But you make him nervous too. He swallows, and clears his throat, anticipating your response.

"Maybe," you bite your lip, squeezing his hand harder, "but you don't need to put on your Aemond to turn me on."

"Just me, then?" he chuckles lowly, feeling lighter.

"Yup," you shrug. "But if you ever wanna put on a blonde wig and an eyepatch, I won't stop you."

"For when, darling?" Oh he knows what you meant. It's been a constant on his mind too. He's lost count of the nights when thoughts of you consume him, and what happy news it is that you might have been going through the same.

"Mmm... " You look out the window innocently, but you guide his hand higher up on your thigh, allowing his fingers to splay open and squeeze at the flesh covered only by the material of your jeans.

A minute passes. Driving past a street of exclusively only mansions and expensive cars. Then downtown, low-rise buildings as far as the eye can see. Another minute, slow and steady.

Then he says, "You're going to fucking drive me insane, baby."

A soft sigh escapes your lips. "Well, you started it."

He sneers, accompanied by a humourless shake of his head. "I think you overestimate my self-control." The air is thick, but it's quickly diffused when he pulls into a clearing. You realise you're out of the main road, the car slowly coming to a halt in an empty lot beside a low brick building.

"We're here, darling," he says, but he gives you a look that clearly means this matter isn't over. You have something of his, and he's going to claim it.

He half-jogs over to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his.

"Where are we?" The building is nondescript, with a plain white facade, a small cafe and a laundromat on street level, both of which happen to be closed.

"Had to call in a favour from an old mate of mine. His family moved here from Derby a couple of years ago, and they own that laundromat over there," he explains, leading you inside through a door in the side alley.

You're met with a narrow flight of stairs and he gestures for you to go ahead. "What have you got up your sleeve, Mitchell?" you ask, excitement taking root as you climb up to the very top.

It only takes three floors before you reach the heavy steel door of the roof deck. He shuffles to your side, one hand on your back to keep you steady, and pushes the door open which relents with a loud squeak.

You're met with something you have only seen before on Pinterest boards - the rooftop is softly aglow from hanging string lights. In the far side, a screen projector is set up, and in front of it is a low plush sofa cocooned amidst throw blankets and cushions. There's a wooden tray on one on the blankets, containing treats of all sorts and a bottle of wine glistening in its ice bucket.

You take in the magical ambience of the scene with widened eyes. The haze of faint LA sunlight only serves to make everything more beautiful, though it seems hardly necessary.

"Do you like it, darling?" he asks and what a ludicrous question it is. Do you like it?

He continues, "I admit I didn't have to lot of time to set it up, and I had a bit of help but - mmmpph - "

You lace your hands around his neck, silencing him with a searing kiss. He moans unto you, his tongue dipping past your lips as he nearly relinquishes control. He could forget about the set up, the date he had planned, and just take you here on the rooftop. Would you let him?

"I take it that everything is to your liking?" he purrs, watching you in adoration as your head swivels on its own accord to canvas the scene yet again.

You spot something in the corner - a bouquet of fresh flowers surrounded by some lightweight paper lanterns.

"Oh no!" you moan. "The flowers you gave me... I left them in the car!"

He laughs fondly at the sheer panic on your face. "Don't worry about them, my love. I've got more flowers for you here." He points to the bouquet you just saw.

"But those ones... won't they wilt or something? I don't want them to go to waste."

His heart swells at your genuine concern. The furrow between your brows, the way you chew on your lip in worry, your fingers absentmindedly clutching his wrist - it all makes him fall even harder.

"They'll be fine, darling."

"Are you sure?"

He nods once, pulling you in, "Mhmm, just... come here, please." Another kiss, gentler this time.

This is bliss, he thinks, sweet solace after his days in New York, days he aims on forgetting from now on.

You eventually find yourselves on the velvet seat, the tray of food nestled on your laps. He pours wine into the paper cups as you reach for a chocolate-covered strawberry and bring it to his lips.

"Thanks, love," he mumbles with his mouth full.

"Oh, baby, you've got chocolate on there," you motion to his bottom lip.

He sets the cups of wine on the tray, making a move to wipe it off, but just as his fingers hover, his mind takes on an alternative action.

"You do it, then," he leans close, tilting his jaw.

"Okay." With a smile, you begin to oblige him, but you halt when he playfully says, "Not with your hands, darling."

You feel your heart race at his teasing, and at the way he stares at you with blatant desire. Never mind the fact that you were just making out moments ago. The rush of being with him has not subsided. Maybe it never will.

You kiss him, paying mind to the smudge on his lip, licking your own lips afterward to savour the taste.

You pull back slightly. "All better," you say, patting his cheek lovingly.

"Hmm," he hums, "I suppose I'll just have to make a mess of myself more often."

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Nightfall had already descended when the credits to The Princess Bride start rolling, dotting the sky with twinkling stars.

Ewan has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, before he declares, "If they ever do a remake to this film, I'll only take the role if you would be my Buttercup."

"As you wish," you smile, nuzzling closer against his black hoodie. "I remember watching this when I was a kid. Believe it or not, it was one of the films that inspired me to get into acting."

"Did you wanna be Buttercup, my Buttercup?"

"No," you respond. "I wanted to do what Inigo Montoya was doing. He's so insanely cool."

"Of course you did," he says affectionately, "my darling."

"What about you, hmm? Did you always want to be an actor?" you ask. You might have read an interview of his where he explains something to that effect, but he doesn't need to know that now.

"As far as I can remember, yes. It was always going to be acting for me. Even when everyone laughed it off when I brought it up in primary school." He shakes his head, the once bitter memory reduced to an anecdote. "I... I find purpose in what we do, being able to slip inside different skins, different lives. It allows me to explore the human psyche, you know, and to make sense of all this madness."

You listen intently, in awe at his words and his sheer sincerity. The world is made better with Ewan able to live his passions. And you feel fortunate that his life is one he may be willing to share with you, if everything goes well down the line.

"I almost forgot - you have to tell me about how your big meeting went."

He shifts slightly, eyes darting downward as he pouts on instinct. He realises he can no longer keep the subject under wraps.

You sense his reluctance, and immediately try to soften your approach. It could have gone either way, and though rejection is part of an actor's bread and butter - you certainly would know - there are some instances where you just let it get to you.

"Is this producer as scary as they say?" you ask lightly, poking his chest.

He smiles, but his expression is still clouded. "You know those mafia dons in Scorcese's movies? This guy practically inspired them, I'd say."

"Goodness."

"He did try to give off a welcoming air, but there was still something... sinister underneath."

"I suppose when anyone is afforded this much power..."

"Especially in this industry..."

"Mhmm." Face half-burrowed in the soft material of his hoodie, you tilt your head up at him. "So it was a bust, huh?"

He shrugs, "The role just wasn't for me. It's all for the best, I reckon."

You hold his hand tight, eager to soothe any worries he might have. "That's a shame. They would have been damn lucky to have you."

He smiles, flattered by your comment. "I am lucky to just be here with you, darling."

You smile in return, tilting your lips to his, coaxing him to lean in close and seal the kiss.

And he does.

And this is the most perfect first date there ever was or ever will be.

"Darling?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I've fallen in love with you."

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The next few weeks pass blissfully slowly, you and Ewan caught in the euphoria that only a fresh relationship can bring.

Rehearsals for your upcoming movie had ended, and you get a month off before filming begins in Atlanta. Ewan also stays in LA, keen on spending every waking minute with you. His team takes advantage of the situation, booking him for several interviews and a feature with Esquire. You were more than happy to accompany him - or rather, distract him - on these occasions.

Once, the team even jokes that you had to stay in the other room because Ewan keeps looking over at you behind the camera and forgetting what to say. Ewan, of course, quickly protests. "My girl stays with me," he confidently says.

It doesn't take long for news to spread. Rumours, at first. Allegations bred from blurry fan photos and supposed encounters with yourself and Ewan while out in LA.

They were holding hands!

They're not just friends, I swear. He was kissing her the whole time in the restaurant!

What about her and Jacob? I thought they'd been dating all this time?

House of the Dragon stars spotted on a date in Hollywood!

Headlines. Gossip fodder. Statements made by people who claim to have seen you.

Sure, you do meet some of the sweetest and friendliest fans during all this, who only gush at the sight of their favourite actors getting together.

There are others, especially online, who are less pleasant, accusing you of cheating on your supposed lover Jacob Elordi.

Jacob, already used to rolling with the punches, gives you a call so the two of you can laugh it off together.

"I'm happy for you, mate," he expresses, voice muffled from the other line. "You and Ewan... you guys just make sense. Do you remember that night when he stormed in all jealous like? Holy shit..."

As if on cue, Ewan shifts underneath the sheets from behind you, peppering your naked back with soft kisses. "Tell him I said hi," he whispers, his tone doing nothing to mask his possessiveness.

And so the days roll on, and it couldn't be more perfect.

That is, until the first cracks started to show. As they always do.

You're in a meeting with your publicist Mallory, at one of the many quaint hipster cafés in LA, discussing your upcoming filming schedule and the other things you have booked in between.

"You've got a busy few months ahead, but the film is of course top priority," she says. "It's slated to be the top rom-com of next year."

"That's great, Mal."

"I mean, I think you know that Ewan was meant to lead that romance-fantasy franchise? That's a big deal, and people are saying it'll be bigger than Twilight!" she gestures wildly with her hands. "But since he had a falling out with Bruce Haversham - and trust me, if he ever sets up a meeting with you, you do not want to go against him - what was I saying? Oh yeah, the release for that will be delayed so your film will get prime spot for a summer premiere."

You grow apprehensive at her words. Ewan never got into detail about that meeting, and you didn't really want to pry. But if that producer's reputation is indeed accurate, it doesn't bode well for Ewan's career that he might have done anything that displeased him.

With a sickening dread, you realise that Haversham might have something to do with Ewan failing to book the two films he went for in the past month. Despite the fact that the local casting director practically raved about his audition, and stated that he pretty much had both of the roles in the bag.

"Mal, you know Donna right? Ewan's publicist?" you ask, knowing that she and Donna are under the same agency. "Does she talk to you about Ewan at all? About what went down in New York?"

"A little, honey, yes," she admits. "But about that meeting, I thought you would know. He didn't tell you?"

"Not in too many words, no. Just that it didn't work out, and that the film wasn't meant for him."

"Oh, I see," she smiles, almost ruefully, like she feels sorry for you. That look compels you to ask, "What do you know, Mal? Tell me."

Her hand reaches and clutches yours atop the table. "From what I heard, he refused the role because of you."

"What?"

"It's rare with young actors like you guys, to be so devoted so early on."

Growing impatient, you say, "Mal, please, what are you saying?"

"Look, I don't know the details of it. But apparently Haversham wanted him to get into a PR stint with his love interest for the film, and to hide whatever real relationship he has going on with you. This ordeal was going to be more restrictive than the arrangement you have with Jacob, which is more or less over at this point."

"I didn't know that," you whisper hoarsely.

"Honey, don't worry about it," she consoles you, taking a sip of her coffee. "Like I said, I don't know much. I can get you in touch with Donna if you want to speak with her? I'm 100% positive it's not all bad. There's one thing we can be sure of, at least!"

You look at her expectantly, unable to formulate a guess.

"That boy loves you!"

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With only a few days left before filming, you had begun to make the final preparations before moving to Atlanta.

It's a late night, one laden with anxiety and nervous jitters, and the several shots of whiskey you had just taken do little to keep the walls from closing in.

Although, perhaps, it is better if they do. If they imprison you, even just for tonight, to keep you from whatever it is you plan to do.

It's for the best. I have to do this. I'm doing this for him, you keep telling yourself. You keep repeating the lies, letting them bounce relentlessly in the walls of your mind, until you fool yourself into thinking them to be true.

You had met with Donna a few days prior, and the whole situation was made clear to you. You didn't know for certain when the decision formed in your mind, but it's there, as real as the love you feel for Ewan.

The love you will have to bury.

He picks you up in his rental Rover, after you told him that you wanted to go for a drive. But you ask him to park his car behind the private apartment building where you're staying.

The car grinds to a halt, like a signal for you to get it over with. There is no going back now.

"Ewan... I - " You can't push the words out, more so when he reaches for your hands and squeezes. He looks at you with those eyes, expecting anything but what you're about to say.

"I'm sorry," you try again, and your voice breaks. His face slowly drops, the mood instantly changed, but the worse is yet to come.

"What are you sorry for, darling?" He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, the sensation willing you to just abandon your plan completely. To abandon the lie.

"Whatever happens..." Just get it over with. "...I want you to know that I'll always be here for you. We are friends first, aren't we?" Peel the bandaid. Rip it off. Let it bleed.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he says.

You sound robotic, emotionless. But one wrong turn and the floodgates may break. There's a lump in your throat and you push it down. Reminding yourself to act - use your fucking acting skills if you actually have any. Now's the time. "We can't be together, Ewan."

There it is, sounding itself into existence, ruining the love you have in front of you.

His hand drops, as if he recoils back into himself. Away from you. It's cruel, but you know you will have to do more damage. You have to make it stick. This becomes clear when he says, "No", with conviction. "No, darling," he repeats. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ewan - "

"You're not being funny, darling." He tilts his head, testing you, giving you the chance to retract your words and start laughing at your twisted joke. Darling comes out a mockery, something to say out of spite.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back in the driver's seat. "I don't... I don't accept this." He looks straight ahead, his lips pursed and jaw taut. "Fucking... why ?"

"I just... don't think it's going to work out."

"Bullshit."

Your words come out rushed, "You should take that role. I don't want you to hold back just for me. This could be something really great for you, Ewan. This could be it! Most actors pray for an opportunity like that to come along and I wouldn't want you to - "

"That's the reason?"

" - refuse it because of me. So we should - "

"Stop."

" - end this."

Silence. Not a single sound in the near-empty parking lot. No sirens in the distance, no pedestrian chatter. Just slow, heavy breathing in this rental car, both of you looking out the windshield. It feels stuffy all of a sudden, and not in the heated way when your limbs entwined in a jumble in the backseat a mere week ago.

"Please. I... I don't want to end this," he pleads. His knuckles are bone white, harshly gripping both sides of the steering wheel in an attempt to anchor himself. He shakes his head, and with some sense of hope, he says, "I don't care about that role. Okay? It's not the end of the world if I don't accept it. Have some faith in me, darling. I'll make it work. Surely there are plenty of other things down the line."

"Ewan," you whisper. You knew he would say this, which is why you prepared something worse. If that were even possible. You suck on your teeth, pulling on whatever poison you keep hidden away. You sigh and look away, a gesture that lets him know nothing will change your mind. "This fucking PR relationship business... it gets to you, you know? We don't know any better. I for one never expected to feel this way about - "

"About?" he finally turns to shoot you a look of betrayal, the pain in his eyes clear as day.

"I might have feelings for Jacob," you lie, "or I might not, I don't know. But there's something there, and I... I can't let this - us - go on while I'm conflicted about everything. It wouldn't be right."

Nothing about this is right.

But you go on, "I'll be off filming, with him, for a couple of months. And it's only going to make everything more confusing, and it wouldn't be fair to you, I know that - "

"I love you."

It's the first time he ever utters those three words, completely and without any doubt. He says them, despite everything you said before. And he means it.

A tear falls down your cheek, and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the rest at bay.

"I'm sorry," you look at him, in finality, and you want nothing more than to passionately kiss him hard on the mouth, to hold on to him tight and plead for him not to let you go. With your quivering form, you amble out of the car. Every step worsens the weight of what just transpired. His side of the car opens, and he calls for you, but you can't bear to look back.

He catches up to you, breathless and with a wild look in his face. His blue eyes swell with tears, but his brows are scrunched down as if he isn't bothered by them.

"I want you to look me right in the eye and tell me we don't matter. I want you to tell me you don't love me," he says, and it's the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. He searches your eyes for something, anything to hold on to. Part of him is still desperate enough to grasp at straws, on the hope that you will change your mind.

But the other hardened part, has become angry. Indignant. Because how could you do this to him? The only girl he has ever loved. So he needs to hear it from you, clearly. He needs you to drive the final nail on the coffin.

"I do love you," you croak, and you do nothing to stop your tears from flowing freely.

"Darling..."

"But I can't be with you," you turn away, one last time. "Goodbye, Ewan."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Some time ago, during the meeting in New York...

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden furniture, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot...

(to be continued)

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy

Update! Read the second bonus chapter here ~

💌 next chapter

HOW DARE YOU, reader. How dare you.

The gif above paints a clear picture of Ewan's heart breaking in the car 🥲 just in case you guys needed a visual aid 🥲🥲

Next chapter - the meeting in New York, the reader's conversation with Donna, and.... we see them move on from each other (?) You know these bloody actors, one relationship in the first half of the year and then another right after...

Feel free to come for me in the comments <3 it was the most heartfelt chapter, after all. Also, let me know what yous want the bonus chapter to be about!

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #chemical override

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thebirdandthebee · 18 days ago

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Delicate | Aemond Targaryen

This is just my second time writing for this universe, so I'm still learning! I think I am open to taking requests for Aemond as well if you're interested!

featuring | king!Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen x Reader

length | 918 words (another shorty!)

synopsis | You take a tumble and Aemond is worried about your condition since you're such a soft girl

warnings | fluff + mention of blood

Aemond circled the map laid in front of him, hands clasped behind his back as Sir Criston looked on, observing his king.

Without announcement, a member of the Kingsguard entered the chamber, a worried expression on his face.

"My Grace,” he bowed his head, “there’s been an incident with the Queen.”

Aemond slammed his fist on the table before hastily exiting the room.

x x x

A few tears escaped your eyes and you felt silly, but you were in pain. There was certainly no room for ‘toughening up’ as you grew up in a castle surrounded by brothers and guards. You lived a soft life – a delicate life, and even something like a scrape threw you entirely off your senses. But this was a step beyond a scrape, and you kept hiccups at bay as the maester applied the thin, viscous ointment to your exposed flesh.

“What’s happened?” Aemond swept into the room like a cool wind on a fall day with threat of a looming winter.

Looking up at your husband, the tears you’d managed to keep at bay spilled forth, face crumpling slightly. Aemond’s eye cut to Ser Noble, your dedicated member of the Queensguard.

“Speak,” he commanded.

“Aem,” you sniffled, wanting to take the heat off your Queensguard. It truly wasn’t Ser Noble’s fault.

“I said speak,” he insisted, taking a step toward your protector.

“My King,” Ser Noble began, “it was a true and honest mistake,” he added. Aemond’s expression of fury never faulted, especially at the hiccup you tried to stifle.

“Husband, please,” you pleaded. Aemond steeled his expression, approaching his wife as the maester finished wrapping your arm in a muslin cloth, fastening it gently.

“The Queen will be just fine in time, perhaps with a small scar,” the maester explained, “I will return to apply the salve in the morning and in the evening.” Aemond’s eyes tracked as the maester left the room.

“I will administer the salve,” the King scowled, to which the maester nodded curtly.

“Ser Noble, please take your leave,” you moused out, to Aemond’s displeasure.

“I believe Ser Noble still needs to regale me with how this came to be,” he frowned deeply.

“Ser Noble may go, please Aemond,” you insisted. The king acquiesced to your wishes and tracked the knight as he left your shared apartments.

Kneeling beside your seat on the chaise, he gently took your hand.

“What happened, my Queen?” He asked, trying his best to be softer, but still quite upset at the site of your blood. He firmly believed he should never see you bleed, your blood was far too precious.

“I…” you sniffled again, making his heart feel like lead. “I just wanted to play with the children,” you explained, “they were playing a game with a ball I’d sent to the home, kicking it about the courtyard,” you continued. “but my feet got caught up in my skirt and I fell to the ground, with only my arm to catch me.”

Aemond’s brows knit into a tight, blond bridge, but his anger began to slowly dissipate.

“And it hurts quite bad,” you emphasized, whimpering gently.

“Let me see,” Aemond said, gingerly grasping your wrist and bringing it up to his eye-level.

“Gentle,” you sniffled once more.

Aemond knew his wife was a fragile thing – gentle in make and demeanor – something he rather enjoyed about you. Your softness was a steep contrast to his sharp edges.

“I believe you’ll make a full recovery, my queen,” he whispered gently, reaching up to thumb away the crystalline tear on your cheek.

“I scared the children, and got blood on my favorite dress,” you pouted, “Gods Aemond it hurts so bad,” you whimpered. Aemond’s eye flickered down to your soft pink dress, noting the blood that stained the impossibly silky fabric, trimmed with gold trappings along the neckline.

“We’ll have a new one made, exactly the same,” he assured quietly. “And for the children, I assure you, those orphans have seen much worse,” he replied, pressing two soft kisses to your knuckles. “I believe it would be best for you to rest in bed,” he advised.

“Is that your recommendation, maester Aemond?” You asked quietly between sniffles, bringing a whisper of a smile to your husband’s face. “Come now, my little ward, let your King tuck you in,” he said, standing to his full height and stepping back, allowing you space to stand from the chaise. “Aemond,” you gasped as your King lifted you into his arms, mindful of your bandage as he carried you over to your bedchamber.

“It’s alright,” he insisted, moving swiftly to the bed. Setting you gently atop your made bed, he quickly worked to elevate your arm before bringing you a glass and carafe of water. “What can I do?” He asked, noting the unfallen tears in your lashes.

“Hold me,” you murmured, that deep pout causing him heartache. Aemond carefully joined you in bed, and you were quick to turn into his body, bandaged arm slung over his middle.

“They were so scared, Aemond, it broke my heart,” you bit your lip, looking up at your husband from your place on his chest, the scent of his clothing bringing you comfort.

“The children will be just fine,” he replied, “I will see to it,” he added quietly.

“You’ll take care of me?” You asked quietly, big eyes still brimming with tears.

“Of course, my Queen.”

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #aemond x you #possessive aemond #house of the dragon fic #soft!aemond #soft aemond

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squirrellypoo · 24 days ago

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I sewed a Wolfkiller Cloak!

I have been a fan of Lestat's Wolfkiller Cloak for 30 years(!!) so when it made a surprise appearance in season 2 of Interview with the Vampire I just knew I would be sewing one for myself.

It looks incredible in the show, but then we also got to see more of it in better lighting during the short, behind the scenes "Episode Insider" for the episode. Essentially, this is a calf-length, blood-red velvet cape with an additional, elbow-length capelet on top, and a fur-lined hood.

But having made capes in the past, I realised that they are really impractical to wear due to limited arm mobility and having either your arms or body freeze through the openings.

So instead of sewing exactly what I saw on screen, I realised I could instead sew a swing coat + little capelet on top with fur-lined hood! And even better - make the capelet removable via hooks at the neckline so that they could be worn together or separately. This was a Eureka! moment for me. I wanted to make something that is somewhat authentic to the look of the original, but also practical to wear as an every day winter coat!

After quite a few muslins, I settled on the Charm Patterns Swing Coat (with some modified sleeves), and a self-drafted capelet (similar to my earlier cape from Claudia S1 NYE look) with a fur-lined hood. I drafted the hood pieces so that the fur lining is longer and wraps around the opening edge. This makes the fur more visible when its down around the shoulders, as in the show.

I used 5m of burgundy velvet and 0.5 m of Arctic Grey Wolf faux fur from CRS Fabrics (UK) - the fur itself was £60/m(!!) so I'm extremely pleased the show version wasn't entirely lined in fur like the book description (scroll down for more on that!). I underlined it for warmth using cotton flannel to block the wind, and found an incredible dark grey skull jacquard lining fabric at Mood Fabrics (US).

The swing coat pattern only has one button at the neck, so I made it count! I found the most perfect wolf head button on ebay and adjusted my bound buttonhole accordingly, but it really is the best statement button I could've ever asked for! The rest of the front opening is closed with enamel hooks and hidden thread bars to not distract from the clean lines when worn open.

In all, this took me about 6 weeks to sew and I am SO chuffed with how it turned out. I usually only take daytime photos for my sewing in order to best show off the details and seamlines, but for this I couldn't resist an additional nighttime shoot, too.

Even better - after I posted it to Instagram, the costume designer for the show, Carol Cutshall, not only said she loves it, but revealed a new piece of iwtv lore - they originally tried the cloak entirely lined in fur, but it was too heavy for Sam to move in!! (Which I can totally believe because mine is super heavy even with a lightweight lining!)

#in my head Sam asked to take the prototype home as the world’s nerdiest weighted blanket #wolfkiller cloak #I don’t do cosplay I just love sewing #this isn’t even for Halloween it’s just good timing #iwtv #interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv costume design #iwtv fandom #sewing #carol cutshall you are a goddess #iwtv s2

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cotandcandybaby · 17 days ago

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madame-fear · 3 months ago

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𐙚 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇.

─── .✦ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

counterpunch · a punch thrown in return for one received.

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : for some reason I felt extremely nervous while writing this,, I hope this is what you guys expected for the prologue of Counterpunch??? 🥺🤲 I thought starting it this way would be the best, to, you know, show how they met from moment zero. Already writing chapter one, by the way— I swear I am doing my very best for all of you, my loves. 🫡 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : ravens come and go, threatens between the blacks and greens come and go, deaths come and go… war comes, and it never goes. you had seen everything; past, present, future. your dreams had shown you almost all about the rise & fall of House Targaryen— which gained you the title of “(y/n) the dreamer”. however, the only one who would attentively listen to your visions was Prince Jacaerys, your childhood best friend. and when war arrives, the only solace you both can find amidst all the conflicts, is in your continously blooming relationship. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 1.0k

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : chaptered series. some angst & fluff in the future, maybe. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Dreamer!Best Friend!Reader.

COUNTERPUNCH MASTERLIST.

The nearly overhwelming silence had been interrupted, as loud baby wails overtook the private chambers; bringing a sigh of relief to anyone who had been witnessing and assisting to your birth.

With a soft cotton muslin, ivory coloured blanket, a maid had gently wrapped your fragile body as you wailed. “It’s a girl, my Lady.” the maid muttered, delicately rocking you on her arms, with the ghost of a wide grin forming at the corner of her lips as she approached your mother to pass you to her. Your mother lovingly took you in her arms, relief washing over her as your wail echoed through the chambers; drops of sweat running across her features after an ardous birthing.

It had been quite a special birth. One that brought several wide smiles to members of your own House, and everyone who had alliances with your House by simply taking a glimpse of your sleeping face, or a brief glimpse into your bright innocent eyes. A birth that, as soon as it was announced, Princess Rhaenyra rushed to visit both you, and your mother— and her arms didn’t go empty, as she took baby Jace, her heir, with her to meet you.

House Targaryen’s close bond and alliance to your House was one that rooted back many, many years ago. The realm’s delight and your mother got along together exceptionally well— with your House vehemently supporting her birthright as the true heir to the Iron Throne, and having known each other as young girls. There was no doubt that the Targaryen princess would be swift in paying your mother — and you, a sweet little babe — a visit, as your own mother had done with the birth of her firstborn son.

Resting on a large, velvet lounge sofa, a tranquil expression was spread all across your mother’s features, with a toothy grin beginning to form on her lips as Rhaenyra returned back the gesture— holding a young Jacaerys in her arms, while your own small body was wrapped in a soft blanket, being held by your mother. “She’s very beautiful, congratulations.” the platinum haired woman spoke, tilting her head slightly as her gaze fixed on your features. Her grin could only increase as you would coo to her, offering a toothless baby smile.

The young Velaryon boy, who was only several moons older than you — almost a year —, innocently copied his mother’s actions; his coffee eyes staring at you with curiousity, as your coos were faintly heard in the background. A chuckle spurred from your mother’s lips, moving down her stare to admire you, using her index finger to delicately caress your cheek. “She is, isn’t she? We have decided to name her (y/n).” in her tone, vibrated a notorious pride. One that could only be understood— you were quite a little gift. A joy.

“Thank you very much, Princess. Especially for taking the time to visit us.” the Targaryen princess softly sat by your mother’s side, allowing a huff to escape from her, as she tried to keep Jace properly in her arms— the boy continuing to curiously look at you. “I could never not visit you... And your little girl now, of course.” she said. A lighthearted mood loomed in the atmosphere almost endearingly, which, felt refreshing for her.

Rhaenyra turned around briefly, directing her stare at the young heir in her arms, “Jace, why don’t you greet (y/n)?” she muttered gently, inciting her son to approach you in any possible way. The firstborn Velaryon could notice your big baby eyes attentively, and curiously, observing him as you kept cooing quietly, enveloped in the warmth of the blankets— his hand immediately waved at you in a kind manner, doing as his mother insisted, kindly smiling at the sight of you. Another faint baby grin appeared on your lips as he waved, while both your mothers observed the interactions you shared together.

“I’m certain they’ll both grow to be close friends. I can tell, already.” your mother remarked to Rhaenyra, gleefully, causing the platinum-haired woman to chuckle in response.

Both of you were practically babies, with mere several moons of difference— and despite having exchanged a simple childish interaction for now, considering how much of a close, strengthened bond your Houses had, it was most likely that you both would almost grow together and meet each other frequently.

Your mother wasn’t wrong at all, when she mentioned that you both would grow to become each other’s close friends— you had grown to be best friends, accompanying one another for every single little thing. Playing together, having the privilege of meeting his younger siblings the moment they were born, being the only ones who would really know your thoughts and feelings, and even rooting for him eagerly whenever you travelled to King’s Landing and watched him swordtrain with Ser Strong.

And the older you grew, the more accompanied you were by each other’s presence constantly. Particularly, during the moments where confusion overwhelmed you at the things you began frequently dreaming of and envisioned as you matured— almost hauntingly, as every experience you lived and went through, everywhere you went to, it seemed as if you had already been there, being left to expect the worst outcome. You had nowhere to run to.

Some referred to you as a dreamer, and others, as a madwoman. The only one who would be there by your side when you felt asphyxiated by visions and dreams, and when blood was shed amidst the growing war for his mother’s usurped Throne, would be the eldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @keiratonks @kyuupidwrites

@tchatso @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee

@bellarkeselection @feliuuuksks @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

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@fkanita @urmomsbananabread @ahh-chickens @dracaryxzs @lovelyteenagebeard

@naive-daydreamer @day-dreamsinthedark @canyonmoon-2

#彡 ꒰ ✒ amira writes ; jacaerys velaryon.── ꒱#hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #hotd imagine #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon x you #jacaerys targaryen x reader #counterpunch

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whimsicalpolitical · 6 months ago

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Distraction // Matty Healy x Reader

a/n: I can’t believe he’s actually so fucking hot. FERAL for Matthew Timothy Healy

summary: you’re staying at a hotel with matty in Leeds and he has tons of work to do, it’s not your problem he’s distracting you with his good looks

content warning: 18+MDNI, oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, p in v (unprotected), d-word, begging

────────────────────────

You turn over, expecting to see Matty beside you, but the bed is empty. You sit up, ruffling your hair and letting your feet dangle off the edge of the bed for a moment.

The sunlight streams through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel room, casting a golden glow across the plush carpet. This is easily the largest and most luxurious hotel you had ever stayed in. You stretch, savoring the softness of the high-thread-count sheets, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. 10:00 AM.

With a soft sigh, you slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. You pad across the room, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you as you enter the bathroom.

You turn on the shower, adjusting the water until it is just the right temperature.

After a long, relaxing shower, you wrap yourself in one of the plush towels, its softness a gentle hug. You take your time with your morning routine, relishing the unhurried pace. Skincare, a light touch of makeup, and a quick brush through your hair leaves you feeling refreshed and ready to face the day.

It’s a hot summer day, you decide to wear your favorite white and oversized muslin blouse with a pair of shorts, not visible because the blouse is covering your upper thighs.

You walk back into the bedroom, on your way to see Matty and maybe convince him to have breakfast with you.

You reach the door to the very large living room area, where Matty is mostly working. You’re very sure he’s sitting in there, doing some kind of work.

Your heart drops at the sight of him. Luckily he doesn’t hear you standing at the doorway, this way you can admire him some more.

He’s manspreading on the couch, intensely focused on signing some photographs.

It’s the all black suit that does it for you. You could shower all over again, feeling too hot staring at him. He’s wearing a sleek, tailored black blazer. The sharp lines and perfect fit adding a sophisticated touch.

Underneath he’s wearing a white tanktop, the cut is low around his neck, the tattoo for his nana peaking out.

Your eyes trail down his chest to his pants, black trousers well-fitting. They’re hugging his thighs, and oh well, the times you spent grinding on them are flashing through your mind.

He’s hot- it is all almost too much to handle. A mischievous smile tugs at your lips as you decide to get a little closer, meanwhile you try to ignore the feeling of your already damp panties.

He finally notices your silhouette, “morning love,” he lays the pen down in front of him, reaching out to you as you gently slide into his lap sideways, resting your feet between his thighs. His hands are instinctively finding your waist.

“Missed you in bed,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He hums, moving his lips to give you a quick kiss but you deepen the kiss, your hand finding it’s way to the back of his head, pressing his lips eagerly against yours. “Missed me a lot I see.”

He pulls back and misses the pout that forms on your lips, “have breakfast with me?”

“Can’t, have to finish these,” you roll your eyes as he nods towards the pieces of paper.

“Work is all you’ve been thinking about these past days, enjoy this insane hotel with me.” A hint of frustration lingers in your voice.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your chest, “not true. I think about you plenty.” He gives you a pathetic kiss on your cheek, “besides s’ just another hotel, what are you on about?”

“This is hotel is insane, how can you play it cool.”

“I’m not here for the hotel, love, s’ easy.”

Before he can grab the pen again to sign some more you pull it out of his hand and lift your hand into the air. “Haven’t even told me if I’m pretty today.”

He raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Apologies from my side,” he tilts his head a bit, “you look very pretty today, thought I don’t have to tell you every minute.” You huff out loud, not thinking he’s serious.

“You have to tell me every day Matty,” you fumble with his white tank top, “I tell you how hot you look everyday, don’t I?”

He chuckles, “you do look absolutely stunning, forgive me?” His brown eyes soften but he’s still teasing and you’re afraid he feels your wetness on his thigh, his teasing tone always impacting you. “Care to give me my pen back?”

You throw it across the room, shaking your head, “take a break,” the suggestive tone in your voice can’t be overheard and Matty gets it now.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” His hands land on your thigh, beneath your blouse, squeezing the flesh making you squirm. “Told you yesterday I have work to do.”

You remember last night, riding him on the balcony while he was smoking one cigarette after another and taking you in the shower, making sure you’re pleased enough for the weekend. But you’re not. You’re never pleased enough with him looking like that. You already miss the feeling of his fingers between your thighs.

“It’s your fault,” you scoff and his eyes widen, “can’t expect me to sit still when you look like that.” Your finger trails down his chest but before you reach his lower stomach area he grabs your hand.

“You make it seem like I’m sitting here with my fucking dick out,” he scoffs, “behave.”

“I wish,” that earns you a smack to your thigh.

“Can’t do anything properly with you here.” He tries to pull you off of his lap but it just ends with your leg going over his lap, sitting down the right way, facing him.

“15 minute break Matty, c’mon,” you plead, trying to grind down on him but he knows you too well, gripping your hips so hard you can’t move at all.

“Later baby,” your bottom lips juts out but his thumb is quick to remove the pout. “Get yourself off or some shit f’ you’re this horny.”

He’s being mean but you definitely won’t give up because the burning in your lower belly gets increasingly worse the more Matty talks and touches you. You always get what you want, it’s Matty’s own fault that you’re this spoiled.

You’re not unfamiliar with his big ego when it comes to work. You’re willing to tease him as much as he teases you until he finally gives you what you want.

You pout again, smiling when he rolls his eyes. His grip loosens on your hips and you take your chance to grind your hips one time, whining when he stills your hips again. He hisses, “unbelievable, did you not listen to a word I have said?”

“Please Matty, you have the whole day doing this shit,” your hands rest on his shoulder, trying to persuade him with you touch.

“No, I actually do have a tight schedule,” his hand disappears in his pocket, pulling out another pen, “can’t neglect my work just because you’re up for havin’ a fuck.”

You try to snatch the pen again but he’s rolling you off his lap, signing another card. He’s playing dirty.

You scoot next to him closer, just sitting next to him until your hand finds his inner thigh. He gives you a quick glance but he doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t you want to please your girl? Make her feel good?” He groans at your words. He does. If he could he would make you feel good every time you’d say so and sometimes it ends with him having to bend you over in a bathroom or at the back of a hall.

“You’re a beg, love,” he finally turns to you, “can’t stand when you’re a beg.”

“M’ not,” you know it’s a lie.

“No? Just want to get off then?” You nod and he laughs. Like actually laughs at you. “Too bad.”

You have to change your strategy then.

“So you don’t think I’m pretty right now,” you huff, “unbelievable.”

You cross your arms and try to stand up but Matty grabs your chin. “You’re joking right?” He takes your hand and leads it to his crotch, he’s not fully hard yet but he’s definitely getting there. “You’re fucking gorgeous, love. All the time.”

“Then why won’t you just fuck me?” You sit on his lap. Again, because you love this place, you’re born for it. “Please Matty, only 15 minutes.”

“15 minutes?” He asks and you nod, “s’ never going to be just 15 minutes, don’t act like you’d ever hold your bargain.”

“I will this time, please matty,” you lean closer to his ear, “please matty.” You nibble at his ear slowly and bite your way down to his neck. “C’mon daddy.”

“Fuck off with that,” he groans as you keep kissing him. You don’t usually call him that because he says he’s not fucking with that but you felt him getting harder right then and there. “You’re fucking needy.”

Matty clicks his tongue and has his hand running through his hair while you’re still sucking marks into his neck. “Christ-“ he lost because you’re grinding yourself down onto him and he’s not gripping your hips to stop. You grin into his neck.

“You look so fucking hot Matty,” you whine, feeling his bulge perfectly rubbing at your clit. “Fucking love you.”

He laughs, standing up and you get the hint, wrapping your legs around him. “Flatterin’ me much today? Don’t have to give me shit anymore, I’m gonna fuck you.”

He’s walking into the bedroom with you, hands on your ass, until he’s throwing you onto the bed. He’s removing his jacket and his tank top before hovering over you again.

Matty kisses you, desperation in every move he makes. You run your hand through his hair. Messy as it’s filled with gel. You feel him slide his hand up your blouse and it sends a shudder down your spine. His hand is calloused, rough, but touches you with a sweet gentleness that makes you swoon. His hand reaches your breast, cups it, squeezes like he needs to get his fill. “Want you Matty.”

“Know you do, want me all the time,” he opens all the buttons and slips it off of you, throwing the piece of clothing around the room. “Drives me insane,” next thing which is on the floor is your bra. His mouth immediately latches on to your nipple, pinching the other one with his finger, switching after a while.

“Touch me, please,” You’re begging so sweetly for him today.

“Already am,” he states, kissing down your belly, finally reaching those thin shorts. “Am I touching you wrong?” He teasingly asks but he always wants a serious answer from you.

You shake your head. “Just- touch me here,” you take his hand and slowly trace it to your clothed core. He rubs slow circles on your clit, trying to drive you against a wall with how slow he is. “Here’s good huh?”

“Matty-“ you whine, trying to tell him to take your shorts off because you’re getting frustrated and you don’t even need foreplay anymore.

He slides the shorts and your panties down your legs and also throw them across the room. “Fuckin’ hell, love,” you feel his mouth lapping on the inside of your thigh, “you’re dripping down your thighs.”

You feel his breath on your center, and the minute his tongue touches you, you let out a moan. He works his tongue over your clit, swallowing every drop of arousal dripping down his mouth. You grip the headboard and rock yourself down on his tongue while he continues to lap on your pussy without any care for the mess you made. You are wet and sloppy as his tongue moves in and out of you, up and down your folds while also sucking on your swollen clit.

“F-fuck Matty,” you moan, looking down at where you can see the top of his face, his eyes closed as he groans on your flesh, wrapping his arm around your thighs while never stopping stroking your wetness with his tongue. He holds you tight, keeping you in place, and there is nothing else you can do but buck your hips as you run your hands through his hair and tug on the strands, receiving a deep, rough yet excited groan from him.

“So sweet,” he mumbles, you exhale his name, not being able to find the words or the breath in you to speak as you feel the familiar coil in your stomach. He flicks his tongue over your clit a few times before gathering up your juices and circling back to the swollen bud, massaging your flesh with the flat of his tongue. You feel the bliss swelling inside your body. You know you won’t last much longer.

“I’m gonna-,” you’re cut off by your own moan, you feel the warmth from between your legs surge through your whole body. Your walls tighten as you keep rocking your hips against him, whimpering, moaning, crying out that you are coming. You shiver and tremble above him, tossing your head back, gripping his hair even tighter, and pressing your thighs together around his head.

After licking up all your juices he comes up to give you a kiss, he slides his tongue into your mouth and you moan at the taste of yourself. “What do you say?”

“Thank you daddy,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around him, a whine slipping from your lips as he slaps your core.

“Told you to quit that,” you grin at his reaction, rolling him to his back, so you can straddle him.

He’s unbelievable hard in his pants, in his black fucking suit pants. You don’t waist anytime to open them and dive your hand into his pants, feeling his cock through his boxers.

“So hot,” you say again, pulling his pants and boxers down.

His hips are jutting up into your hand when your hand is finally wrapping around his rock hard cock.

Matty’s head falls back in a loud moan as you finally start to move your hand on his cock. You rub your thumb over the tip, it doesn’t take long for his thighs to start shaking and his hands gripping your hand.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, changing positions with you again, you on your back, “s’ what you begged for.”

He comes up to kiss you and you can’t process anything when he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.

“You’re so good fuck-“ Matty croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head drops to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. “You’re so sensitive today.”

Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.

“You look gorgeous as ever ‘round my cock,” he groans, looking down at your pussy and the way it’s sucking him inside, encouraging him to go deeper.

“Please,” you beg again, and he knows what you need. He’s reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans, not wanting the hotel to hear you, which is ironic ‘cause last night wasn’t quieter at all.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you are near the finish line, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Matty and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. “Satisfied now?”

You nod, pulling him in for a long kiss, “thank you.”

“Not for that,” he speaks softly, pulling out of you and you whine at the loss of his warmth. “S’ my favorite activity.”

He lays down next to you, your head finding his chest immediately. “Sorry for the distraction.” You don’t mean that but you want him to know you do care if you’re the reason he can’t work.

“C’mon now, you’re a brat and you regret it now?” He has a boyish grin on his face, “I can tell you off ‘f I want to, I just- never want to.”

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. “Have to work in 10 minutes, that alright?”

You nod and say ‘yes’ because you know you’ll be asleep again in less than 10 minutes and he knows it as well.

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy smut #Matty Healy imagine #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader #matty healy oneshot #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic

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