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thoughtfulfiction · 1 month ago

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Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I’ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

#Joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic

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rezdubaiaroma · 2 years ago

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A scent diffuser is a device used to disperse fragrances or essential oils into the air

A Scent Diffuser is a device used to disperse fragrances or essential oils into the air, creating a pleasant aroma in a room or enclosed space. These devices work by using various methods such as heat, nebulization, ultrasonic vibration, or passive diffusion to disperse the scent molecules.

The use of scent diffusers has become increasingly popular in recent years, as people have become more interested in creating a relaxing and inviting atmosphere in their homes or workspaces. Scent diffusers are commonly used for aromatherapy, to create a calming or energizing environment, or simply to freshen up a room and mask unpleasant odors.

When choosing a scent diffuser, there are several factors to consider, such as the type of diffusing method used, the size of the diffuser, and the types of oils or fragrances that can be used with it. Some diffusers may be better suited for smaller rooms, while others may be able to cover larger areas. It's also important to consider the quality of the oils or fragrances used, as low-quality oils may not provide the desired scent or therapeutic benefits.

Overall, scent diffusers can be a great way to enhance the ambiance of a space and promote relaxation or productivity. However, it's important to choose the right diffuser and oils to ensure that the desired effects are achieved.

#Scent Diffuser #Scent Your House #Scent Your Villa #Scent Machine For Home #Hotel Scenting

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

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Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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skarpetaspodnapleta · 2 months ago

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Without limits, without pauses, without mercy. From dusk till dawn, from dawn till dusk. From the kitchen counter, where dishes tremble at every movement, to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, where every trembling breath echoes against the walls. From the walls that fail to contain the moans, to the cabinets that shake in rhythm with moving hips. From the bedroom mirror that mercilessly reflects every taut muscle and every trace of nails down your back, to the shower where water mixes with sweat and saliva, soaking everything: bodies, walls, and souls alike.

On the table, on the chair, on the floor, on the couch, on every piece of furniture that stands in your way. Missionary, with nails digging into your back. On top, with hands wrapped tightly around a throat. Reverse cowgirl, where the view alone drives you insane. From behind, with raised hips begging for more. Sideways, backwards, upside down, in every position that shifts with the rhythm of desire. On the dining table that groans under the weight. On the washing machine, vibrating in perfect sync with your movements. On the stairs, where every thrust reverberates like an echo through the house.

In the kitchen, where steam rises above pots, and the smell of spices mingles with the scent of overheated skin. On the windowsill, where moonlight illuminates every motion, every drop of sweat, every bite mark left on shoulders and necks. Against the fridge, its cold surface a stark contrast to the fire in your body. On the kitchen island, where hands grip the countertop and legs wrap around hips in a desperate plea for more.

In the living room, where the couch becomes a battlefield. Pillows thrown to the floor, the rug crumpled, furniture shifted, and the air thick with moans. On the coffee table, barely sturdy enough to handle the force. By the window, where curtains sway in time with your movements, the city lights outside flickering in rhythm. On the armchair, balancing on the edge, every tilt and angle pushing your pulse faster and faster.

Outside, where the cold air bites at your skin, but the heat of your bodies makes it irrelevant. On the terrace, where the night sky becomes your only witness. On the car hood, still warm from the day’s sun. In the trunk, where every movement feels like breaking the rules. On the motorcycle, where balance is a challenge, and every moment feels like defying gravity.

In the car, where fogged-up windows shield what’s happening inside. On the back seat, where hands pull bodies closer. In the front seat, where the steering wheel barely stays in place. In a parking lot, where the risk of being caught makes your heart race even faster. By the side of the road, where the sound of passing cars merges with ragged breaths and muffled moans.

In the forest, where the scent of earth and dampness blends with the scent of skin. In a tent, where the thin fabric barely conceals the movements, and every sound carries through the trees. On the beach, where sand sticks to sweaty skin, and the crashing waves match the rhythm of your hips. In the water, where the waves cradle your bodies, every surge amplifying the pleasure.

In a hotel, where the bed never stays in one place. Where the mirrors on the ceiling reflect every moment. In the elevator, where time seems to freeze, and the space between floors becomes your entire world. In the restaurant’s backroom, where kitchen tools tremble on the shelves, and your bodies pulse with unrelenting desire.

In the bathroom, where the mirror fogs up, and the floor is slick with water. In the shower, where hands glide over wet skin, mouths never ceasing their search for each other. In the bathtub, where warm water envelops you, and the foam becomes the only veil between you and the heat.

Every inch of skin, every hidden curve, every nerve pushed to its breaking point. Fingers sliding across sweaty flesh, teeth sinking into lips, bite marks left on necks, shoulders, hips. Backs arching into impossible shapes, legs trembling with tension, toes curling with every wave of pleasure. Breaths quickened, shallow, broken by endless screams and moans.

From the first touch to the final shudder, when your body quakes and your mind dissolves into pure bliss. From the first look that sparks the fire, to the final embrace that leaves you both spent. Without limits, without pauses, without mercy.

And then, there’s him—in uniform, the sight enough to ignite every nerve in your body. The crisp lines of his police uniform, the badge glinting under dim light, the holster at his side holding his weapon, a reminder of the authority he wields. The weight of his presence pins you in place, his voice low and commanding, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands, firm and unyielding, trace your body as if asserting control, the leather of his belt brushing against your skin, the cold metal of his cuffs a silent threat and promise all at once. Against the wall, with his body pressed tightly to yours, his breath hot against your neck, the uniform and everything it represents only heightening the tension, the power dynamic pulling you deeper into unrelenting desire.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford smut #police #police uniform #smut #all day #stephen strange x reader #t'challa x reader #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #monster lust #hobie brown x reader #ninjago x reader #miles morales x reader #marcus acacius x reader #cregan stark x reader

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lex-the-flex · 4 months ago

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34 + 35

Hugh Jackman x reader

Summary: After attending a long and exhausting event, all you want to do is enjoy a coffee espresso, but life has other plans.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, Hugh being a LITERAL sweetheart + gentleman, slight angst, dealing with a walking red flag, mentions of stalking (?), BRIEF & MINOR sexual assault/situation, brief cursing, minor violence (just an idiot getting punched in the face), Hugh being your shield, and me gushing about museums. (I'm envisioning this taking place when Hugh was a bit younger).

A/N: I can TOTALLY imagine this being one of my MANY meet-cutes with Hugh and a girl can dream! Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please follow me back to the dining hall, we will now open the bar and you are free to wander through the museum at your leisure. Thank you for all of your hard work and enjoy the remainder of your evening.” The museum’s director announces, leading the group back inside the building.

Sighing in relief at the cool night air, the instant relief of being able to finally stretch your legs after sitting for more than two hours hits you hard. Glancing down at your watch, you read the time; 11:28 pm.

Silently groaning to yourself, all you wanted to do was take off your makeup and go to sleep in your hotel room. But you couldn’t. The event wasn’t scheduled to end until one in the morning, and the truth was: you secretly wanted to die. While you weren’t the biggest fan of wearing dresses, much less an elegant, custom-made slip gown that was dyed a deep charcoal, this one had its charm. You felt like a warrior adorned for battle.

Heading back inside the grand museum, the elegant dining room never fails to revive your soul. The dark atmosphere accompanied by the warm lighting felt unreal, like you shouldn’t even be here. But here you were, standing in one of your favorite places in the entire world. Walking towards the bar, you spot an empty seat on the end, so you take the opportunity before anyone else can.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks.

“Um, may I have an espresso martini?” You ask, setting down the drink menu.

“It’ll be about five minutes. We just finished cleaning the machine.” She replies, taking your drink ticket.

“Okay, that’s fine.” You answer.

Smiling back at you, the bartender hands the ticket stub back over to you now dotted with a black check mark. Leaning against the bar, you patiently wait for your drink and decide to look up some of the works of art that were on display in the building. You start to finally feel relaxed knowing you’re allowed to walk freely throughout the art gallery and the mere anticipation makes butterflies rise in your stomach.

However, the excitement comes to a dead stop the second you accidentally look up from your phone and make eye contact with some young, blonde rich-looking scumbag who was sitting at the other side of the bar. Promptly leaving his seat, the man makes his way over to you.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m Max.” He flirtatiously asks.

Bracing himself against the edge of your personal bubble, you try your best to ignore him and the scent of vodka on his lips. Returning with your drink, you thank the bartender and spin in your chair to stand, but the partygoer stops you.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart. I just want to know who I’m meeting.” Max explains, taking a hold of your shoulder.

The cold sensation of his hand being incredibly unwelcome on your exposed skin sends a threatening chill down your spine.

“I’m sure any other girl would enjoy your company. So leave me alone.” You rebuttal.

Chuckling at your response, the guy leans closer, breaking your precious personal bubble. Max’s fingers hover around the bare skin of your naked thigh, dancing above your freckles. The echoing sound of your heartbeat fills your ears as you couldn’t breathe.

“Come on, baby. What do you say we get out of here, huh?” He whispers in your ear.

Seeing red, you instinctively shove Max away from your body.

“No!” You exclaim.

At the same time, however, someone else was pulling him off of you. Stumbling against a spare fridge, Max knocks into the stranger that had the decency to save you.

“Look bud, she said no. She’s with me, you understand? So back off.” The stranger threateningly explains, letting his thick Austrian accent take over.

Cowering away from him, Max playfully raises his hands in defeat.

“Alright man. You win.” Max teases before walking into the crowd.

Watching him walk away, you turn your attention towards the kind soul who saved you from something potentially traumatic.

“Thank you.” You manage to say.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least I can do.” He replies.

Standing from your seat, you flash him a quick smile before heading to the art gallery. Exhaling at the entire encounter, you manage to find a wooden bench in the middle of the room and sit down. Rubbing your fingers together, you notice that your hands haven’t stopped shaking, so you reach into your bag for a moment, only to realize that you left your phone at the bar.

Scoffing, you hesitantly pull yourself together, ready to make the walk of shame back into the dining hall when the sight of the kind stranger stops you in your tracks in the doorway.

“Hi.” You say.

“Hi.” He replies with a smirk.

Walking towards you, he holds up your phone in his hand.

“You uh, left this at the bar and I didn’t want that asshole to have it. So I thought I’d return it to you.” He says.

Handing your phone to you, he sits down next to you.

“Thank you. …And thank you for helping me at the bar. That was the last thing I expected to happen tonight.” You admit.

Forcing the rising wave of tears back down, you finally put your phone away before deciding to break your shyness to meet new people.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You introduce yourself.

Extending your hand to the handsome stranger, he gently takes your hand in his, holding it like a gentleman should.

“It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Hugh. And I’m glad I got to know your name before that asshole.” He replies.

Laughing at his answer, Hugh lightly chuckles along with you. Looking up at him again, his light hazel eyes and dark brown hair seem to put in a near trance-like state, including the fact that he looks amazing in just a regular suit and tie. Glancing back into your e/c orbs, you feel safe with Hugh by your side, and you didn’t seem to know or understand why. It just felt right.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what's a normal person like you doing here? This place definitely seems out of your league.” Hugh asks.

Furrowing your brows, you lightheartedly place your hand over your heart, and pretend to gasp.

“Wow. I can’t believe you, Hugh. You actually think I’m normal?” You tease, earning yourself a laugh from the man across from you.

“You know what I mean.” He responds.

“The company I work for wants me to expand my idea for this article I’m writing. They actually want to know if rich people, including celebrities, truly appreciate the arts and other historical pieces in history.” You explain.

“Ouch. That hurts you know. Well, if it’s any consolation, I for one do enjoy the arts. I mean, you’re talking to a theater kid here. So the arts sort of come naturally to me.” Hugh replies, feeling hurt for a moment, but he quickly shifts the tone.

“Then can I interview you? You seem like one of the few knowledgeable people here. I wish more people like you would attend these events than the rich boys who are thriving off of their parent’s money and think they can get away with–” You begin, but slowly trail off in slight terror.

Suddenly, appearing in the doorway, Max appears to have found you, and that he has been eavesdropping on your delightful conversation.

“What is it?” Hugh asks, going off the look on your face.

Turning around to the doorway, Hugh’s kind look drops almost instantly, and you stand from your spot at the bench. Following suit, Hugh fixes his jacket before giving you all of his attention.

“What did he exactly do to you, Y/N? We can go if you like.” Hugh firmly states, stepping closer to you.

Briefly holding the brim of Hugh’s jacket, you inch closer so that Max wouldn’t hear.

“Hugh, he… He tried to…” You can’t bring yourself to tell Hugh, allowing your tears to shed.

Instantly understanding what you mean, you swear that Hugh’s once calm and peaceful eyes light up with fury, now knowing that this douche tried to violate and humiliate your charming and innocent soul. Hugh understood that you, a young woman such as yourself shouldn’t have to experience something like that.

So he knew what he had to do, regardless if it would get him banned from this museum for life.

“Look, buddy l’m not looking for trouble. I do appreciate you keeping her company, though.” Max tries again, hoping to win you over. Except this time, he’s a little more drunk.

“God, when will you learn? Some women actually have the common sense to avoid guys like you.” Hugh spits.

“Well, most women prefer the young rich guy who can take them places instead of the boring washed-up actor who still chooses to be in shitty superhero movies!” Max shouts, causing you to flinch.

Attempting to walk towards you, Max doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints, and he unfortunately takes the blunt end of the stick. Punching him in the face, you and Hugh watch Max fall to the floor. Groaning in pain, Max wipes his bloody nose as Hugh takes you by the hand, leading you out of the museum.

Taking your shoulders, Hugh calmly recenters himself.

Pulling Hugh in for an embrace, he welcomes it and tightly holds your frame. Squeezing his broad shoulders, Hugh calmly sways you from side to side.

“It’s alright. He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.” Hugh announces.

“Thank you, Hugh. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t showed up.” You reply, slowly ending the hug.

“Of course. Now, what do you say about starting that interview?” He asks, waving to the valet employee.

“I’d love to.” You answer with a smile, knowing that this is the start of something spectacular.

wolverine/hugh taglist ~

@dreamliners

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasm15

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

@the-moth-archives

@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

@mostly-marvel-musings

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman imagines #hugh jackman headcanons

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repulsiveliquidation · 11 months ago

Text

The White Suit || Jill Roord

based on that suit. good lord. save me. lock me up. anyway, it's just smut lol

warnings : mommy kink, swearing, aftercare, strap-on's, vibrators, oral sex.

“Lieveling, you really can’t make it?”

“I’m stuck in the airport, my love. My flight got canceled and there aren’t any flights to Heathrow till tomorrow.”

“I really wanted you to be here,” Jill says to you sadly.

“Me too baby, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get there tomorrow okay?”

Jill hangs up with tears in her eyes. It’s her first game back since her ACL injury and you had promised to be there to watch her take her place back on the pitch. She steps off the team bus in her suit and sulks the whole warmup, the rest of the girls feel bad for her when she tells them you couldn’t make it.

Little did she know that you managed to get a seat on the next flight out of Spain where you were. You still missed the game but hid out in her room after texting Leila to delay Jill and steal her spare key to get you into her room.

You changed quickly, Leila managing to drag Jill for some coffee before coming back to the hotel to give you some time to get ready. You pulled on a light blue lingerie set that was reminiscent of the Man City blue, thigh-highs pulled up nice and taut secured to your bottoms. Your harness lay waiting on the bed, an acceptable array of straps right beside it.

Your hair fell perfectly around your shoulders, skin soft and supple with every move you made. A light pink lipstick perfectly lathered on your lips. An aromatherapy machine gently spews lavender-scented mist, permeating the room. You smiled, towel laid out on the bed right in the middle ready for your night of celebrations.

Leila texted you that they were in the elevator up so you sat on the bed with your legs crossed waiting for Jill to walk in. You were a little nervous and there were butterflies in your stomach, hoping that Jill would be surprised and not upset.

“Leila, stop being so touchy I’m not going to leave this room till she comes tomorrow–baby?” Jill says in surprise, standing in the doorway in shock. Leila and Laia grin and cheer as they walk to their room, cackling away as Jill stutters.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see my baby,” you tell her and stand, sauntering over to her. She shuts the door behind her and drops her gear bag, her white suit a little crumpled on her shoulder. You tsk and stand in front of her a little too close to smooth out the wrinkles.

She stands with her jaw dropped and you close it for her, looking up at her beautiful eyes that slowly begin to gloss over. You fiddle with her lapels and smooth out the rest of the creases from her jacket, pressing your lips right on the collar of her jacket leaving a perfect lip stain.

Jill’s knees visibly buckle and she catches herself, muttering incoherently her apologies. You smile softly and cup her face, tilting your head in for a kiss. She meets you halfway and you smile into the kiss, her lips soft with a hint of coffee and caramel.

Jill moans when your tongue swipes her bottom lip and you slip your tongue into her mouth, exploring and dominating her tongue. You wrap your arms around her neck and pull her towards the bed, before fisting her lapels that were perfectly tailored for Jill.

You pull away and admire her outfit, her slightly damp hair draped perfectly on her shoulders and you gently adjust her necklaces and she whines, reaching to take her jacket off.

You tut and she looks down at you again, eyes full of expressive features. You take her hand and guide her in front of the bed where your harness sits. You nudge your head for her to take it and she does, helping you step into it. She secures the sides and you smile, cooing at her gently.

Jill eyes the array of dildos that sit perfectly straight on the bed. She sees her favorite, one that’s too big, one that’s too small, and one that she’s never seen before.

“May I pick one, Mommy?” Jill asks obediently, fidgeting with her vest.

You stand behind her and caress her arms, chin resting on the Dutch’s shoulder.

“Yes, you may angel. You get to pick because you won that game today and look so pretty in that suit hm?”

Jill nods and you frown a little. She catches a glimpse of your face in the window across from her and immediately corrects herself.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“Good girl, Jill,” you praise, walking around the bed and onto it. Jill drags her fingers over the toys and predictably picks her favorite one. She picks it up and hands it to you.

“This one please, Mommy,” she says quietly, eyes meeting yours. She’s dazed and a little lust-hungry, shoulders sagging and knees about to buckle again. You pity her and decide that that’s enough teasing and take her toy of choice to put on.

It clips in securely and you have her sitting on the edge of the bed. You kiss her neck gently and shrug her jacket off, throwing it over to the chair in the corner. Jill shudders at the sudden cold air on her exposed skin, goosebumps littering her skin. You climb off the bed and stand over her, fiddling with the buttons on her vest.

You undid each one slowly, getting down to your knees with every pop of a button. Jill was breathing a little heavier now, leaning back on her elbows as she understood your intentions.

Once her vest was off, her pants were not far behind. She smiled a little drunkenly as you pulled them off, nails raking over her strong thighs. Jill shuddered again and smiled, throwing her head back.

You smiled and watch her relax into the premium bedding, her bare ass tense against the 400 thread count linen. You caress her tired muscles and kiss up her thighs, her knees parting way for you. You grin up at her and see a light blush on her cheeks, eyes hooded a little as her pussy throbs achingly between her legs.

“Where do you want me, babygirl?” you ask teasingly, perfectly manicured nails running through her wet pussy. Jill whines and hides behind her forearm, nodding softly.

“Words, you useless whore.”

“Anywhere, everywhere, just touch me Mommy please!” Jill cries, eyes filling with tears as your fingers along her pussy tug her folds just a little.

You lean in and lick her up her slit gently, tongue a little warmer than her folds that were exposed to the colder room. She jerks but keeps her ass planted on the bed obediently as your tongue fondles her peeking clit.

Jill bites her lip hard, eyes screwed shut tight. A slender finger pushes into her and her knees fold up onto the bed to ease your access. She moans and cants her hips down onto your finger slowly before your palm rests on her hip as a warning. You stand and slide another finger into her pussy and hover over her, eyes dark and voice deep.

“One more move that I don’t fucking ask for, I stop and you go to bed with nothing, do you understand me?”

“Yes Mommy,” she whines out, nodding her head profusely.

Her ass never leaves the bed and you grin proudly down at her when you feel a rush of arousal coat your fingers inside her.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes Mommy, feels so good when you touch me,” she answers, feeling a third finger push in beside the other two. Jill throws her head back and whines while her hips can’t resist one more cheeky grind.

You stop your fingers right on her sweet spot, having just decided to reward her for being a good girl when you feel her hips move when you told her not to. Your fingers pull out of her pussy and you get off the bed. You pull her to the middle of the bed and smile, kissing down her chest. She shifts nervously and smiles back, unsure if she’s messed up or not.

You reach up and under the pillow, pulling out a vibrator. It’s turned on immediately and your hands pull her legs wide open, lips right beside her ears.

“I told you not to move, princess.”

The wand head is pressed to her clit and she barely has time to process the transition into her punishment. The rush of pleasure goes straight to her head and down to her toes. She struggles to find something to hold on to, the sheets taut as she grasps them and pulls them tight.

“You getting close, darling?” you taunt, wand pressed harder on her clit. Jill grips your wrist and whimpers, nodding hard.

“Please Mommy,” Jill begs beautifully, “Please let me come.”

“No.”

Jill’s thighs which have been flexed to force blood toward her core dissipate the moment you pull the wand away. She cries out your name and her eyes begin to water, her pleasure dropping back to zero.

“What did you do wrong, sweetheart?” you ask softly, kissing down her bare chest. You suck bright red hickeys all over her chest, her lips struggling to form a sentence.

“Moved when you didn’t allow me to,” she manages, tears falling down the side of her face. You suck on her breast gently, hand bringing the toy back towards her core. It barely touches a bit of flesh, the light vibrations driving her crazy.

“What must you say so you can come, baby?”

She answers much more composed this time.

“I’m sorry Mommy, won’t happen again.”

“Good girl,” you whisper to her, the vibrator pressed hard against her clit. Jill cries out your name again and tries her best to stay still, eyes screwed shut again. She bites her lip and slowly smiles deliriously, a sign that she’s close.

You pull the vibrator away and give her no time to argue when your cock slips right into her dripping pussy. Jill gasps and looks up at you in shock, thighs shaking as your thrusts are powerful and precise.

You press the vibrator into her palm as your hips never falter, hands pressing her thighs wide open.

“Be a good girl and don’t move that off your clit unless I say so.”

She does as you say, shaky hands pressing the vibrator right on her clit, and her expression changes. You press her legs wider and pound into her pussy hard, feeling the vibrations fizz out into your strap-on and lightly onto your clit.

“Faster Mommy, I’m so close please!”

You fuck into her faster and suck on her breasts gently, helping her hold the toy right on her clit. Jill swears she sees white when she comes, eyes rolling as far as they go into her head. She shudders and jerks as she comes, toe curled up tight.

“Fuck!” she screams as you keep railing her into the mattress, the first orgasm fizzling out and the second fast approaching. Jill chants your name like a mantra and her hands shake too much to hold the vibrator on her clit. You lean back and pound up right into her sweet spot, holding the vibrator right on her sensitive clit.

“One more for me, darling,” you coo, throwing your head back as your pleasure slowly rises too. “Think you can give me one more pretty orgasm sweetheart?”

“Yes Mommy, it’s yours!”

Jill concentrates on your movements, her lust-driven focus solely on you. She feels the tug in the back of her belly button, the buildup of pressure just in her core. A hand wrapped around her neck and squeezes, that was all the triggers she needed. She barely had time to warn you she was coming, the sheer power of her orgasm pushes you out as she squirts all over your lower half. You watch in amazement, her legs shaking like a leaf as you fondle her clit fast. You pull away just as she reaches her tipping point, eyes zoned in on you.

She can barely remember most of what happened next. She was in a warm bath and lots of bubbles within ten minutes, wrapped in your arms under the soft lights of her hotel room bathroom. You’re kissing her ear when she properly comes to, smacking her lips and blinking her eyes.

“Hello gorgeous,” you whisper, hands caressing her arms. She snuggles back into you, eyes closing as the smell of her favorite lavender Epsom salt fills the air. She feels your arms around her and the warm water helps her aching muscles, tilting her head back to kiss you.

You pull a hand out of the water and cup her face, kissing her earnestly as she gently turns into your arms. Jill pulls away and smiles, rough hands doing their own exploration under the bubbly water.

“Did you come earlier, love?” she asks in her slight Dutch and English accent, she frowns when you shake your head.

“I was close but I didn’t come.”

“That’s not good,” Jill states matter-of-factly. Her hands drag down your soapy thighs, the water making the glide extremely easy. You lean back and let her have her fun, feeling the Dutch’s fingers dance over your clit.

“Just relax, I’ve got you,” Jill reassures, smiling when she feels your muscles relax into the fragrant water more. She rubs tight circles over your clit and you feel yourself getting close already. She tilts your head up and presses her lips to yours hard, fingers rubbing your clit faster and faster. You moan into her mouth and grip the edges of the bath. The water spills a little but you couldn’t care less. Jill sneaks two fingers into you and you cry out her name, coming hard on her fingers.

Jill smiles and cups your face for a kiss, feeling you melt into her arms. She pulls away, grinning from ear to ear.

“I should tell management to get us more suits huh?”

#jill roord #jill roord smut #jill roord imagine #jill roord x reader #man city women #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso smut

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nyoomfruits · 3 months ago

Note

after this race can we please get landoscar 15 or 24?

15. squeezing them tightly + 24. cuddles of reassurance

Here's the thing. Knowing you're driving a literal death machine on wheels and knowing you're driving a literal death machine on wheels are two entirely different things.

Logically, Oscar knows his job is dangerous. Logically, he knows it can all be over in a second. But weirdly, in a way, he forgets, sometimes. It becomes background noise. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the car you drive could kill you.

But then sometimes, sometimes there are these reminders, like the 2024 Brazilian Grand Prix, where he has to witness yellow flags turn into safety cars turn into red flags so often he pretty sure he forgets how to breathe.

Everytime there's a yellow flag his heart jumps, thinking please. Please not him. Please.

It isn't. None of them are. But they could be, and that's what's keeping Oscar's heart in his throat for the entire race. He keeps getting flashbacks to Las Vegas, to Lando's car flying into the barriers, Lando nothing but a helpless passenger.

Keeps seeing Lando's weak, loopy smile after, the one that hadn't quite reached his eyes. They hadn't even been a thing, back then, but the memory still haunts Oscar to this day.

The race ends in dissapointment. But Oscar doesn't care, because the race ends, and Oscar's still in his car, and Lando is still in his car, and nothing happened.

Oscar makes a beeline for Lando when they exit the car, shakes his hand in a friendly bro-y 'we're definitely just teammates and definitely not madly in love and planning to buy a house in Monaco together' kind of way, and looks at his crinkly eyed smile through the visor of his helmet, and breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn't until they're back in the McLaren Motorhome, after slugging through Press and debriefings, that Oscar gets to properly wrap Lando up in his arms, pull him close and bury his face in his hair, taking in the familiar scent of sweat and car and boy, that he can properly, truly breathe again.

"Hey," Lando says, a little wheezy, because Oscar is definitely squeezing him a little too tight, but he's too glad to hold him to really care. "I'm okay."

"I love you," Oscar says, mostly in the crook of Lando's neck.

"I know," Lando says, pressing his smile against the side of Oscar's face. "I love you too. Now, come on, let's get back to the hotel, yeah? We'll have like, a proper cuddle."

Oscar, who was honestly planning on never letting Lando go again, has to concede mainly on the fact that never letting him go again would be much more comfortable in a bed.

And so he pulls away, if ever so reluctantly, and gets rewarded with Lando's soft, tired, race worn smile. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. Let's go."

#landoscar #drabble

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amber-aromadiffusermachine · 1 year ago

Text

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Key Features:

- Scents up to 500 M3

- Pairs with 100ml oil bottle

- User can customize fragrance intensity

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- Waterless, heatless technology

- No residue

- Safe for pets, children, artwork and furniture

- Dimensions: 103*238 mm

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hyunjinsjeans · 5 months ago

Text

Breakfast in bed (Bangchan x Reader)

Summary: going with Chan on his trip to America you can’t let an opportunity to give it a try to have that baby you talked about pass you by.

Type: Fluff 🧸, NSFW 🔞

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex (don’t do it, guys!) , little proofreading.

Word count: 2263 words

Related: He Knows (Chan ver.)

Masterlist Here

AN: This fic is a part 2 to Bangchan’s version of the He Knows Series. It can also be read as a stand alone. There is so little plot, I’m a little sorry. I’m also a little shy around smut still but I’m trying guys 👉👈This is the first one! Let’s go!

You breathe in the morning air. America has been wonderful, after Chan decided to bring you along only a few days before the departure date, you had to get the days off from work and plan accordingly.

Chan finds himself dragging you behind him everywhere, he cannot help it. While he is in his leader mindset, he is also so unable to disconnect from you. You experience his bossy side first hand. He is strict and direct, and he does not play games with the boys whenever they begin having too much fun during dance practice.

Chicago has been kind to the boys, even though they have spent little time on their own personal interests, you still find yourself having a great time seeing them all do what they love. Their set was a massive hit, the boys had great fun and Felix went a little overboard on stage… You enjoyed the show from a spot backstage with some of their staff as well as Changbin!Reader and Felix!Reader who had made it with their little ones.

“Hey… what are you doing all the way over there?” He drops his arm over his eyes as he lays on his back in the bed.

You hear his voice and smile from the open balcony. You turn in your old snoopy pj shorts and shirt and look at him, forgetting about the birds that fly above the busy city. You’ve already made coffee on the coffee machine in the small hotel room, the small mug between your hands.

“Morning, sleepy head!” You step aside and close the balcony sliding door. “I was just having a second with my thoughts, how’d you sleep?”

Chan sighs but does not move a muscle, still tired. You walk up to the bed, leaving the coffee on the bedside table and sit next to him, placing your hand on his forearm you pull the limb away from his face and whisper.

“Mmm, that good?” You arch an eyebrow and watch him whine.

He rolls on his side and wraps his arm around you, dragging you down onto the bed beside him. “Yeah, it’s nice to share a hotel room with you…”

You complain as you drop on the bed, hands go reach out to him on instinct. “Chan!” You can hear him chuckle at your plea. “I’m telling Lee Know you don’t like sharing rooms with him.”

He smiles and wraps his arms around you, “tell him something he doesn’t know…”

You push his messy hair away from his face and examine his face. Eyes closed and expression full of glee. He takes a deep breath and you put your hand against his cheek, he smiles and puts his hand on top of yours, turning his face to kiss your palm.

“I’m so glad you could come. I miss you so much when you stay home.” He admits in a soft voice.

You hum and lean in to kiss his nose. “I know. I feel weird when you’re travelling.”

Chan opens his eyes and meets your gaze, his hand reaches out to touch your face too, his fingers drag along your temple and fix a strand of your hair behind your ear. You lean against him and let him turn to lay on his back again, now pulling you softly into his chest. You wrap your leg around his and let your arm rest on his stomach while your head finds the perfect spot on the crook of his neck.

“Remind me, what time are we supposed to check out?” You rub your nose against his skin, inhaling his scent with a soft smile on your face.

“This afternoon. I think they said at around 3…” his arms squeeze you against him, he closes his eyes when you start nipping at his neck, “babe, what are you doing?”

You smile and slip your hand slowly up his chest and neck until you reach his jaw, “I’m spoiling my husband, what are you doing?” You say playfully.

He chuckles, “well, obviously I’m being spoiled!”

You laugh against his skin, kissing his neck before throwing your head back to look at him.

“Should I stop?” you wait for his reply.

Chan’s grasp on you tightens, “I never said that!” He complains and you giggle in response.

“Oh, so I am allowed to give you hickeys?” You press your lips on his neck again.

“No, no, no!” He puts his hand on your hair and pulls you away softly, “I’m still the only one allowed to give hickeys.”

He stares at your neck for a moment and then his eyes meet yours, all sleep has disappeared from them all of a sudden.

“Mm, actually… let me fix you with one…” He dips his head into your neck and pushes his plush lips against your neck.

You close your eyes as his breath hits your skin and you feel him nibbling on the sensitive spot right under your ear. Your head falls on the pillow and you run your hands up and down his naked chest. He presses his body against you and you grip onto his shoulder, pulling him on top of you as you roll onto your back.

“Looks so pretty, babe.” He whispers when he pulls away and watches the small mark on your neck.

With a cloudy mind you sigh, while he is fully awake now you feel like you’re being put into a trance.

“Chan,” you whisper, combing his hair back with your fingers. “You do realise I have to walk behind you at the airport, right? Now sporting this thing on my neck.”

He smiles and chuckles, “couldn’t help it…” He brushes his nose against yours. “I remember seeing you dance and jump around last night. You looked so cute, so excited to watch us perform. I’m glad you had fun.”

You nod with your head still on the pillow. Looking up at Chan you understand a little better why he wanted you to come. It has been a couple of months since you two decided to grow the family, encouraged by those members who already had kids. The night before you had helped Changbin!Reader with her two year old, Hajoon. She was an excitable little girl and you had a lot of fun holding her and dancing, playing with her small hands as she giggled with her big noise cancelling headphones. Obviously, Chan was eager to watch you have that same kind of fun with a child of your own.

“Aw, are you getting the baby fever?” You tease him, “welcome to my life, be thankful LeeKnow!Reader couldn’t be here, I’m a fool for their baby boy!”

Chan giggles, giving your lips a soft peck.

“Don’t worry, you can be a fool for our baby too. Let’s work on that, yeah?” He proposes.

“Oh, you’re on a schedule now? Is it time for that?” You tease.

“Mmmhm,” He kisses you, smiling into the kiss. “It’s time.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and play with the hair on the back of his head, letting his tongue into your mouth once he licks your bottom lip. You bring your leg up to his hip and feel his hand pull it up against his side. Your hand goes to find his arm and you hold on to him, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. He kisses down your neck and bites every so often, making you gasp and let out little whispered sounds. He pulls your shirt and shorts off and has you laying on your back naked in a few minutes. His hands touch your legs from the ankle to the back of your knee, to your thighs and then his strong hands grip your hips. You reach up and touch his naked chest.

Chan grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles and the back of your hand, before leaning down and kissing your stomach, right above your belly button. You whine under his kiss but let him kiss an agonisingly slow path down your belly and between your legs.

He really gives no warning before his face is buried into you, his hands holding your legs apart over his shoulders.

You gasp under his mouth and put a hand on his hair, fingers tangle with his dark locks while your other hand holds on to fistfulls of the bedsheets. You throw your head back as his tongue works on your most sensitive spot, making sure you are absolutely ready for him. You pant with a strong string tightening inside you, breathing seems so difficult as he laps at your folds, his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit. He hums into your sensitive knob and you gasp loudly, legs shaking in his grasp. He keeps going, eating you out like a starved man, only stopping after you cum on his mouth. You call out his name, your back arching off the bed as you do. He kisses your thighs and then your belly and up to your chest, his hands now eager to grope your breasts, he speaks against your chest, lips brushing your skin as he does so. “So pretty, babe… you’ll be even prettier with our baby…”

You nod, lazy hand landing on his shoulder. “Mmhm,” you kiss his lips, “I can’t wait…”

He leans into your kiss and struggles to kick off his boxers fast enough, you laugh as he has to step off the bed to get them off. Smiling, you sit up in the middle of the bed and wrap your arms around your weakened legs and stare. He looks back at you with a sheepish smile on his face as he stands fully naked before you.

“What are you laughing at?” He climbs onto the bed again, his hands land on your knees and he pulls them apart slowly, still face to face with you as you sit up.

“I’m thinking I love you,” you caress his cheek. “And that I am so eager to have your baby one day, hopefully soon…”

It is not spoken, but as the time has gone on and you’re still a couple months into trying for a baby, the two of you have relaxed a lot about the topic. Especially you, since the stress of it was not doing you any good. Chan feels his heart fill with hope when you say those words. He wants the same thing you want and he knows the uncertainty of the situation is hard to cope with, everytime you get a period it’s both of you who deal with the disappointment. Everytime you’re together like this, you remind each other that it’s not a “task”, that you’re doing it because you want to, because it means something.

He sighs and his shoulders relax, he laughs to himself and grabs your face. “I love you too, Y/N. And I can’t wait either…”

You cup his face and bring your lips to his, he leans the rest of the way and he pushes you down slowly, hovering over you as you wrap your legs around his waist. He slips his hand between your bodies and guides himself inside you. You grip his shoulders and moan into his ear as he starts kissing down your neck. You feel him sink in, all the way in until there is no more space between you. He whispers in your ear but at that moment he starts moving. His hips snap against yours and you plant your feet on the bed, head thrown back.

“Channie…”

He hums and groans into your skin. Picking up the pace, it becomes almost unbearable the way he reaches the most sensitive spot inside you, your legs shaking with the imminent release approaching. You dig your fingers into his back and meet his every move, hips meeting his.

“...so close, Chan… ‘m so close…” You let him know in a whine.

He pulls your legs up, his hands find the back of your knees and he pushes them against your chest as he keeps going.

“It’s okay, babe… I’ve got you,” he basically folds you in half as he continues with a fast pace.

You grab onto the bed sheets and soon find the drag of his cock inside you too much, a loud moan falling from your lips as you cum. He gasps and fucks you through it, his hips stuttering a couple of times before he suddenly lands a hand on the headboard behind your head.

“That’s it babe, I’m going to… gonna cum too.” He announces.

Only a couple thrusts later, his warm cum is spilling inside you. You reach up and pull his hand down kissing his bicep before he lets go of your other leg and you can fully wrap yourself around him.

You let Chan kiss your lips, your cheek and your neck before he pulls away and peppers your collarbone with kisses as well.

“You’re so extra…” you joke, he chuckles and asks why, “because you didn’t have to put me in a mating press!”

He breathes in, “oh, you love it…”

You put your hands on your face, unable to deny his statement. You hear him laughing and cannot help yourself but smile.

“See?” He kisses your hands still on your face. “Hey, I’ve got a good feeling about this…”

You let him take your hands away from your face and smile at one another, hopeful but unaware this would be the moment that would change your lives.

———

Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for reading!

#bang chan fluff #bang chan x you #bang chan fanfic #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #hyunjinsjeans writing

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aromasphere1 · 2 years ago

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kkongdakz · 1 year ago

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“ ONE BED. ” ft. park gunwook

gunwook x gn!reader, genre : enemies to potential something, neutral but kind of fluff, warning : use of the word die once, wc : 1k>

« this can't happen. » you say defeatistly, letting your bag fall to the floor and staring at the room's only double bed. why the bus driver had to decide to stop for the night, letting you run around in the downpour turning into a flood to this shabby little hotel. only to discover that the hotel has fewer rooms available than expected, and on top of that, you end up sharing a room with the one person you can't stand.

and obviously, this room has only one bed.

not wanting to deal with your bad temper, your teachers quickly slipped away to their respective rooms, locking their doors, leaving you soaked to the bone, staring at the bed in front of you.

« there is no way i'm getting in a bed with you. » you declared, pointing a finger at the mattress, your gaze pivoting towards gunwook, who rolled his eyes and sighed. the boy didn't care about your reaction, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder as he walked around you, infiltrating the bathroom, « you're welcome to the floor. »

with a fake, provocative smile, he finally slammed the door of bathroom, locking it, only for you to hear the shower running a few minutes later. a long sigh left your lips as you decided to leave the room to find something to munch on until you can warm up with a nice hot shower. wandering around the motel, you finally came across a vending machine, taking the time to observe what it was offering. after a few moments of reflection, you simply took a packet of bear jellies and a can of coke, before dragging your feet back to your hotel room.

opening the door, you came face to face with gunwook, who had just come out of the shower room. as he wiped his hair with his towel, you placed your purchases on the bedside table before grabbing your bag to take his place. there's no feeling more satisfying than throwing off your wet clothes for a hot shower — which you did without further ado.

after long minutes of enjoying the warmth, you put on your pyjamas and made your way to the main bedroom. unsurprisingly, gunwook was on the bed, scrolling through his phone, completely ignoring you. you didn't wait long before sitting down at the end of the bed, looking around you — there was really nothing to do. on top of that, it probably didn't have a heater because of the way the hairs on your arms stood up from the cold. « woah, it's really cold. » you whispered, pulling your legs up to your chest.

until something hits you square in the back.

ready to turn around and howl at him like a ferocious beast, your fingers came into contact with the object he had thrown at you : a sweatshirt. probably his sweatshirt. frowning, gunwook gestured to you to put it on silently, just then returning to his own business on his phone. without bothering to thank him verbally, you slipped it on without further ado, enjoying the softness and warmth of the fabric against your skin.

not mentioning the fact that his scent on it appealed to your nostrils.

swivel for crawling on the mattress to get under the blanket, your gaze landed on him, attracting his attention. lying down as far away from him as possible, you put on a falsely threatening face before speaking : « touch me and die. »

a scoff leave his lips, probably due to the nerve you showed, when he had just sacrificed the warmth of his sweatshirt for you. paying no further attention to him, you turned your back on him and closed your eyes, praying that sleep would come to you as soon as possible.

which obviously didn't happen.

a long sigh left your lips as you didn't dare turn over in bed, pulling as hard as you could on the blanket to cover your frozen body. which drew yet another long annoyed sigh from the boy next to you. moving slightly to stare at the dark ceiling, you nibbled your lower lip as you pondered. should you talk? perhaps the best idea for you both is to have as few altercations as possible, but it was going to be a long night if you kept getting cold like that.

so you decided to talk, « you're not sleeping? » you asked, trying not to turn your gaze to gunwook, but simply glancing out of the corner of your eye, « nope. »

his voice seemed to fade into a sigh, though his answer was short. « why? » you continued, wrapping your body a little more tightly in the warmth of the blanket. « don't want you to stab me the second i close my eyes. » he declared in an amused tone, which gave way to a small smile at the corner of your lips, as you rolled your eyes. so you decided to look in his direction, just for a few seconds, without thinking that your pupils would be planted in his.

« i won't. » you finally whispered, trying to ignore the cute smile that had just appeared on his lips when you said those words. the moonlight passing through the thin curtains of the motel room illuminated his face, which you noticed had just softened.

suddenly, gunwook's hand came out of the blanket and slipped around your waist, drawing your body closer to his. you looked at him incredulously, unsure of how to react — but the warmth of his hand against your back made you want to snuggle up to him. « you're cold right? » he said in a whisper, pulling you completely against him, and in an instant your body felt warm again. nodding slightly and muttering an inaudible reply, you pulled yourself up against him, keeping your arms against your chest. finding a comfortable position, you ignored the acceleration of your heartbeat as you closed your eyes, praying that the sandman would pass quickly to put you to sleep.

« this never happened? » you say softly, camouflaging yourself a little more against him, seeking the slightest ounce of warmth from his body. « deal. » he replied, tightening his arms around you, placing his cheek against the top of your head while closing his eyes, ready to fall from exhaustion.

maybe in the end, this night wasn't going to be the worst of all.

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thelostmagicians · 6 days ago

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Shield of a Heart | Harry Styles: Part I

The Assignment

Series Masterlist

Summary: You’re Harry Styles’s personal bodyguard [3.4k]

Fluff, comfort, angst, panic attack, security risks

♡

The scent of fresh coffee and polished wood lingered in Jeff’s office, blending with the faint aroma of cologne. The morning sun filtered through the half-open blinds, casting slanted golden lines across the desk where Harry sat, fingers idly drumming against the surface. He had heard this conversation before. The ticking of the clock seemed louder than usual, a reminder that time was never on their side.

"H, I know you hate the idea of constant security," Jeff said, his tone serious. "But we can’t ignore what’s been happening. The crowd outside the hotel last week? The guy who jumped the barricade at your show? It’s getting worse."

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls, his gaze unfocused. "I don’t want to be that celebrity, Jeff. The one who walks around with an entourage, who has security pushing people away like they’re some kind of plague. I like interacting with fans. I don’t want to build walls around myself."

Jeff sighed, rubbing his temples, his face lined with frustration. "Then we find a way to make it low-key. I hired someone from an agency that specializes in undercover security. No obvious muscle, no uniforms, just someone watching your back without making it obvious."

Harry arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sounds expensive."

"Worth every penny. You’ll barely notice her."

Before Harry could argue further, a knock at the door interrupted them. Jeff stood and opened it, revealing you—dressed in a sleek yet practical outfit: dark jeans, a fitted black jacket, and boots sturdy enough for function yet stylish enough to blend in. Your posture was confident, poised, and alert, projecting a quiet authority that immediately commanded attention.

Harry’s lips parted slightly, the surprise evident in his eyes. He had been expecting someone completely different.

Jeff cleared his throat, his expression apologetic. "Harry, meet your new bodyguard."

There was a beat of silence as Harry and Jeff exchanged a quick glance of surprise.

You smirked slightly, though you kept your posture professional. "Let me guess—you two were expecting someone different?"

Jeff opened his mouth to deny it, but Harry’s expression gave them both away.

"A bit," Harry admitted, his voice laced with humor. "Not in a bad way, just... surprised."

"It’s okay," you replied with a shrug, your tone light. "Happens all the time. People see me and assume I’m a PR manager or an assistant. Maybe even a stunt double on a good day. But I assure you, I’m more than qualified to keep you safe."

Jeff leaned forward, a mix of pride and reassurance in his voice. "She comes highly recommended, top of her class. Trained in multiple combat techniques, counter-surveillance, defensive driving—you name it."

Harry hesitated before shaking your hand. "Right. Of course. I appreciate you doing this."

"It’s my job," you said simply, gripping his hand firmly, your touch brief but firm. "And I take it seriously. I’ll be shadowing you from now on. I won’t interfere with your day-to-day life unless I deem it necessary for your safety."

Jeff let out a breath of relief. "Alright. You start tomorrow."

As you left the office, you could feel Harry's eyes following you, still assessing, still deciding how he felt about the arrangement. You had a feeling this wasn't going to be an easy job, but you were used to challenges.

—

The next morning, you arrived early, determined to start taking action. You wanted to make the house feel like a safe space for Harry, not one that reminded him he was constantly under threat. As you entered, Harry’s house was still quiet, but you could hear the faint hum of a coffee machine in the kitchen. Harry’s team had already started arriving, but they barely noticed you as you moved with purpose. You couldn’t afford distractions.

The first thing you did was walk the perimeter of the house. The gates were solid, but outdated. You noted the number of hidden spots that weren’t covered by security cameras. There was an entrance to the side of the house that led to a narrow alley, and another hidden behind a tall garden wall. You couldn’t trust that nothing could slip by unnoticed.

You took mental notes—doorways, windows, gates, and even the trees that created shadows by the fence. No blind spots could go unaccounted for. After another quick call, you arranged for a full security system update.

By noon, new security cameras were being installed. You had chosen ones with facial recognition, ensuring that only those Harry authorized would be able to get past the front gate. Each camera was strategically placed in spots Harry didn’t even think to look. One was on top of the high garden wall, offering a bird's-eye view of anyone who came too close. Another was hidden behind a small decorative tree in the yard, monitoring the back door.

The most important change, however, came at the gate. You had noticed the gate code was easy to remember, but anyone who had once had access to it could still get in if they tried. The security team replaced the old keypad with a biometric scanner—fingerprint and face recognition—making it nearly impossible for anyone other than Harry or trusted personnel to gain entry. It was a decision made in the best interest of both privacy and safety.

Later in the day, as Harry returned home from a brief meeting, you watched him pull into the driveway. He came to a stop, giving you a quizzical look as he noticed the new setup.

"Okay, this is new," Harry said as he got out of the car, motioning toward the new camera at the gate and the biometric scanner you had installed. He raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d need to scan my face just to get into my own house."

You smiled coolly. "Better safe than sorry. You never know who might have access to your old codes. This is the next level of protection."

Harry paused, eyeing the scanner, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. You weren’t just a bodyguard anymore. You were someone who understood how to keep him safe. His face softened slightly, but there was still a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“I don’t know how I feel about all of this," Harry said, clearly uncomfortable with the changes. "It feels a little... extreme.”

You could sense his resistance, but you had expected this. "The changes are necessary, Harry," you said gently. "And it’s all for your safety. Trust me, it’ll feel like second nature soon enough."

You stepped away, watching him for a moment, before giving him some space. You knew Harry wasn’t the type to embrace change quickly, especially when it came to his personal life. But the new measures weren’t negotiable, and you couldn’t afford to back down.

—

That evening, after a brief rundown of your expectations, Harry seemed to nod along, seemingly compliant. However, as soon as he left Jeff’s office, you noticed his quick pace and sharp turns. You felt a shift in the air—the subtle challenge of Harry trying to lose you. He walked quickly, turning corners sharply, hoping you'd fall behind.

But you didn’t. You kept pace, your eyes scanning the area with precision, anticipating his every move. He stopped by a coffee shop, ordering something he didn’t even want, just to see if you’d relax your guard. You didn’t. By the time he reached his car, you were already standing beside it, waiting for him.

Harry sighed, shaking his head with a small, reluctant smirk. "Alright, I get it. You’re good."

"You should’ve figured that out when they hired me," you replied evenly, opening the door for him. He slid in, still watching you with mild curiosity, his eyes darting over your face as if trying to piece together the enigma that was you.

You didn’t talk much during the ride, but every so often, you could feel his gaze flicking toward you, studying you in his own quiet way. He wasn’t convinced yet, but he was starting to accept that you weren’t going anywhere.

—

After you dropped Harry off, you headed back to the office to wrap up the day’s tasks. Just as you were about to leave, Jeff caught up to you in the hallway. His expression was serious, a far cry from the casual confidence he usually carried.

"Look, I know this is only your first day, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up," Jeff said, lowering his voice. "Harry’s stubborn, and he’s not going to make this easy. He’ll try to shake you, test your limits. He doesn’t believe he needs this level of protection, and he’ll resist at every turn."

You nodded, already anticipating the challenge. "I can handle it. I’ve dealt with difficult clients before."

Jeff glanced at you, his eyes softening just slightly. "It’s not just that," he continued. "Harry doesn’t just push back because he’s stubborn. He won’t admit when he needs help, especially when it comes to anything related to his safety. He’ll act like he’s fine, even when he’s not. Just… be patient with him. This is going to take time."

You absorbed his words carefully, already starting to form a strategy in your mind. This job wasn’t just about physical protection; it was about navigating Harry’s emotional landscape, too. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Jeff sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just don’t back down. He might push you, but that’s just how he is. You’re doing good, though. I can see it."

You offered him a small, confident smile. "Thanks. I won’t let you down."

—

The following morning, after a restless night of monitoring security systems and reviewing the updated perimeter, you decided it was time to establish some ground rules. As you entered Harry’s house early, you noticed he was still in his pajamas, a mug of coffee in hand as he browsed through his phone. His hair was messy, and his usual polished aura was absent. He didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew this conversation was inevitable.

"No unannounced outings," you said firmly, your voice cutting through the morning air. "If you’re leaving the house, I need to know ahead of time. If you’re meeting someone, I vet them first. No exceptions."

Harry scoffed, slumping back in his chair as if the weight of the world had suddenly been placed on his shoulders. "You want to approve my dates now, too?"

You met his gaze without flinching. "If your date is a security risk, yes."

Mitch, one of Harry’s closest friends and bandmate, smirked from across the table. "She’s got you there, mate."

The room was filled with Harry’s band and team, all gathered together. Mitch and Sarah were there, along with Jeff, who had accompanied you to the house early that morning. Sarah stayed mostly quiet, watching the interaction with interest, while Mitch, as always, was ready with a teasing comment. Jeff, however, stood firmly on your side. He knew the importance of what you were doing and had already helped arrange the meeting. His presence was a reminder that this wasn’t just about you and Harry—it was about Harry’s safety, and Jeff understood that.

"I called everyone in this morning to go over some new ground rules," you continued, setting a folder of documents down in front of Harry. "This isn’t just about you, Harry. This is about your team too. It’s important that everyone is on the same page, especially when it comes to security."

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, still holding onto his coffee mug. Mitch, noticing the tension, leaned back in his chair, making a show of stretching. "Alright, boss," Mitch said with a playful grin. "What’s the first rule? Can we still sneak out for late-night gigs without her tracking us down?"

You shot Mitch a look, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Mitch, you’re not a teenager anymore. If there’s something important you want to do, you let me know first. No more spontaneous plans. You know I need to vet it. Same goes for all of you. It’s for your safety and Harry’s."

Jeff, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up, his voice calm but assertive. "Mitch, she's right. We can’t afford to take any chances anymore. If we’re going to do this right, everyone’s got to be on board with the rules. For Harry’s safety and all of ours."

Harry muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. He toyed with a bracelet on his wrist, his fingers absentmindedly twirling it, clearly irritated by the restriction. You could tell the added pressure was building. It wasn’t just the rules—it was the idea of being watched, the feeling of someone else controlling parts of his life.

But you had to be firm. He needed structure, even if he didn’t want it. And it was your job to make sure he understood that these boundaries were for his own good. You had to pick your battles carefully, but you couldn’t back down now.

"Look, I get it," you added, noticing the strain on his face. "You don’t want to feel like you’re being treated like a child. But I’m not here to ruin your life, Harry. I’m here to make sure you stay safe. That means I need to know where you are, who you’re with, and if anything goes off track. You may not like it, but it’s non-negotiable."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Sarah, always the mediator, glanced between Harry and you. She didn’t speak up, but you could tell she was trying to gauge the situation. Jeff, on the other hand, nodded in approval.

"This is exactly why we need to stay organized," Jeff added. "We’ve all seen the risks. It's better to be proactive than reactive. It might seem over the top now, but trust me—it’ll pay off."

Harry’s eyes flashed with mild frustration, but he didn’t speak up. The rules were getting stricter, and though you could tell he wasn’t thrilled, you weren’t about to bend. His life wasn’t just his own anymore—it was part of a much larger, more complex world now, and everything had to be accounted for. This wasn’t just about protecting him from the outside world. It was about making sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

You turned back to Harry, who was still fidgeting with his bracelet, seemingly lost in thought. "I’ll be reviewing all of your appointments and travel schedules. No more impromptu decisions. If there’s anything outside of the ordinary, you’re to clear it with me first. This includes interviews, public events, and meetings with anyone who isn’t part of your team."

Mitch, always ready to throw in his playful commentary, grinned. "So, does that mean you’ll be approving my plans too, or are you going to let me live a little?"

You gave him a deadpan stare. "If your plans involve a security risk, Mitch, then yes. I’ll be reviewing them."

Mitch raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I see how this is going."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t argue further. His team wasn’t exactly hostile, but there was a clear air of tension. They were used to having more autonomy, and now they were all adjusting to the fact that you were calling the shots when it came to security.

As the meeting wrapped up, you found another chance to add more rules. "I’m going to be implementing a detailed daily check-in. If you’re going anywhere, I want to know your exact plans for the day. That means no unplanned stops, no sudden changes of heart. Everything is to be accounted for."

Harry slumped further into his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered, clearly exhausted from the conversation. "But this better not become a habit."

You leaned in slightly, your voice calm but firm. "It will, for your safety. And we both know this isn’t just a ‘habit.’ It’s necessary."

Harry nodded stiffly, his posture still tense, but you could see a flicker of acceptance in his eyes. There was a silent understanding growing between you two—a recognition that this arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way forward.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. "I know you’re not used to this, but in the long run, it’ll make things easier for both of us."

Harry nodded stiffly, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. There was something unspoken between you now, a mutual understanding. He might have fought the rules at first, but you had a feeling he was beginning to see the logic behind them.

Mitch shot Harry a teasing smile. "Looks like she’s got you on lockdown now, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. He was adjusting, even if it wasn’t easy. And as for you, you knew this was only the beginning. Building trust took time, but you were willing to work for it. The rules you were setting were necessary. And despite his initial resistance, Harry was starting to realize that he needed them.

—

The next few days passed without incident, but you stayed vigilant, constantly assessing Harry’s routines and the security setup. You knew that with a celebrity like him, the danger wasn’t always obvious, and there would be moments when he’d try to slip through the cracks. He was stubborn, determined, but you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he tested you.

That night, after another late evening of monitoring Harry’s schedule, you retired to the security room once more. You pulled up a map of Harry’s estate, overlaying it with your notes. Every camera feed was up on the screen, every exit was accounted for, and you had finally established a solid perimeter.

As you closed the laptop, your gaze lingered on the footage of Harry smiling in front of the cameras, pushing through the crowd for his fans. The image on the screen didn’t capture the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes always darted around when he was surrounded.

You’d noticed it before, but now you understood it better. Harry wasn’t just worried about his fans. He was worried about the cracks that formed around him—the way people expected him to be perfect, the endless demands for a version of himself that could never be entirely real. The pressure was immense. Behind that charming smile, behind the carefully curated persona, was a man who wasn’t sure where the public’s love for him ended and where his own fear began. People wanted to be close to him, to see the man behind the legend, but the truth was, they didn’t always know what to do with the raw, unguarded version of Harry. The one who, when the cameras were off, sometimes felt like he was drowning in his own image.

You understood it now—the anxiety that haunted him, the cracks that formed around his confidence. It wasn’t just about the crowds or the pressure to always be "on." It was the constant battle of being vulnerable in a world that only ever seemed to want the version of him that smiled on stage, not the person who carried the weight of his own flaws, fears, and humanity.

Your job wasn’t just about protecting him from the outside world. It was about protecting him from his own vulnerability, making sure that he wasn’t consumed by the relentless expectations placed on him.

As you sat there in the dim glow of the monitors, you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before Harry truly accepted the help he needed. He had always kept his guard up, never fully letting anyone in. You had learned that much about him already. But you had to admit, there was a subtle shift in the way he relied on your presence. Even if he didn’t admit it, he was beginning to let you in, piece by piece.

You leaned back in your chair, taking a breath. You had your work cut out for you, but it was the job you had taken, and you were determined to make sure Harry never had to face the world alone.

The stakes were higher than just his safety now—he was at a crossroads, and so were you. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that this journey would change both of you in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 6 months ago

Text

Starlet

Dieter Bravo x Co-Star x Wife Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Your husband has a big movie premiere, sure he looks great, but his co-star looks even better. Warnings: PWP, threesome, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), lesbian fun, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, addiction talk, sober Dieter, Kit Kats, I wrote this for the bi girls. Words: 3,750

A/N: This has been a labor of love and horniness. You should all just automatically know I'm thanking @ohheypedrito for always being my sounding board. Also @magpiepills for sharing in my MFF joy. Shout out to "Kiss Me More" by Doja Cat & SZA.

Masterlist

___

Fancy hotel suites might just be the biggest perk of marrying a Hollywood superstar. Room service whenever you want, plush robes to relax in, a balcony view of Los Angeles’ glimmering lights, and a large plush bed perfect to fit two… or three bodies.

Sure, you could have stayed home and waited for the car service to bring Dieter home after the premiere, but when the studio offers a free hotel suite, you and Dieter happily accept. You love to get fucked by your husband in a new bed.

You’ve just dove into your new book, laid out on the chaise lounge of the balcony, sunning yourself in the early evening Summer sun when your phone dings with its customary Dieter ding.

He should be getting ready for the movie premiere; what does he need to tell you?

You unlock your phone to a pic of Dieter sadly pointing to a large brown stain on his crisp, light blue shirt.

Baby, this just happened. Did you pack a backup? Nope. Do you have anything of mine here? Just your old Rage Against The Machine shirt I was wearing earlier. Sold. I’ll take it. I’ll send Julien up to grab it. Go have him buy a shirt. It has holes... Nope. Now that I thought of having your scent on me all night, I need to wear it. Spray it with that perfume you use… Fine. You win. Love you baby. xoxo

You wonder why his team of publicists, assistants, and agents let Dieter style himself… or why they never remember to pack him an extra shirt.

He’s the love of your life, your uber famous partner, deserving of all of the rekindled fame, now sober and in the best place he’s been, thanks in large amounts to your influence.

You walked into his life weeks after his divorce, a man lost with a floundering career. He was too dangerous to work with, too manic, too unreliable. Then, you came in and helped pick his life up, as a favor to your friend Chrissy, his tenacious agent. You’re never supposed to fall in love with a client, but Dieter was just too irresistibly charming. You fucked him in your office after his third session. All of that hard work and student debt that earned you a psychology degree ended up getting you a diamond on your left ring finger and a dream wedding full of Hollywood elites.

You spritz the faded black shirt with your signature perfume and fold it for Julien to expeditiously deliver back to your husband. The wild life of a celebrity wife…

___

Your phone is propped up against a crystal vase that probably costs more than your first car streaming the red carpet premiere and Q&A of Dieter’s newest movie. You chose to sit this gigantic blockbuster event out, but it doesn’t mean you can’t support him from the comfort of this five star hotel room.

Your heart skips when the camera pans to Dieter getting out of the car. There he is, your celluloid husband, clad in all black, wearing the holey t shirt he just fucked you in before leaving you this afternoon.

The barriered crowd goes wild when they spot him. He smiles that megawatt smile, his signature dimples pressing into his golden skin. He’s so fucking beautiful.

You’re so proud of Dieter, you can hardly believe your husband is the star of the biggest summer film, standing tall and handsome with flash bulbs sparking across his face. You’re enamored by him, even when he’s a tiny square being live-streamed through your phone.

He joins his co-stars for a quick interview, his famous charm and humor is on full display, the crowd, host and co stars all laugh at his jokes. He truly is the golden boy of the red carpet.

You wonder if anybody else notices how he reaches for the hand of Greta, the actress who plays his wife in the film, when he realizes she’s nervous, much the same way he grabs your hand when you get anxious, being dragged to Hollywood parties and random awards shows. He’s always so thoughtful.

The interviewer asks Greta what it was like to act along with Dieter and play his wife. She laughs and blushes, Dieter’s arm rubs up and down her back, cuddling her closer to his body as she explains how wonderful of a man he is, how she felt very lucky to star in a movie with him.

She’s absolutely stunning in her form fitting gold dress, you’re watching all of this for your husband and yet Greta keeps stealing your attention, lean, elegant, and absolutely radiant. You think to yourself how badly you want to fuck her.

Dieter and the crew wave to the crowd and cameras thanking everybody for attending the red carpet, you smile at the sight of his gold wedding band before shutting the app down and opening the room service menu. It’ll be two hours until you hear from him after the movie. Time for an episode of Dateline.

___

You’re in a post grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup coma, the cops have just solved the triple homicide in the sleepy New England town when your phone beeps with the Dieter ding.

Movie’s out. have to deal with after party then back to u. Miss u like crazy xoxoix !! Hi! Have fun! Did u watch the red carpet? I did. You looked fucking hot. Ya? I actually liked the shirt, it made me think of this afternoon… Me too baby Greta looked amazing, I was almost watching her more than you. Don’t you think she looked good? Of course I did I think she likes you… saw a video on Twitter that makes me really see the goddamn chemistry you wouldn’t shut up about during filming. She said i smelled good tonight I told her ur the one to thank She can smell me anytime she wants. 😮 baby... Tell me D, do you miss kissing her now that filming is over? I know how you look at her, I’ve seen the previews and press appearances. Go ahead and tell me, baby. dunno about miss, but i did like kissing her What if I were to ask you to kiss her tonight… 😮 Oh? And film it for me. ohhhhhhhhh I can do that for you baby Go find her then. I’ll be waiting God baby I’m glad i married you Xoxo

The giddiness that courses through your body makes a big smile bloom across your face. You sit back against the soft cushions and imagine Dieter tucking his phone in his pocket and setting forth on his mission. Waiting for it is so hot.

___

The Dieter ding buzzes. You’ve never been this excited to pick your phone up.

Dieter Bravo Attachment: 1 Movie

Your hands are practically shaking when you touch the little bubble on your phone. There, in the freeze frame stands your husband and his beautiful co-star.

You hit play.

Greta smiles at the camera before she purrs out, “Hi, Dieter says this is for you.”

She’s so beautiful in the dim video, her silver eyeshadow glistens under the flash, her big blue eyes already look blown out with lust; you wish you were the one who was about to kiss her plush lips. If she’s willing to do this for him, you don’t doubt for a second how attracted she is to your husband. Dieter winks at the camera before turning to Greta, clutching his hand on her cheek and sealing his lips against hers. It’s… so fucking hot. You can hear the distant sound of laughter and conversation of the party goers just below the sounds of Dieter and Greta’s tongues tangling. You wish you could taste both of them, now you’re really regretting staying back. The camera grows more unsteady the deeper the kiss grows. He sucks her bottom lip, you can almost feel the slight tinge of pain, god you want to feel it. Dieter pulls away, and turns Greta’s face towards the camera.

“You want to kiss my wife, Starlet?”

“I do,” she answers.

Dieter lets out a low chuckle before winking at the camera and ending the recording.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re already soaked from that short video.

Dieter has been so good during his sober journey, being honest and forthright when he's tempted, allowing the help of counselors and his Narcotics Anonymous sponsor. You've stood by his side as he's made huge strides to conquer his addictions. His old vices are now replaced by a new vice... sex. You're so proud of him, you want to reward him... and yourself.

Jesus Christ D. U like? Can’t stop thinking about u watching that video baby I like it… a lot. Fuck! Greta wants to kiss me? Think she wants u more than she wants me... I’d like to meet her. I’d like you to meet her too baby Is she busy after the party? Seems like tonight would be a good night for us to meet. Maybe she wants to come back to our room? If that’s what u want baby It’s what I want D. Okay baby

___

The click of the keycard entering the lock alerts you to Dieter and Greta’s arrival. You rise from the couch, smoothing out the wrinkles of your simple blue dress.

“Hi baby,” Dieter smiles, his eyes twinkling with adoration.

Greta follows him in, she’s even more beautiful in real life.

“Hi,” Greta smiles, her eyes spark with lust as she looks you up and down. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, “you too.”

Dieter’s head bobbles back and forth, caught up in the chemistry that sparks between his wife and his co-star.

There is so much anxiety coursing through you but the sheer desire for Dieter and Greta easily obscures any second thoughts.

He walks over to you, planting a searing kiss on your lips and wraps you in his strong arms.

“I missed you baby,” he says before kissing you. He pulls away, his soft, brown eyes roam your face. “Are you sure about this?”

You glance at Greta, focusing on her soft pink lips. “Extremely.”

“Excellent. Now, come here, let me show you off to her,” he grabs your hand and leads you to the middle of the room. “Want to show you my girl, starlet, go ahead and take a seat.”

Greta sits on the sofa, settling in her dazzling golden dress. You feel underdressed compared to her beautiful designer clothing and Dieter’s close to perfect look. No paparazzi in their right mind would want pictures of you in your pale blue dress, but the way Greta’s eyes roam your body and the way Dieter runs his hands up your back and grabs your ass, you feel like you just won an Oscar.

“See her tits?” Dieter wraps his arms around your torso, bringing his hands up to cup your breasts in his hands cupping around the silk of your dress. “They feel so fucking good in my hands, they’re so soft and bounce in my face so perfectly when she rides me. You want to see her tits starlet?”

Greta nods.

He slips the straps of your dress down your arms exposing your breasts to the cool hotel air and Greta’s eyes.

He pulls you against his body, grinding his crotch against you moving his hands back up to cup the weight of your breasts.

Greta watches, blue eyes wide as Dieter pinches and pulls at the peaks of your nipples.

“Watch this starlet,” he lifts his hand and softly smacks one of your breasts, causing a moan to leave your lips, your body falls even harder against his body. “She fucking loves when I do this.”

His hands snake down your torso, pushing your dress to fall down and pool at your feet leaving you bare naked for Greta to see.

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, as her eyes travel over your naked form.

“Isn’t she magnificent, starlet?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Quite.”

Dieter walks forward, pushing you towards the couch Greta sits on, still looking just like she walked off the red carpet, perfectly put together like a goddess.

He stops at the marble coffee table, grabbing your leg and lifting it to perch on the top.

His wide hand runs up your leg and pets your thigh.

“You like my wife?” his voice is low and rumbly against you. There's a bit of possessiveness to it.

“I do, she’s gorgeous.”

“She is. Isn’t she?” he says with pride.

His hand moves closer to your pussy, now dripping for him and your guest. “See, starlet, this is my pussy,” your body tenses as he dips a finger through your folds, “and she’s fucking soaked for me.” He brings his finger dripping with your wet to his lips and licks it, a moan leaves his lips when he tastes you. “Come here and taste her.”

Greta rises from the couch, walking over to stand next to Dieter. She's even more exquisite up close.

His hand returns to your pussy, petting and rubbing making you weak in the knees.

“She’s so fucking wet for us, starlet.”

You whimper at the sensation of the hard stone of his ring rubbing against your clit. He pulls his hand away, admiring the way your wetness stretches across his fingers.

His fingers are placed against Greta’s lips. She opens her mouth wide, accepting his drenched digits, Dieter groans as she licks your juices off of his skin.

Just four hours ago, they were watching the premiere of their movie together while you watched a rerun of Dateline… now the three of you are locked in the beginning of a ménage à trois. Isn’t it funny how Hollywood works?

Conversation flows easily between the three of you. You love the way Greta teases Dieter, how she laughs at your jokes. She fits perfectly in to your married comfortability.

You’re naked atop Dieter's lap, Greta sits next to you, her hand rests on your thigh lightly petting it almost as an ever present reminder of what the three of you are here to do. You can’t believe how comfortable you are in this situation.

“Shall we take this to the bed?” Greta offers as you and her share a glass of champagne. Dieter happily sips his Topo Chico, his eyes lit with mirth watching his wife and friend enjoy each other’s company.

“I’d like that,” you say, turning to her and downing the rest of the glass of bubbly champagne.

“Great,” she smiles, standing up and slinking off her gold dress before laying on the bed and taking her panties off.

“She is… tenacious, isn’t she?” you muse as Dieter hugs you close and kisses your shoulder.

“She is,” he chuckles.

“You ready?” he asks.

“I’m ready,” you get up from Dieter’s lap, he rises behind you before turning you to face him.

He holds your face in his hands, his brown eyes rounded with softness, an adoring grin on his face. “You really want to do this baby?”

You bark a laugh out. “Honey, she’s already naked in bed, of course I do.”

His eyes darken, his grin replaced with a searing smolder, the same smolder that drives millions of women and men crazy, “I love you.”

“I love you too, now let me eat her cunt while you watch.”

“Jesus, alright baby,” he grabs your hand, leading you to bed before removing his shirt and pants. He takes a seat on the chair by the window to observe.

Greta lays in front of you, splayed out amongst the white sheets, her skin looks so creamy and delectable. You climb over her, smelling the sweet scent of her perfume. She giggles when you knock your nose against hers, a giddy smile is shared between the two of you before locking lips. Kissing her is different from kissing Dieter, gentler, sweeter, softer. Her tongue is much smaller, her whimpers and breaths pitch higher. You lay your body against hers, fuck, she’s just as soft as you thought. Velvety smooth and sweet. Your breasts sit against hers, your soft and her soft resting against each other. Your pussy and hers radiate heat against one another when you angle your hips against hers. You kiss a line down to her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin… she faintly tastes of sugary coconut. You look over at Dieter while kissing, he winks before you stick your tongue out and lick one of her nipples. Delicious.

God, her tits are perfect. Perky, a little pointy, pink nipples the same exact shade of cherry blossoms, your favorite flowers. Your tongue runs across the small valley between her breasts, sliding across each nipple and back. Sucking hard against each, latching your mouth around it before letting it go with a pop. She’s writhing on the bed from your mouth and hands, your self esteem rockets higher as she loses herself under your touch.

Her smooth body runs along yours, her delicate hands grab at your skin, clawing and pressing the harder you suck her skin.

You kiss a trail down her tight stomach, licking grabbing her long legs and spreading them wide to reveal her perfect, milky skin surrounding her pussy. She’s drenched, absolutely dripping with her arousal, you lick up the spilled wetness on the bed sheets before licking up to her pussy. Her bright blue eyes focus on your mouth as you envelop her cunt with it. Buttery smooth and soaked, you taste the familiar hint of coconut in her wetness. Perfect.

Your tongue dashes against her clit, flattening and swirling, treating her like the glamorous Hollywood star she is by worshiping her beautiful body and cunt. Your tongue licks a line down her sweetness before darting into her sweet hole.

You feel the bed dip behind you, your heart explodes with the thrill of feeling Dieter’s broad body behind you, a large hand digs between your thighs, dipping two thick fingers into your cunt, opening you up for him. His thumb swishes across your clit, your tongue attempts to duplicate his movements against Greta’s pussy. He angles his digits perfectly, hitting that perfect sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to dive even further against Greta’s heat, trying to take every single drop of sweet nectar from her body. You cum all over Dieter’s hands, moaning and whimpering against Greta’s skin.

Greta clenches around you, her hips grind against your mouth as you lick an orgasm out of her. Your arms reach up to grab her tits and knead them in your hands.

“That’s my baby,” Dieter coos, pulling his hand from your pussy and slapping it against your ass, causing a loud moan to rumble against Greta's cunt.

He pulls your hips up, your bottom meets the rigid skin of his cock. He taps his thick member against your ass before spreading your legs, you bring two fingers to Greta’s leaking hole waiting for Dieter to take you so you can take her. His thick cock enters you, stretching you with that sweet sting you love to feel. Your fingers mirror his actions, slow pumps in and out of Greta, scissoring to stretch her like Dieter stretches you matching the rhythm of his movements.

His hand splays across your back, petting your spine as he starts slowly, languidly fucking you. The three of you dance to a sensual song, grunts and moan chorusing across the sound of your fingers and Dieter’s cock. It’s beautiful.

You happily suffocate against her pussy, licking through her folds and fucking her with your fingers while Dieter fills your slippery cunt. Your moans are muffled by her skin, Dieter’s grunts echo his thrusts.

Your body is slick with sweat, face soaked in Greta’s arousal, your cunt clenches around your husband's cock, your tongue sits steady against Greta's pussy as Dieter fucks an orgasm out of you. He holds your shaking hips close as he tells you how good you're taking him, how much he loves watching you eat Greta's pussy.

“This is all–nyugh–for you baby,” he groans, as he pulls out, Greta catches you in her arms as your body falls without his support. “Roll over, roll over baby,” he hoarsely gasps as he strokes his cock. You move to lay on your back, Dieter pulls your legs wide open right before he paints your pussy with his thick white ropes.

Dieter rises off the bed on shaky legs, before flopping his naked body into the chair. “Go on starlet, clean my girl up.”

She moves quickly, like she can’t wait to taste the two of you, settling between your thighs, lifting your legs over her delicate shoulders, spreading you wide open for her mouth. Greta’s breathy moan against your cunt makes your back arch while her tongue cleans your cunt covered in Dieter’s seed. She dips a finger into your entrance, swirling it around your sensitive walls, her one finger is nothing compared to your husband’s thick cock but god, does her gentle touch drive you wild. Her mouth seals over your clit, kissing and sucking your swollen bundle of nerves. Her head rises and lowers with each pump of your hips into the air, dancing right along with you as your pussy rises to another crescendo of an orgasm. You turn your head to look at Dieter, naked with his legs spread wide, sitting like a king on a throne. He mouths “I love you,” out of the lips you crave to kiss as your body tightens and releases with another climax.

Greta brings her lips to yours, licking into your mouth leaving the intoxicating swirl of flavors of your wetness and Dieter’s cum against your tongue. She breathily chuckles at your long exhale before laying next to you, pushing her soft curves against you and hooking her leg over yours.

Dieter walks over, naked and cocky, your superstar husband is in full effect even in the aftershock of your threesome. He kisses Greta’s cheek and whispers “thanks starlet” before leaning over, kissing your lips and cupping your cheek. “I love you baby,” he says, big brown eyes staring into yours. You return his smile before he turns towards the minibar and grabs a Kit Kat. Greta cuddles in closer to you on the bed, sometimes it’s good to have a movie star husband.

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