#there might have been sparkling wine

[ineffabeatlemindpalace]

Today’s shift having been the last before the new year was… interesting.

[xhoess]

Falling for the Star

Nicholas Alexander Chavez x reader

Summary: You meet actor Nicholas Alexander Chavez at a gala, sparking an intense romance. As passion builds, you navigate the challenges of his fame, facing public scrutiny and personal doubts. Through steamy moments and emotional struggles, you both fight for a love that’s worth the spotlight.

Wc: 10.7 K

Smut, fluff, drammaaaaaa

The moon hung low in the Los Angeles sky, a silver crescent illuminating the sprawling city below. The air buzzed with excitement and anticipation as you cautiously approached the entrance of the exclusive charity gala at a luxurious rooftop venue. The invitation had arrived with bright golden lettering, but in truth, you had almost turned it down. The mere thought of mingling with celebrities, the glitterati, and Hollywood’s elite had been overwhelming. Nevertheless, a gentle push from a close friend, coupled with a curiosity that ignited within you, led you to this moment.

As you stepped through the large glass doors, the atmosphere enveloped you like a warm embrace. The soft notes of a live jazz band floated through the air, a blend of elegance and vibrancy. Lush greenery adorned the venue, with fairy lights twinkling like stars overhead, and champagne glasses clinking gently as laughter erupted around you. You took a moment to appreciate your reflection in the mirrored walls, wearing a stunning emerald green dress that hugged your figure perfectly. It cascaded to just above your knees, with delicate lace details accentuating your collarbone, making you feel both empowered and graceful.

You scanned the room, your heart racing, when your eyes caught sight of him — Nicholas Alexander Chavez. He was standing across the room, effortlessly charming, with an easy smile that lit up the dimly lit space. His attire was flawless, a tailored navy suit that complemented his physique, making him look like he had stepped right off a magazine cover. His dark curls framed his face, and the spark in his eye held an undeniable allure. You felt an involuntary blush creep up your cheeks as your gaze lingered, making you acutely aware of how stunning he truly was.

Just as you thought you might have imagined the connection, Nicholas glanced in your direction. His gaze met yours, and an electric thrill surged through you, igniting a pulse of energy that felt both thrilling and terrifying. You quickly averted your eyes, pretending to study a nearby artwork, though you could feel his stare still lingering.

With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you decided to get a drink from the bar, hoping to calm the fluttering in your stomach. The bar was swarming with well-dressed attendees, all lost in their own animated conversations. You ordered a glass of sparkling wine, and just as you turned to survey the party, you bumped into a broad shoulder.

“Whoa there,” came a deep voice, smooth as velvet.

You looked up, instantly recognizing the familiar face. Nicholas was standing right in front of you, a playful grin on his lips that made your heart skip a beat. “Looks like you’ve fallen for me already,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You tried to keep your composure, laughing nervously as you brushed your hair back. “Well, I might be a clumsy drinker,” you shot back, a lightness in your tone that surprised even you.

“The drinks aren’t the only thing that sparkles here,” he replied, his gaze simmering with an intensity that made your cheeks flush. “I’m Nicholas, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, leaning closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “What brings you to this shindig? I’m sure you could have found somewhere more exciting to spend your evening.”

You chuckled, feeling more at ease. “Believe it or not, I was contemplating staying home and binge-watching my favorite series. But the charity cause pulled me in—along with the chance to dress up a little, I suppose.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “And what’s your favorite show?”

Do you really want to know? It’s quite embarrassing,” you replied, a sheepish grin spreading across your face.

“Embarrassing? Nah, I want to hear it,” he insisted, his playful demeanor captivating you further.

The conversation flowed easily from there, a delightful exchange filled with laughter and banter. It was clear that he was down-to-earth, someone who didn’t take himself too seriously despite his rising stardom. He listened intently, leaning against the bar with relaxed confidence that made you feel at ease.

As the night progressed, you found yourselves inching closer, the chemistry undeniable. With every stolen glance and shared laughter, the space between you seemed to shrink. Everything else faded away. Just as you felt the urge to lean in, the crowded bar suddenly erupted into laughter, startling you back to reality.

Nicholas chuckled, his gaze holding yours captive. “Looks like we’re commandeered. How about I steal you away for a moment before we get swallowed by the masses?”

“Lead the way,” you said, your heart racing as he gestured toward a quieter section of the venue.

Working through the sea of guests, you found a reprieve on a balcony that overlooked the stunning LA skyline. The city lights glimmered like a cascade of stars, and for a moment, it felt as if you were both the only two people in the world. The evening breeze danced around you, carrying the sweet scent of blooming jasmine from nearby plants.

Nicholas leaned against the railing beside you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know," he said softly, the music from inside blending into the background, "I’m glad you came tonight. You have this energy about you, something refreshing."

our heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in his tone leaving a weight on your chest. “And I’m glad I bumped into you. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you tonight.”

Just then, the moment felt charged, his gaze intent as he held you captive. You could sense the potential for something deeper, something more than just a fleeting encounter at a glamorous gala. But before you could react, a friend called out for Nicholas, interrupting the silence that had built around the two of you.

With a reluctant smile, he turned back to you. “I have to go, but I hope we can pick up where we left off.”

Me too,” you replied, biting your lip, hoping it spoke volumes about what you felt.

He flashed that dazzling smile again. “Here’s my number. Call me. Let’s not let the night end like this, okay?”

You took the slip of paper, your fingers brushing against his as you felt a shiver of delight at the contact. “I definitely will,” you promised, watching as he faded back into the crowd, leaving you breathless and craving more.

The gala had been a whirlwind of elegance, laughter, and glittering lights. You had spent the evening swirling through rooms filled with celebrities, each moment feeling like a scene from a movie. But the real magic began when Nicholas Alexander Chavez approached you during the afterparty, his charming smile effortlessly stealing your breath away. Now, you found yourself on the rooftop of a trendy Los Angeles venue, the city sparkling below as the cool night air wrapped around you.

Nicholas's deep voice carried a playful tone as he arched a brow, “So, did you come here to dazzle everyone with your beauty, or is there a hidden talent I should know about?”

You chuckled, leaning back against the railing, your fingers brushing his casually. “Dazzling was the aim, but I didn’t expect to run into anyone like you tonight.”

The atmosphere was charged; the intimacy of the rooftop—complete with twinkling fairy lights strung overhead—set the perfect backdrop for your budding connection. Below, L.A. hummed with life, yet up here it was just you and him, everything else fading away.

“Tell me more. What’s it like being a dazzling star in your own right?” he asked, running a hand through his dark hair, drawing your attention to the way the moonlight caught the angles of his jaw.

What can I say? I’m just a regular person who got lucky,” you replied, trying to infuse some levity into the conversation even though your heart raced in his presence. “By day, I’m probably just a boring desk jockey, but at night…” you trailed off teasingly, “I become the queen of charity events.”

His laugh was warm, infectious. “A queen, huh? I’ve always wanted to meet royalty.” He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something distinctly him—invading your senses. Living in a dream, you felt that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t break.

“I’m not sure how much royalty I am,” you said, feeling daring. “But I do know how to throw a fantastic ball.”

“Care to demonstrate sometime?" he winked, but then his smile softened. “I think it’s important for people to see beyond the lights and glitz. That’s what I try to show in my work too. There’s more to me than what’s at surface level.”

You considered his words, your gaze locked on the sincerity reflected in his eyes. “What do you want them to see?”

Nicholas ran a hand along the back of his neck, a habit you found endearing as he looked for the right words. “That I’m just… well, I’m just trying to figure it all out like everyone else. Being in the spotlight can make things so complicated.”

I can only imagine,” you murmured, absorbing the weight of his confession. It felt nice to know he shared this vulnerability, drawing you closer to him. The edges of the conversation had shifted, moving from playful banter to something deeper.

As he spoke, his hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Time slowed as you both lingered over the lightest of touches, an entire world of unspoken words swirling around you.

Do you think the stars are what they seem?” he mused, his voice lowering as he locked eyes with you. “Or just another layer of a persona?”

Sometimes they seem so perfect,” you replied, barely above a whisper. “But underneath, they’re human too.”

Nicholas smiled, and in that moment, the air felt thick with expectation. He leaned closer, and you could almost taste the warmth radiating between you. The moment elongated, both of you dancing around your desire, a symphony of unfulfilled tension hovering just inches apart.

Then, the serene bubble popped with a shout from below; a group of fellow gala attendees had spilled onto the rooftop, laughter spilling and echoing into the night. The connection between you and Nicholas fractured. He stepped back, breaking the moment like glass shattering on concrete.

“Maybe we should join the party,” he suggested, though you could hear the hint of disappointment in his tone.

“Yeah, let’s not keep the others waiting,” you said, your own heart sinking at the missed opportunity.

But as you both made your way back downstairs, the chemistry lingered electric in the air, weaving around you like a warm embrace. Nicholas walked close; he brushed against you, and goosebumps raced down your arms. You caught fleeting whispers from the crowd as you rejoined—words of admiration and intrigue—as if the guests could sense the bubble of tension that encapsulated you both.

Each glance exchanged with Nicholas sparked further anticipation. You could feel his gaze on you, a warmth that made your cheeks flush. As the evening progressed, small moments of contact sent your heart racing. The lightest brush of his fingers on your back as you maneuvered through the crowd made your breath hitch.

Finally, the night reached its peak, and you found yourself standing at the edge of the rooftop once more, feeling slightly more at ease and anxious all at once. “Thank you for tonight; it was… amazing,” you said, leaning against the railing.

Nicholas turned to you, a soft smile curving his lips. “I had a great time too. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning, isn’t it?”

His voice held a promise that sent butterflies dancing in your stomach. “I hope so,” you replied, allowing a shy smile to break through your facade.

“I’d like to take you on a proper adventure,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “How about we escalate this?”

“Esclare? I’m intrigued.” You crossed your arms, wanting to feign nonchalance but failing miserably.

Tomorrow. Just you, me, and no distractions,” he proposed, excitement bubbling within you at the thought. This was more than just flirting; you could sense things moving to another level.

You could hardly find the words. “I’d like that.”

With a grin that lit up his face, he nodded. The tension hanging in the air was undeniable, and you felt it wrap around you like a heavy blanket woven from the threads of your growing connection. As he leaned close, just hovering as if weighing the options, the world faded into nothingness.

And just then, in that brief moment, everything felt just right. Because in this vast city of stars, you had found one that was distinctly Nicholas, and you were ready to explore wherever the night—or your blossoming relationship—might lead you next.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across your room as you stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your reflection. Tonight was more than just another evening. This was a date. A date with Nicholas Alexander Chavez, the charming actor who had stolen your attention—and heart—at the charity gala just days ago. You felt a delicious blend of nerves and excitement bubbling within you, urging you to make the right choice. After rummaging through your closet, you finally settled on a sleek, midnight blue dress. It hugged your curves just right, striking a perfect balance between elegant and alluring. The fabric shimmered slightly under the light, mirroring the glint of anticipation in your eyes.

As you finished your look with a swipe of lipstick and a hint of perfume, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what was to come. Nicholas was not only stunningly handsome but also had a down-to-earth charm that made your heart race. You picked up your phone, your fingers trembling as you checked the time. You were supposed to meet him at a secluded restaurant hidden away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi, a secret oasis in the bustling city.

The short drive to the restaurant was a whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. What would you talk about? Would he lean in closer like he did at the gala? Would you have chemistry over dinner? The mere thought made your heart flutter, and you could feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

The restaurant was everything you could have imagined and more. Nestled on a quiet street, adorned with twinkling lights and soft music, it had an intimate atmosphere that instantly set your nerves at ease. As you walked in, you spotted Nicholas seated at a small table in the corner, his dark hair tousled just right, wearing a casual yet stylish outfit that emphasized his toned physique. He looked up and met your gaze, his smile lighting up the space around him, and suddenly, all the anxious thoughts melted away.

“Hey, you look incredible,” he said, standing to pull out the chair for you.

“Thank you! You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, your voice playful, but your heart raced at the closeness of him.

As you settled into your seat, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You spoke about the gala, sharing laughs over the awkwardness of celebrity encounters, and Nicholas shared funny behind-the-scenes stories from the show. There was an undeniable chemistry, a palpable tension that lingered in the air between you. You couldn’t help but lean in a little closer, wanting to soak in every detail of his expressions and the slight huskiness of his voice when he laughed.

The waiter appeared, taking your orders, but your focus remained on Nicholas, who effortlessly carried the conversation. He spoke of his childhood dreams, his journey into acting, and his love for the craft. “I never thought I’d end up here,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and humility. “It’s surreal, to say the least.”

“I can’t imagine how challenging it must be,” you said, genuinely admiring his dedication. “But I’m glad you’re here. You’re incredibly talented.”

The way his eyes softened at your words made your heart skip a beat. “I appreciate that. It means a lot coming from someone like you,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you, making the room seem smaller, just the two of you in your own world.

As dinner progressed, the food became secondary to the moments that were passing between you—slight touches when handing over his plate, the warmth of his gaze locking onto yours. Each shared smile felt like a silent promise, and you found yourself leaning in as if drawn by an invisible string. There was an undercurrent of desire, thick and tangible, yet neither of you was willing to break the spell just yet.

After the main course, you shared a decadent dessert—a rich chocolate lava cake—playfully feeding each other bites as laughter echoed softly around you. The sweet treat punctuated the sweetness blooming between you. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

Nicholas studied you, his expression serious yet softening the longer he watched. “Can I ask you something?” he said, his tone turning unexpectedly sincere.

“Of course,” you replied, your throat dry with anticipation.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “What do you want in life? Beyond what you do, beyond this moment?”

Your heart raced as you stared into his deep brown eyes, sensing the authenticity of his question. “I want to experience life fully. I crave adventure, connection, and authenticity—like what I feel right now.” You held his gaze, feeling exposed yet free.

“And do you feel that with me?” he asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You bit your lip, nodding slightly. The air thickened with unspoken words, and as you opened your mouth to respond, your heart pounded in anticipation of his next move.

Just then, the waiter returned with the check, ruining the moment as you both leaned back, the tension momentarily shattered. After settling the bill, you found yourselves back on the sidewalk, the crisp night air washing over you as you walked under the stars.

Nicholas slowed his pace, walking closely beside you, the hum of the city fading into the background. As you approached your doorstep, the atmosphere became charged with unspoken possibilities. He turned to you, his gaze deep and sincere. “I had an amazing time tonight,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into that smile that made your heart flutter.

“Me too,” you replied, trying to contain your excitement.

With the height of tension building, he stepped closer, your body instinctively responding to his proximity. His hand brushed against your arm, sending tingles through your skin. Time seemed to freeze, and you both leaned in, breaths mingling, hearts racing.

But then, a car passed by, its headlights illuminating the moment, reminding you both of the world outside. He didn’t pull away, but rather hesitated, drawn to you yet respecting the moment. “Can I…?” he began, stepping even closer, leaning in as though daring to close the distance between your lips.

“Please…” you whispered, your heart hammering against your chest, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of his kiss.

But then, he pulled back slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I think I’ll save that for next time,” he said with a smirk, leaving you both breathless and wanting more, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air like the sweetest poison.

As you both stood there, the connection cemented, deepened yet oh-so tantalizingly just out of reach. You knew that this was only the beginning of a whirlwind romance that neither of you could resist.

The days after your last date with Nicholas were an intoxicating mix of anxious anticipation and exhilarating daydreams. He had called you the very next day, his voice smooth and inviting, as if the warmth of the previous night had never really faded. You felt the thrill of those moments linger in your veins, and every text he sent only stoked the flames of your imagination. It was with a flutter of nervous excitement that you prepared for this evening—a dinner at his cozy apartment.

Standing in front of your mirror, you ran a hand through your hair, taking in the reflection of your carefully chosen outfit. You had settled on a flowy, olive-green dress that hugged your curves just enough to leave an impression while still retaining an air of elegance. The fabric floated around your legs as you moved, and you decided on a pair of simple yet chic heels that accentuated the subtle tone in your skin. A touch of makeup polished your look, enhancing your features without overshadowing your natural beauty.

As you stepped out of your apartment, the evening sun cast a golden glow over the city. It seemed to mirror the excitement building within you for tonight. Each heartbeat was a reminder of what might lay ahead—a chance to get to know Nicholas in a way that was private and personal.

Nicholas' place was tucked away in a quieter part of Los Angeles, the streets lined with palm trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. When you reached the front door, he opened it with a smile that lit up his whole face, making your heart skip. He was wearing a soft gray sweater that clung to his frame and fitted jeans, effortlessly stylish yet comfortably laid back. “You look stunning,” he said, his eyes dancing over your figure.

“Thanks! You clean up pretty well yourself,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

He ushered you inside, and it was exactly as you had imagined—stylish yet inviting, decorated in a way that felt uniquely him. The living room was warmed by soft lighting, highlighting the modern artwork that adorned the walls. A fluffy beige couch faced a modest kitchen where the smell of garlic sautéing filled the air. Nicholas grinned cheekily. “I hope you like Italian. I may have gone a little overboard with the pasta.”

You laughed, feeling instantly at ease. “I’m not complaining. It smells amazing!”

As he led you into the kitchen, the playful vibe between you flared like a spark. You slipped off your heels, enjoying the coolness of the wooden floor beneath your feet. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” he said, reaching for a bottle of wine.

“Wine first?” you teased.

“Only if you promise to help me cook,” he shot back, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You accepted a glass, savoring the way his fingers brushed against yours as he handed it to you; the simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your body. As you both prepared dinner together, Nicholas cracked jokes about his culinary skills—claiming he was still trying to impress his mother—and you returned his playful banter, playfully questioning his choice of ingredients.

“Is this how you charm all the ladies?” you asked with a smirk as he accidentally spilled a pinch of salt into the sauce.

“Only the ones who can keep up,” he replied, winking at you, his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary on your lips.

You could feel the warmth pooling inside you, a thrilling mix of nerves and intrigue. Raising an eyebrow, you leaned closer, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne mingling with the aromatic fumes wafting from the stove. “A challenge, huh? I think I’m up for it.”

His hand found its way to your waist as he moved around you, the touch intentional yet innocently casual. The heat radiated from where he held you, and the atmosphere thickened with unspoken desires, tension carved from every shared glance.

Dinner was a success—delicious and slightly chaotic, filled with laughter and lively conversation. Afterward, you both settled on the couch, the remnants of the meal cleared away. A bottle of wine was uncorked, and as the rich liquid flowed into your glasses, so too did the deeper conversations about life, ambition, and art. You shared pieces of yourself, opening up in a way that felt natural and liberating.

Nicholas listened intently, his focus unwavering, his eyes piercing through the dim light in the room. He shared stories from his childhood, the ups and downs of navigating fame, and the pressures that came with it. Each story unveiled another layer of the man you were growing to admire—not just his on-screen charm but the authenticity that lay beneath.

As the night wore on, the conversation took a flirtatious turn, lingering touches transitioning into palpable tension. The air was thick with anticipation, the quiet intensity building like a crescendo in a symphony. You could feel the magnetic pull between you, every brush of his hand against yours awakening a fire deep within.

In a moment that seemed suspended in time, he looked at you intently, a thousand emotions swirling in his gaze. “You have no idea how captivating you are,” he said softly, his voice low and husky.

Your heart raced, and you could barely find your voice. “And you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” you replied, your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest.

Just as the tension reached its peak, it snapped, and before you could register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and filled with the emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve in your body. His hands cradled your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you melted into him, shared moment of longing finding its release.

Your heart raced, and you could barely find your voice. "And you have no idea what you’re doing to me," you replied, your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest. Just as the tension reached its peak, it snapped, and before you could register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and filled with the emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve in your body. His hands cradled your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you melted into him, every shared moment of longing finding its release.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. You gasped as his teeth gently nipped at your earlobe, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice laced with desire. "I love how you react to my touch."

You pulled him closer, your hands exploring the hard muscles of his back. "I want more," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Nicholas smiled, his eyes dark with lust. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt.

He lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes taking in every inch of your body. You stood there, vulnerable and exposed, yet feeling more confident than ever. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, making them harden instantly. You moaned, arching your back to press yourself against him.

Nicholas's mouth found your nipple, his tongue swirling around it before he took it into his mouth, sucking and nipping gently. You cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, holding him in place. He moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention, making you squirm with pleasure.

His hands moved down your body, tracing the curve of your hips before slipping under the waistband of your skirt. You gasped as his fingers found your clit, rubbing it gently through your panties. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "I can't wait to taste you."

He slid your panties down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You stepped out of them, standing before him completely naked. Nicholas knelt down, his hands on your thighs, spreading them apart. You braced yourself against the wall as his mouth found your pussy, his tongue licking you from your opening to your clit.

You moaned, your hips bucking against his face. Nicholas gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he continued to lick and suck you. His fingers found their way inside you, pumping in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue. "You taste so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin.

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. "I'm close," you gasped, your hands clutching his hair. Nicholas looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire. "Come for me," he said, his voice commanding. And with that, you did, your body convulsing as your orgasm ripped through you.

Nicholas stood up, his lips covered in your juices. You pulled him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "I want you inside me," you whispered against his mouth. He smiled, his cock hard and ready against your stomach. "I want that too," he said, his voice filled with lust.

Taste yourself on him, the taste of your desire and pleasure. He laid down next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

As your bodies cooled down, Nicholas whispered in your ear, "That was incredible." You smiled, your body still humming with pleasure. "It was," you agreed, your voice soft. Nicholas kissed your shoulder, his hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach.

The sun hung in the sky like a lazy star, casting golden rays on the bustling streets of Los Angeles. The city had a certain energy at noon—a buzz of laughter, chatter, and music that thrummed in the background as you and Nicholas made your way to a quaint café. You felt the familiar flutter in your stomach every time you laid eyes on him, this charming man who had flipped your world upside down since that fateful gala.

He was effortlessly stylish in a light denim jacket over a fitted t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled as though he’d just rolled out of bed. You, on the other hand, wore your confidence like your favorite dress; a royal blue sundress that swayed lightly with every step. The perfect dress for a casual afternoon felt like it had a purpose—to catch his eye, and today, it worked.

As you approached the entrance, Nicholas waved to a couple of fans who recognized him. They squealed in delight, their phones snapping pictures. A small smile played on his lips, but you could see the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. This was one of those moments when the reality of celebrity life hit hard.

You exchanged glances, your heart racing irrationally as he opened the door for you. “After you,” he grinned, revealing that perfectly straight line of teeth. Entering the café felt familiar and safe—a hidden gem filled with small wooden tables, rustic decor, and soft background music. As you settled in, the sunlight kissed your foreheads, creating a cozy atmosphere.

“So, are you ready for your first official sighting as my girlfriend?” Nicholas teased, leaning back in his chair, his arms casually resting against the wooden surface of the table.

Your cheeks flushed at that label—girlfriend. It was surreal how quickly everything had escalated since that magical charity gala. "I’m not sure I’m ready for the spotlight yet,” you replied cautiously, stirring your iced coffee with a straw, trying to mask the nervous excitement rising within you.

Nicholas leaned forward, his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he spoke softly, “You don’t have to be. I’ll protect you from the madness, I promise.” His intensity sent a jolt through you, an understanding of why you’d been drawn to this enigmatic man in the first place. There was sincerity in his voice like you were the only two people in the world at that moment.

You suddenly felt exposed in the café filled with fellow patrons, but the air between you shifted as he reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly over your hand, a gesture so innocent yet electrifying. You fought to maintain composure; it was as if the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of you drowning in each other’s gaze.

You laughed softly, attempting to lighten the mood. “What happens if we get caught in the act, huh? A scandalous photo of Nicholas Alexander Chavez holding hands with ‘mysterious girl’? That'll definitely pique the tabloids’ interest.”

His laughter echoed your own, bright and genuine. “Right? They’d paint me out to be a heartthrob dating a ‘nobody’—the things they’ll come up with!” He mirrored your playful tone, clearly enjoying the idea.

Just then, the bell above the café door jingled, and a few patrons turned their heads to you. You pressed your lips together, not wanting to draw attention but unable to hide your reaction. You required a steady heartbeat, but somehow, being out with him felt exhilarating, like you were both part of a bit of magical fiction.

After placing your order, you focused on light conversation, sharing stories of your work and traveling. But as you delved deeper, the atmosphere began to shift. You spoke of dreams and ambitions, and he listened with such intent that the heat between you grew palpable. It was as if you were no longer just a fan but two souls connecting, sharing experiences that transcended the celebrity facade.

“So, what’s your greatest dream?” he asked suddenly, his gaze unwavering, making you feel like the center of his universe.

“I suppose I want to create something…” you said hesitantly. “Something that resonates with people, like a book or a novel that could help someone out there feel less alone.” You bit your lip, unsure whether your vulnerability would push him away.

A smile of encouragement spread across Nicholas's features. “I love that. You have such a kind heart, wanting to uplift others. But I have to admit, I always thought your first dream would be to become an actress.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No, that’s definitely not my path. I’ll leave the acting to you.”

“But you’d be fantastic—give it a try!” His enthusiasm shifted the conversation’s tone.

At that moment, your eyes locked, and the world around you faded again. His compliment lingered. In a cacophony of noise, it felt serene, amplifying the longing and tenderness brewing in the air.

As you finished lunch, Nicholas paid the bill, but before you could rise, he leaned in closer, whispering, “Want to take a walk? I think we could enjoy this beautiful weather.”

You nodded, heart racing as the waiter smiled knowingly at you both. The walk turned into a leisurely stroll down the picturesque street, but the quiet chatter and laughter from other customers filled the air. As couples passed, holding hands and giggling, doubt crept in. Would you fit into his world? Did you belong in a love story where the media followed every footstep?

Suddenly, someone shouted, “Nicholas!” from behind. You turned to see a group of people snapping photos and shouting questions.

Nicholas held your hand tighter, his protective instincts kicking in as he led you away, heart pounding. “Don’t worry; I won’t let them overwhelm you,” he reassured you, leading you down a quieter alleyway.

“Hiding from the paparazzi already?” you teased, the wild energy of the afternoon igniting a playful spark.

“I think for now, it’s better to avoid the spotlight… but I promise we’ll get used to it together.” He winked, the cheeky grin returning to his face.

Just then, you felt it—his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you navigated the narrow space between two buildings, the electricity crackling and their connections sparking:

His eyes met yours, the air growing thick with unexpressed emotions and unspoken promises. It was a moment that reminded you there was still magic in the world.

As you turned, you collided against him, leaning into his warmth, your pulse racing. “You’ll keep me safe, right?” you murmured, inviting vulnerability.

“Always,” he whispered, leaning ever closer, tantalizingly close yet challenging the rules of what was appropriate.

And in that sanctuary away from prying eyes and flashing cameras, you both indulged in the escalating tension, knowing the path ahead lay somewhere between public dreams and private desires. You were ready to embrace it.

The early morning sun poured through your window, casting a warm glow across your room. The excitement bubbling in your stomach was contagious, filling your thoughts as you prepared for a weekend that promised to be life-changing. Nicholas had invited you to a secluded beach house for a romantic getaway, a break from the intensities of the public eye and the constant buzz of Los Angeles. This was your chance to explore what had been building between you, surrounded by soft sand and the gentle sounds of the waves.

You slipped into a light sundress, the fabric flowing gracefully around your legs as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The vibrant colors highlighted your features, and you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Today wasn’t just another day; it was the beginning of an escape, a chance to relax and truly be yourself around Nicholas.

Arriving at the meeting point, you spotted Nicholas standing by his car, his face lit up with that captivating smile that made your heart race. He wore a casual ensemble: fitted jeans and a simple white T-shirt, yet he looked effortlessly handsome. As you approached, he greeted you with a warm hug, and a rush of butterflies fluttered through your stomach at the contact.

“Ready for the best weekend of your life?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You nodded, unable to form words. Instead, you climbed into the passenger seat, unable to suppress a grin as he slipped into the driver’s seat beside you. The car hummed to life, and with a quick glance your way, he put on a playlist of lighthearted tunes, instantly setting a cheerful tone for the road trip ahead.

As you pulled away from the city, the congested streets gave way to open roads flanked by tall trees and endless skies. You chatted about everything and nothing, laughter spilling easily between you—stories about childhood, your favorite places, dreams you hadn’t shared with anyone before. With each passing mile, your connection deepened, growing from a spark to a flame.

“Do you ever get used to the whole celebrity thing?” you asked, curiosity guiding your question.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “Honestly? Sometimes it feels like a double life. The lights and glamour, yes, but then there’s just normal me, you know? I love moments like this—away from it all."

His candidness made you smile. “I can only imagine. What do you do to escape?”

He glanced at you, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m a pro at finding cozy little spots. But nothing quite like this weekend—with you, everything feels just right.”

The complimentary exchange of your thoughts flowed effortlessly, a gentle rhythm establishing between you both. Just as the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you arrived at the beach house, a charming retreat nestled on the shore. The scents of salt and sea breeze welcomed you as you stepped out of the car.

“Welcome to paradise,” he declared theatrically, throwing his arms wide to encompass the view. The house was stunning, with large windows that framed views of the ocean, its soft roar beckoning you forward.

You took in the surroundings, feeling the magic of the setting. It was everything you’d dreamed of for a special weekend. Inside, the decor was warm and inviting, a mixture of coastal charm and modern amenities. Nicholas stepped over to the kitchen, a place where the evening’s culinary adventure would soon unfold

kitchen, a place where the evening’s culinary adventure would soon unfold.

“Any requests for dinner?” he asked, already pulling out pots and pans as if he had been preparing for this moment.

Your eyes lit up. “Surprise me! Just nothing too spicy—I’m not great with heat in my food,” you replied, good-naturedly teasing.

s he began preparing the meal, the kitchen transformed into a lively atmosphere. You took a content seat on the counter, watching him work. “You’re quite the chef,” you commented, impressed as he expertly diced vegetables, contrasting with the actor persona you had become accustomed to seeing on-screen.

“Oh, I dabble. Cooking is one of my favorite escapes. Want to help?”

He reached out, grabbing your hands and pulling you down to the floor, guiding you to stand beside him. The two of you continued the evening, creating delicious dishes and sharing flirtatious banter, his playful touches igniting electricity between you as he moved in close, his hands often resting on your waist or brushing your arms.

As the aromas of a delightful meal filled the air, the atmosphere gradually shifted. Dinner was served on the terrace, a beautiful candlelit setup overlooking the ocean. The flickering lights danced softly in the evening breeze, creating an intimate sanctuary away from the world.

With each bite, your conversation took on a deeper tone, revealing your hopes, dreams, and fears. Nicholas shared stories about his upbringing, moments that shaped him, and you reciprocated with your own stories, revealing layers of your life you rarely discussed. There was raw honesty in your exchanges, and the chemistry between you both became palpable.

Eventually, you transitioned from the terrace to the cozy living room, still wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company. A half-empty bottle of red wine sat on the coffee table, two glasses clinking softly as you filled them. Sparks of laughter and connection intertwined as you prepared to settle down.

Finally, as he leaned back against the couch, he turned toward you, a serious look replacing the lighthearted atmosphere. “Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

You nodded, curious.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. There’s something about you, something that pulls me in.”

Your heart raced, the raw honesty of his admission echoing loudly in the stillness of the room. You shifted closer, his gaze intoxicating.

“Me too, Nicholas,” you whispered back, your pulse quickening.

In that charged moment, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. Nicholas leaned in, brushing a stray hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. The tension between you escalated, magnetic and electric.

He paused, searching your eyes for permission. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and there was no denying the longing that sparked in the air.

Then, in an instant, all the teasing and banter that had built up between you both broke free. His lips met yours in a flurry of passion—soft, sweet, then deepening as he cupped your face in his hands. You melted against him, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating warmth of the moment. Yet, just when things began to escalate, you pulled away, breathless.

Time skip

It was one of those gloomy afternoons when the clouds hung low like a shroud over the bustling city. You had planned to spend the day curled up with a book and a cup of coffee, a comforting escape from the whirlwind of emotions that had become your life since dating Nicholas Alexander Chavez. However, as you scrolled through your phone, your relaxed intentions swiftly turned into a sensation of dread.

Your heart sank as you stumbled across the latest gossip blog, its headline screaming about Nicholas’s alleged romantic involvement with a co-star on set, someone whose name you recognized all too well. The article painted a scandalous picture, dripping with insinuation and wild conjecture. The infamous paparazzi photos were splashed across the screen, showing them laughing together: a moment that seemed innocent enough but was now twisted into a narrative that pricked at your insecurities.

hough you knew better than to believe everything you read, the fear gnawed at you. How could you ignore the whispers that echoed through your social media feed, fueled by both envy and intrigue? Your relationship with Nicholas had come with its share of challenges, but today felt particularly heavy.

You tossed your phone down, feeling the walls of your small apartment closing in. The truth was that the euphoria of dating a celebrity was fading, and the pressures were beginning to take a toll. You felt like a shadow of your former self, scared that the spotlight on him would ultimately burn you both.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, the scent of spaghetti sauce filling the air, an attempt at normalcy. Just as you were about to plate up dinner, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a call from Nicholas, and your heart quickened.

“Hey,” you managed to say, feigning nonchalance.

“Hey, you! I just wrapped up for the day. How are you?” His voice was warm, inviting, grounding, despite the distance.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to reply with enthusiasm, but the words caught in your throat. Silence stretched between you two as you contemplated how to broach the topic that loomed between you. Nicholas finally broke the silence, concern lacing his tone. “You there?”

“Yeah, just… saw something online.” You could hear the pitiful waver in your voice.

“What did you see?” He sounded wary, the weight of his career pressing down on both of you even over the phone.

You took another deep breath, knowing you had to be honest, yet fearing the repercussions. “The rumors about you and Jade …”

“Jade?” His voice instantly hardened, the warmth vanishing. “What rumors?”

You quickly explained the article, feeling more exposed with each word. You could almost feel him stiffen through the line as he processed the information. “That’s insane. It’s purely professional. We’re acting, Y/N! It’s work!”

“I know that,” you responded, a twinge of frustration creeping into your voice. “But everyone else doesn’t. I can’t— I don’t think I can handle this. All this scrutiny… it’s overwhelming.”

There was a heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice brimming with tension. “So you’re just going to believe what strangers think? I thought you knew me better than that.”

our heart raced as you protested, “It’s not that easy! You’re living in a different universe! I’m just… just trying to figure out if I fit into it.”

Are you saying you don’t want this?” His voice cracked, and you could feel the heat of the confrontation rising.

“I don’t know!” Tears pricked your eyes. “Maybe I’m just scared… scared that this isn’t real, that I’m just a passing thought for you.”

“Y/N, please—don’t say that.” His voice softened as if he could sense the fracture in your heart. “You’re not a passing thought. You’re everything to me. I’m just trying to keep everything balanced.”

“Is that really what this is about?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Can you even make time for me with your crazy schedule?”

“I’m trying!” he snapped back, frustration spilling into the conversation. “Can’t you see I’m trying?”

The emotional storm swirling around you started to feel unbearable. “You’re not the only one who’s struggling, Nicholas. I love you, but I can’t keep fighting this war of doubts, not when every new headline feels like a dagger to the relationship we’ve built.”

His silence felt as heavy as the dense clouds outside. Finally, he sighed deeply. “I wish you could see how much I want this to work.”

Then show me,” you challenged, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “Show me how much I matter.”

A long pause hung in the air before he said, “I need you to trust me, Y/N. I’m all in—just give me the chance to prove it.”

The tension was palpable, a push and pull of raw emotions crashing in waves against the shore of your relationship. You both wanted to bridge the gap, but scarring doubts lingered like ghostly whispers, refusing to be easily banished.

“Alright,” you finally breathed, torn between belief and fear. “I’ll try.”

Good,” he replied softly, the warmth creeping back into his voice. “Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.” With that, you decided to let the conversation end for now. A bittersweet sense of hope flickered within you, but still, the tension lingered, unresolved, heavy between you like a storm waiting to break.

As night fell, you wrapped your arms around yourself, wishing for clarity. Your heart ached with uncertainty, leaving you to wonder if love could be enough to weather the darkest clouds. You just hoped that amidst the chaos, Nicholas would find a way to show you that your place in the storm was secure.

long shadows cast across your living room as you sat curled up on the couch, surrounded by a fortress of pillow cushions. The remnants of a half-eaten tub of your favorite ice cream lay abandoned beside you, and the TV buzzed in the background, but you couldn't concentrate on the screen. Your mind was tangled in knots, replaying everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks since that fateful argument with Nicholas.

He had stormed out after you accused him of being too wrapped up in his fame and his new co-star, Jade. You hadn't meant it to sound so harsh, but doubt had crept in, nurtured by the gossip blogs that twisted every picture of Nicholas and Jade into scandalous narratives. The backlash on social media was relentless, and it had hurt to see the way his fans celebrated every interaction with her. The moment had spiraled out of control, and you hadn’t seen him since.

Part of you had fought to suppress the nagging voice that whispered you were better off without him. But deep down, you knew that was a lie. Your heart ached with longing; the laughter you shared, the way his dark eyes sparkled when he told you stories from the set, and the intensity of the moments when it was just the two of you. It all felt like a dream slipping away and leaving nothing behind but confusion.

As you stared wistfully out of the window, a sudden vibration from your phone nearly startled you, pulling you from your reverie. Your heart raced as you picked it up. The screen lit up with Nicholas’s name, and for a moment, you hesitated. A part of you wanted to ignore it, to keep your distance and maintain the facade of being strong and self-sufficient. But the longing was almost unbearable, and you answered.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

Y/N,” he replied, his voice warm yet laced with an urgency that set you on fire. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” you whispered, emotions swirling like a tempest inside you. His tone seemed both reassured and uncertain, a blend that made your stomach churn with anxiety. A few moments later, he announced, “I’m on my way.”

You nearly dropped the phone, panic intertwining with excitement in your chest. “Where? How?”

Just… meet me outside?” The call ended abruptly, leaving you both exhilarated and apprehensive. You sprang to your feet, the ice cream forgotten, rushing to compose yourself. You combed your fingers through your hair and replaced your sweatpants with a casual but flattering outfit. The wait felt like an eternity as you hovered near the window, glancing outside between drags of breaths.

Then you saw him, stepping out of an Uber, his familiar silhouette striking against the late afternoon sun. His hair tousled and a hint of stubble adorning his jawbone, he looked as if he had just walked out of a magazine cover—stunningly recognizable yet painfully human all at once. Your pulse quickened, a rush of love and anxiety engulfing you, surfacing just as he approached your door.

When you opened it, he stood there, his face a mixture of determination and vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings. The moment hung heavy between you, neither of you quite ready to bridge the gap that had formed during your time apart.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You nodded, stepping aside to allow him entry, and as you closed the door, a weight settled on your chest. He turned to face you, and in that instant, memories of laughter and shared moments flooded back, heavy with what you both had built amid the chaos of his celebrity life and escalating pressures.

Look,” Nicholas began, running a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as one of frustration. “I flew back from shooting just to talk to you. I needed to understand why…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Why I doubted you?” you supplied, your voice catching in your throat. “Why I called out your relationship with Jade as something it wasn’t?”

Exactly.” He drew closer, his intensity drawing you into a whirlpool of emotions. “You have every right to feel insecure, and if I made you feel that way... I’m sorry. But I want you to know it’s always been you for me. The glimpses of my world you saw were never meant to keep you out. It was never just publicity for me. This…” He stepped back slightly, motioning between you two. “This is real.”

Tears stung your eyes at the sincerity of his words. “What about the rumors? People say…”

People say a lot of things. I let the noise drown out our silence. I thought I could handle it, but losing you... it’s the worst part of all this.” His voice smoldered beneath layers of vulnerability. “I’d give up everything if it meant keeping you close.”

You swallowed hard, the echoes of his confession wrapping around your heart. “But can we manage this? Can love withstand all the chaos surrounding you?”

He took a step closer, invading the space with his presence, his warm breath mingling with yours. “We can fight for it. The world can be loud, but I want every moment I can steal with you. The quiet parts. The messy ones. The fights when we disagree. All of it.”

He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and for a moment, everything else faded—the doubts, the scrutiny, the world outside. It felt just like those stolen moments you had experienced before. “What if I can’t handle the spotlight?” you asked, your heart racing as you met his gaze.

Nicholas took your hand gently, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “Then I’ll ensure you never have to face it alone. I’ll be there, holding your hand through every ordeal, every misunderstanding. We can figure this out together.”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper that made your heart flutter. The intensity between you was palpable, the distance collapsing into closeness until your lips were just inches apart. Your breath mingled with his as the weight of uncertainty melted into a spark of connection.

“I might need some convincing,” you teased lightly, searching for a way to ease the tension that had built. Nicholas grinned, and that boyish charm made your insides tingle.

"Then allow me." He closed the gap, capturing your lips with his, the kiss igniting everything you had been missing—desire and warmth swept over you like an all-consuming flame, melting away your fears. It was electric, each brush of his lips reminding you why you had fought so hard against doubt.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased your lips. You parted them, inviting him deeper, and he accepted the invitation with a hungry groan. His fingers trailed up your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before they tangled in your hair, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss.

You melted into him, your body pressing against his as your hands explored the contours of his chest. The feel of his muscles beneath your fingertips made you ache for more. You broke the kiss, gasping for breath, and he trailed soft kisses down your neck, making you shiver.

You taste amazing," he murmured, his voice laced with desire. "I could kiss you all night."

And I could let you," you whispered back, your voice barely audible over the music. "But I have a feeling there's more you want to do."

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made you shiver. "You're right, I want to see you," he said, his voice rough with need. "Every inch of you."

You smiled, slowly unbuttoning your blouse as his eyes followed your every move. He reached out, helping you slip it off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

You're gorgeous," he said, his voice barely a whisper as he traced the line of your bra with his fingertips. "And I want to taste every inch of you."

He leaned down, his lips claiming yours once more as his hands unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. You gasped as his mouth found your nipple, his tongue circling the sensitive bud before taking it into his mouth. You arched against him, a moan escaping your lips as he sucked and teased, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and dip as he made his way down to your waistband. He unbuttoned your jeans, his fingers brushing against your skin as he slid them down your hips. You stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but your panties.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You're amazing," he said, his voice a low growl. "And I want to make you feel amazing."

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down until they joined your jeans on the floor. You stood before him, completely naked, as he took a moment to appreciate every inch of your body.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Absolutely perfect."

He led you to his bed, laying you down gently before joining you. His hands explored your body, his touch gentle yet firm as he traced the line of your thigh, his fingers brushing against your most intimate place. You gasped, your hips arching against his touch as he slipped a finger inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for me."

ou nodded, your breath coming in short gasps as he added another finger, his pace increasing as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

Come for me," he whispered, his voice a command as his thumb pressed against your clit. You cried out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

He kissed you gently, his fingers still inside you as he slowly pulled them out. You could feel the emptiness, the ache for more, and you knew that you wanted him inside you.

e rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him, his cock hard and ready against your entrance. You guided him inside, gasping as he filled you completely. You began to move, your hips rising and falling as you found your rhythm.

He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he met your thrusts, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound that filled the room. You could hear your own moans, the sound of your breath as it caught in your throat, the feel of his cock inside you sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Faster," you gasped, your body aching for more. "Harder."

He obliged, his hips thrusting upwards as he met your downward strokes, his cock slamming into you with a force that made you cry out. You could feel the pleasure building again, your body tensing as you rode him, your fingers gripping his shoulders for support.

Yes," you gasped, your body convulsing as another orgasm washed over you, leaving you breathless and shaking. You could feel him inside you, his cock pulsing as he found his own release, his body tensing as he came with a low groan.

You collapsed against him, your body slick with sweat as you struggled to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

"That was amazing," he said, his voice a low murmur as he kissed the top of your head. "Absolutely amazing."

You smiled, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "It certainly Was"

Nicholas drew you closer, kissing you deeper, his hands weaving into your.

“Let’s not let anything come between us again,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

“I want that too,” you replied, the tension of unresolved issues still swirling in the air. But there was something vibrant, something alive in the way his gaze held yours.

Nicholas paused, his expression turning serious once more, “I’ll fight for you, Y/N. Always.”

_________

BYEEE LONGEST FIC EVER.. #needthat

Comments are much appreciate I love it 😋

[homunculus-argument]

I think life is at its best when you've got enough free time at your leisure to just have random shit happen to you, because you had the time to pause and look around you, and stop to see what this is all about if and when something does seem odd.

The midsummer holiday is this weekend, so I needed to go get all my friends their birthday presents. As it was a nice day and we needed to have our daily walk anyhow, me and my boyfriend decided to head to the shops on foot. The way there was uneventful, but halfway on our way home, we noticed a cyclist crossing the road with a little dog running at the bike's heel, and remarked to each other what an irresponsible way that is to keep a dog - not even on a leash!

But then the little dog halted at the sight of us, and the cyclist went on without even noticing that the dog was left behind. That's when we put together that the dog wasn't even with this guy, but all on its own, wagging its tail and looking right to us. A little cream-coloured poodle, with an apricot colour patch along its spine. A well-groomed, healthy and happy-looking puppy with a collar round its neck - it didn't look lost or scared at all, but like it was having an excellent time, playing unleashed and unsupervised in traffic.

We tried to lure the pup to us, with little success, but since it was clearly not scared of strangers, I figured it's best not to spook it by suddenly grabbing it unless I was 100% sure it wouldn't get away. And as I approached the dog, it ran off back the way it came, up a road on a hill, glancing behind itself as dogs do when they want you to follow, and it halted on the top of the hill.

But by the time we got to the spot where the dog had been, it had disappeared somewhere in the greenery shading the road. So instead of playing cotton-eye-joe - where did you come from, where did you go? - we decided to stop and ask someone nearby where the dog might have come from, to let the owners know that it had been spotted around here. We picked the first house to the left. There was a man building something at the end of the yard, and I was the one who addressed him there.

"Uh, sir? Mister?"

"Huh?"

"Do you happen to know who around here might have a little cream-coloured poodle?"

"Uh, we do?"

"Well it was running down the road in traffic just now. Came back this way, though."

"God fucking damn it."

So the man called his wife who came out with a leash, and the two explained that this isn't the first time the sweet little bastrd had managed to escape - as a matter of fact he had currently been building a proper kennel on their yard, to have something more escape proof than their garden fence. The dog showed up again as the owners called, but didn't want to be caught. Eventually it wandered close enough to me to be snatched by the collar - and even then didn't seem scared to be seized by a stranger, only disappointed that Unsupervised Unleashed Happy Fun Time was over.

The owners thanked us profusedly, and the man went back inside to fetch something, handing us an ice cold bottle of sparkling wine for us for our troubles. Which is now in our fridge. And I guess the next quest is figuring out what we're going to do with that, since neither of us drinks alcohol.

[plutonianeris]

sun in the composite chart

Sun in Aries

Imagine a couple who are always on the go, charging headfirst into life like two warriors with matching armor. They’re the ones spontaneously booking a last-minute trip to climb a mountain or start a business together—nothing is too big or bold for them. Their passion is fiery, their arguments explosive, but they always make up just as quickly with laughter and an “I’ve got your back.” Friends see them as unstoppable, as if their energy alone could power an entire city. Their love feels like a blazing comet streaking through the sky, leaving everyone breathless in its wake.

Sun in Taurus

This couple’s love feels like a warm afternoon picnic under a big oak tree, the kind where you can hear the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. They’re the couple who know the best wine for any occasion, who curate a home filled with plush comfort and delicious scents of home-cooked meals. They cherish the pleasures of life together—luxurious bubble baths, weekend brunches, and cuddling under a cozy blanket with a movie. Others admire how their love feels unshakeable, like no storm could topple the solid foundation they’ve built. Their connection grows slow and steady, like a garden that’s been lovingly tended to for years.

Sun in Gemini

Imagine two people who could talk for hours and never tire. They are the couple who text each other memes all day, finish each other’s sentences, and keep the vibe playful and curious. They might be the ones throwing spontaneous trivia nights or diving into heated debates about obscure topics, only to end in giggles. Wherever they go, they’re surrounded by a buzz of excitement—others notice the constant sparkle in their eyes and the laughter that follows them. Their love is a kaleidoscope of ideas and adventures, always shifting and changing, but never dull.

Sun in Cancer

This couple feels like home, the kind where you kick off your shoes, curl up with a blanket, and just be yourself. They have a deeply nurturing bond, the kind of relationship where a single look communicates volumes. They’re the ones who know each other’s favorite comfort food and who always have a shoulder to lean on. Their love is the warm glow of candlelight at the dinner table, the shared warmth of a fireplace on a cold night. Friends envy the emotional cocoon they’ve created for themselves, a space so safe and welcoming it seems almost magical. Their love is a soft lullaby, sung quietly but heard deeply.

Sun in Leo

Picture a couple who enters a room like royalty. Heads turn, but it’s not just their stylish clothes or confident walk—it’s the light they exude when they’re together. They’re the ones throwing the most epic parties or stealing the spotlight at any event without even trying. But underneath the glamour, their connection is pure joy and creativity. They love grand gestures—think surprise serenades, impromptu weekend getaways, or turning mundane moments into something magical. Their love is a radiant firework display, impossible to ignore and even more impossible to forget.

Sun in Virgo

This couple may seem quiet and reserved, but their relationship is a finely tuned masterpiece of care and dedication. They’re the ones who remember the little things—like exactly how you take your coffee or when you need an extra hug on a tough day. They may not shout their love from the rooftops, but they show it in practical, thoughtful ways—fixing things, organizing life together, or simply being a calm, steady presence. Others might notice their shared routines, the way they seamlessly cooperate to keep life running smoothly. Their love is like a well-tended garden—neat, organized, and full of carefully cultivated beauty.

Sun in Libra

This couple dances through life together, always in perfect harmony. They’re the ones who finish each other’s sentences with a graceful laugh and always seem to have a beautiful balance in their relationship. They might be seen strolling hand-in-hand through art galleries, hosting elegantly arranged dinner parties, or even just chatting over coffee with a rare kind of peace and serenity. Their love feels like a symphony, composed of equal parts passion, understanding, and respect. Friends see them as the picture-perfect couple, always in sync, always fair, always striving to keep the beauty in their world alive.

Sun in Scorpio

Imagine a couple with a connection so deep, it’s almost impossible to put into words. They’re like two magnets, always drawn to each other, even through the toughest times. There’s an intensity in their eyes that says they understand each other in a way no one else can. They’re the couple that shares deep, whispered conversations late into the night, exploring the mysteries of life together. Their love is transformative, sometimes stormy, but always passionate. Others might sense the power in their bond, even if they keep it private. Their relationship is like the ocean—unpredictable, powerful, and full of hidden depths.

Sun in Sagittarius

This couple feels like two adventurers on an endless quest. Whether they’re exploring a new country, taking a spontaneous road trip, or learning a new philosophy, they’re always in search of something bigger. They’re the ones laughing together in airports, planning their next big adventure, or having deep, philosophical conversations under the stars. Their love is boundless, full of optimism and the thrill of discovery. Friends know them as the couple who’s always planning something new, something exciting. Their love is like a wide-open horizon, full of possibility and endless joy.

Sun in Capricorn

This is the couple who gets things done. They’re the ones quietly building an empire together, whether it’s in business, family, or personal goals. Their love is practical, grounded in mutual respect and shared ambition. They might be seen strategizing their next big move over dinner, or quietly supporting each other through thick and thin. Friends admire their discipline and the way they seem to have everything under control. Their love is a towering structure of success—strong, unshakable, and built to last.

Sun in Aquarius

Picture a couple who is just a little bit different, in the best possible way. They’re the ones starting a new cause, discussing the latest in technology, or dreaming about how they can change the world together. Their love is unconventional, but that’s what makes it exciting. They might be seen as quirky or eccentric, always coming up with unique ideas or projects. Their relationship is full of intellectual connection and shared ideals. Their love is like a bright, unexpected spark in a dark room, full of surprises and visionary thinking.

Sun in Pisces

This couple is like a romantic dream, living in their own world. Their love feels soft, mystical, and deeply spiritual. They’re the ones lost in a daydream together, finding magic in the simplest moments—whether it’s stargazing on a quiet night or getting lost in each other’s eyes. They’re incredibly attuned to each other’s needs, often finishing each other’s emotional sentences without speaking a word. Friends see them as the dreamy, poetic pair, always creating a sense of wonder around them. Their love is like a delicate, flowing river—gentle, serene, and full of emotional depth.

[dollgxtz]

I gotta know when you’re posting the Zayne CNC fic??? I’ve been checking your blog multiple times a day for it!

But realistically, no pressure 😂 I know writing is hard, and I can wait, lol. It’s worth the wait. I just want to show support for you and your craft. ❤️

Also, I love your yandere!Sylus fic! I’m only on chapter four and I see so many asks about it and I have to physically stop myself from spoiling it for myself, lmao. I’m so excited to read more! Your writing and your tics are a highlight of my day. 😊🥰

Edge Of Control

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags: zayne x fem!reader, cnc, cutting, tw slight blood, scalpel play, choking, biting, degradation, blowjob, degrading names, pet names like darling, pain play, home invasion roleplay, primal play, aftercare in the end

AN: Hi everyone! I know this was a LONG awaited fic but I wanted it to be absolutely perfect for my second husband ^0^. Also ty anon for the very sweet words! I hope this fic makes up for the amount of time you had to wait!!!

It was well past midnight, and the house felt eerily quiet without him. You lay on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of Zayne’s boxers, the soft fabric a small comfort in his absence. A half-empty bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor beside you, each sip doing little to calm the restless energy humming beneath your skin. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room as you absentmindedly flicked through the channels, though nothing could hold your attention.

Your mind kept wandering back to Zayne, a dull ache settling in your chest. He was on another one of those grueling shifts—long hours with no word, no way to reach out to him. The pit of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You didn’t know exactly what his job as a surgeon demanded of him, but you could see it weighing on him more and more. His face had grown tired, the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled by exhaustion. You noticed the way his shoulders remained stiff, tension knotting in his body like a rope pulled too tight, barely holding it together.

Every time he came home like this, you saw it—the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His body brimming with pent-up energy, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to let go. He was so tightly wound, like he was carrying the weight of a world you couldn’t fully understand. And every time you saw him like that, it broke something inside you. You wanted to help him. You wanted to be the one to take that edge off, to give him the release he so desperately needed but would never ask for.

You remembered the last time he came home with that storm in his eyes. Desperation had driven you to plead with him, to offer yourself as an outlet for all that tension, that frustration. You had begged him, your voice trembling, to let go, to take what he needed from you. But he refused. The worry in his eyes had cut deep, his voice firm but laced with guilt as he told you he didn’t want to hurt you.

That memory lingered now, thick in your chest. He was always so controlled, so careful. You knew he loved you, but there was a part of him that he kept locked away, too afraid to unleash it. But you wanted it—you craved it. You wanted him to feel safe enough to lose that control with you, to trust that you could handle it. That you wanted to handle it. But no matter how much you tried to reach him, he kept that wall up, afraid of what might happen if he let himself go.

You took another slow sip of wine, feeling the warmth of it spread through your chest, slightly loosening the anxious knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You always drank more when he was away—needed it, really. It dulled the sharp edges of worry that kept you up at night, made sleep feel a little less impossible. Without him beside you, the house felt too empty, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t control.

Your eyes drifted shut, and the thought crossed your mind again—he could hurt you, if he wanted to. God, he was strong enough. His hands, so skilled and sure in the operating room, could easily push you beyond your limits if he ever let himself go. He knew the human body better than anyone; he understood exactly where and how to apply pressure, how to control every reaction. And then there was the scalpel—his precision tool of choice. He was so adept with it, using it in ways you’d never imagined.

You remembered the first time he’d worked it into one of your nights together, after you had begged him to try something more daring, something that would leave you breathless. He had been hesitant at first, but the results... God, the results. The thrill of that sharp edge glinting in the dim light, the cold metal kissing your skin before it pressed just enough to break the surface. You shivered as the memory washed over you, your body tingling with the vivid recollection.

The pain had been brief, but it was the anticipation, the unspoken threat, that had driven you wild. You could still feel it—the delicate line of fire it had traced across your shoulder, a stinging reminder of his control. And then the blade had hovered at your throat, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, making your pulse race and your breath catch in your throat. In that moment, you had never felt more alive, more his.

Your hand had barely slipped down to your heat when the sharp trill of your phone cut through the quiet. Heart pounding, you snatched it up, the suddenness of it snapping you out of your haze.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice a little breathless, still tangled in the memory of him.

“Is that offer still on the table?” Zayne’s voice poured through the speaker, low and worn, with that familiar undercurrent of exhaustion. But there was something else this time—something darker. His words dripped with a kind of danger, smooth and sweet like black honey, making your stomach flip.

You swallowed hard, a spark igniting low in your belly. “Uh, depends which one,” you managed, trying to play it cool as you sat up, bringing the wine bottle to your lips for another sip. Your heart was racing, anticipation thrumming under your skin.

“The one where I use you.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity, sending a thrill straight to your core. The raw need in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck every nerve you had. You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of your own reaction. You tried to cover the sudden loss of words with another drink, the wine sliding down your throat as you let the tension stretch between you.

One more sip—just one more for courage. Then, finally, you answered, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine good, darling?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, glancing around the dark living room. The flicker of the TV had left your eyes hazy, still not fully adjusted to the shadows creeping through the room. How did he know you’d been drinking wine?

Your breath caught as an icy chill swept through the house, raising goosebumps on your skin. Instinctively, your gaze darted to the front door, and your stomach dropped. It was wide open, swaying slightly as a gust of wind pushed against it.

You hadn’t heard a thing. Not the lock turning, not the door creaking. Nothing.

How had he gotten in without you noticing?

You stared at the door, frozen in place, watching as it swung shut on its own, the soft click of the latch echoing through the quiet. A chill ran down your spine as the realization hit—you hadn’t heard him enter on purpose. He wanted you to know he’d slipped in unnoticed, that he’d been watching you this whole time. Your mind spun with the thought: How long had he been there?

The phone slipped from your grasp, and you barely registered the sharp whine of the line going dead, drowned out by the thundering pulse of your heartbeat in your ears.

The soft but deliberate sound of shoes against the ceramic floor snapped you back into focus. Your senses sharpened, instincts kicking in. He was coming closer—fast.

In the low, flickering light of the TV, you saw him emerge from the shadows. Long strides brought him swiftly across the room, his form cutting through the dim light with an air of purpose. His form caught the harsh glow—the broad shoulders of his body, the sharp angles of his face—only partially revealed, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, the TV blinked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. The sound of his footsteps, which had been closing in on you, vanished as if he’d disappeared into the night itself.

But you knew better.

He was there, somewhere in the blackness, waiting for you to realize it. The tension in the air was thick, every hair on your body standing on end as you strained to hear the slightest movement, feel the faintest brush of his presence.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Suddenly, the TV blared a sharp noise from the movie, flooding the room with light for just a second. And there he was, Zayne, only a few feet away—moving like a shadow, so silently it made your skin crawl. His face was bathed in the cold glow, and the way the light played off his sharp features made him look almost predatory. His expression was intense, dark, and unreadable, as if he was walking a line between control and something much more dangerous.

Your brain screamed danger. Fight or flight surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribcage as self-preservation took over. Without thinking, your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, the glass cool and smooth in your grip. Before you could second-guess it, you raised it high above your head and hurled it straight at him, instinct driving your every move.

But then—he catches it. Effortlessly. The bottle freezes mid-air, his hand snapping up to grab it as if it were nothing more than a tossed pillow. He doesn’t flinch. His stride doesn’t break. His hazel green eyes, burning with that same dangerous intensity, never leave yours for even a second. The best defense you could muster didn’t even make him blink.

Calmly, as though the act hadn’t fazed him at all, he places the bottle on the side table, his gaze still locked on you. The silence between you feels deafening as he closes the distance, his steps slow but deliberate.

Panic shot through you like a wild animal, adrenaline making your limbs tremble. But something else flared right alongside it—something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. It was fear, raw and visceral, but it was tangled up with desire, twisted into something you couldn’t quite understand but craved all the same.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator, you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

And you almost didn’t want to.

You whip around, adrenaline taking over, and try to run—but you barely make it a few steps before it’s too late. You don’t even hear him behind you. The silence is terrifying, disorienting. Then, out of nowhere, his hand clamps around your elbow, and a startled shriek escapes your lips, cut off as he uses your momentum against you, spinning you sharply into the wall.

Your back collides with it hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A whimper slips out, unbidden, from the shock of the impact. Before you can recover, Zayne’s voice, low and commanding, hisses in your ear.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls, the words sharp like a promise. “You asked for this.”

Panic surges through your body, instinct screaming at you to get away. “Let go!” you cry out, fear pulsing hot and fast through your veins. But your voice is weak, barely masking the excitement that’s battling for control inside you.

He doesn’t. Instead, he’s on you again, his mouth descending on your neck with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. One of his hands grips your jaw with rough precision, calloused fingers pressing into your skin, holding you in place. You try to twist away, but he holds you firm, his touch demanding, possessive.

His lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point first, then moving lower, grazing the soft curve beneath your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the panic swirling in your chest, a desperate whimper escapes. Your body betrays you, your hips instinctively rocking toward him, already aching for his touch. The heat between your legs flares, want burning through the fear.

His tongue traces a line down your neck, the warmth of it lingering only for a moment before the cool air chills the wet skin. Then his teeth sink into the muscle above your collarbone, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp in pain. You wince, your body tensing as the sharp sensation rolls through you.

Your hand flies up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push him off, your grip weak and trembling. But Zayne doesn't budge. His strength overwhelms you, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for escape. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues, relentless, leaving you caught between fear and an overpowering need that consumes you both.

"Zayne," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you…

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual. 

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. He swallows any attempted protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response. 

“Oh, what happened to all the struggling?” Zayne mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to protest, to say anything that might break the tension or reclaim some of your control, but before the words can form, Zayne grinds his knee into your core. The pressure sends a jolt of raw pleasure through your body, and the only sound that escapes is a desperate, breathy whine. His reaction is immediate—he hums with satisfaction, his lips curving into a smug smile. He does it again, harder this time, and you can feel him reveling in the control, in the power he has over you.

Your mind scrambles to catch up with your body, which is already responding in ways you can’t hide. You try to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to say something sharp, something biting, anything to regain your footing. But the moment your eyes lock with his, whatever witty retort you had dies on your tongue.

His face is half-hidden in the darkness, but his eyes... there’s something in them that makes your heart stutter. Not just the hunger, not just the dominance—it’s deeper. There’s a flash of genuine anger simmering beneath the surface, something darker that you hadn’t expected, and it sends a ripple of unease through you. The intensity of it levels you, catching you off guard.

Suddenly, this feels like more than just a game. Warmth floods your chest, your body still responding to him in ways you can’t control, but a new sense of apprehension takes root. You’re playing with something dangerous, something unpredictable. The heat between you is no longer just desire—it’s the burn of real fire, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for the flames.

Your breath comes faster as you take in the sight of him. His chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath his skin. You’re mesmerized, caught between the fear of what he might do next and the undeniable pull he has over you.

You take him in, eyes sweeping over the familiar lines of his body now that he’s standing in front of you. His white lab coat is gone, discarded somewhere behind him, leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully undress. His shirt is buttoned neatly up to the collar, accentuating his thick, muscular frame in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The tie around his neck is still knotted, slightly loosened from a long day’s work, but there’s something disheveled about him now—something raw and untamed lurking beneath the polished exterior.

His dark slacks cling to his legs, perfectly tailored to his build, emphasizing his long leg now settled between your core. The soft fabric sways with his movements, while his polished shoes make almost no sound against the floor, their silence unsettling given the tension simmering between you.

His arms cage you in, closing off this small corner of the world to just the two of you. It feels like there’s nothing outside this moment, no one else but him—towering over you, his strength radiating off him in waves. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension and unspoken desire. Your gaze travels back to his face, meeting his intense eyes, and despite the weight of the moment, you can’t help but smile mischievously.

Without a second thought, you turn your head and sink your teeth into his arm, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of his skin, tasting the salty warmth of him. At the same time, you grind your hips down against him, pressing into the hardness beneath his slacks.

You expect him to react instantly, to snarl an insult or degrade you for your boldness. To throw out one of his usual threats—punishment, discipline—his voice dripping with disdain for your insolence, for the way you always push his boundaries. You brace yourself for it, for the sting of his words, the sharp crack of his tone that would send heat rushing through your body.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he goes completely still. The tension in his muscles shifts, tightening under your bite, but his silence unnerves you more than anything. You can feel it—the raw power coursing just beneath his skin, his body vibrating with restraint. His muscles flex under your teeth, taut with the effort of holding something back. You release your grip slightly, confused, nervous. But Zayne says nothing. He’s a coiled spring, quiet, calculating, like a predator biding its time.

Methodically, he moves, his hands sliding down your arms, his touch precise, controlled, like he’s performing surgery. Each motion deliberate, calculated. His fingers glide over your skin, and with each inch he covers, the nervousness inside you builds. His control feels absolute, every movement designed to unsettle, to leave you wondering what’s coming next.

Then his hands reach your head, enveloping it completely. His fingers curl around your skull, not rough but firm enough to make you feel small, trapped in his grip. His thumbs rest near your temples, steady, as if he’s taking his time to savor the way your breath catches. The weight of his touch presses down on you, making it impossible to move.

With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Zayne’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark. 

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

 “You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt. 

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat. 

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration. 

“What?” 

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.” 

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Zayne presenting his shoe. Polished and tightly tied, the mere sight of them gave obvious impression of what he wanted from you. But why?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his shoe. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his shoe... 

“There they are. My desperate little darling,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Zayne just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his shoe while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his shoe, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster. 

“Beg for it,” Zayne orders. 

“Please let me cum, Zayne, please!” 

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his shoe away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the ceramic floor. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing. 

“Silly girl.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch as his hand pulls a scalpel from his pocket. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favorite part? Where you try and fail to escape?” 

You don’t move. He flips the scalpel in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Start crawling,” he suggests. 

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the nearly silent creak of his shoes. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the scalpel as he tosses it in the air. His shoes creak again, then again. 

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the scalpel, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch shoe follow shoe in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?” 

With a calculated shift, Zayne turns your body to face him, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. The tension between you crackles in the air, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping around it with unyielding force. His palm presses against your throat, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, sharp and undeniable.

"It takes about 10 seconds for pressure to the jugular to result in unconsciousness," Zayne says calmly, his voice low, almost clinical, as if reciting a fact from one of his textbooks. His grip tightens again, harder this time, and the sensation of control he wields is overwhelming.

The edges of your vision blur almost immediately, the world around you starting to fade. You feel lightheaded, like the ground is slipping away beneath your feet, your body caught in the thin space between pain and pleasure. But beneath the intoxicating sensations, panic begins to swell. The lightness in your head grows, and then you feel weightless, disconnected from reality as the darkness creeps in around your sight.

Your body starts to respond, instinct driving you toward the rising sense of panic. The pleasure and thrill that had mixed with the danger of it all suddenly feel too real, too much, as Zayne relentlessly pushes you to your limits.

You bring your hand up weakly, your fingers trembling, and tap his arm three times. The motion is small but deliberate, your safe signal.

For a brief, terrifying second, you wonder if he’s noticed.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Zayne, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the scalpel to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver. 

It glides around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The razor sharp point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws. 

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine. 

Then you go still again, he continues. The scalpel crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He pockets the scalpel, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him. 

“I said hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be. 

“Zayne, please,” you whimper. 

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh. 

“Please fuck me.” 

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the scalpel beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you. 

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The scalpels beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body. 

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He pockets the scalpel once more, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“This is messed up,” Zayne’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so messed up, so messed up. 

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response. 

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake. 

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the cool ceramic floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him. 

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work shifts, that it’d be like that.” 

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.” 

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, tired look on his face. 

“Are you okay...?” 

“I will tell you about it soon, darling” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile. 

Zayne held you close, his body a solid, comforting weight against yours, his bodily warmth gradually soothing the whirlwind of sensation still buzzing under your skin. But then, you felt him shift. His fingers, cold and precise, began to ghost over the cuts he had made, tracing the delicate lines he’d etched into your skin with surgical precision. You shivered at his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

His eyes softened, and in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I need to tend to these.” His words were gentle, but firm, a quiet reminder of the care he always took with you, even now.

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his fingers, and then he pulled away. You watched him button his pants, his movements deliberate but unhurried, before disappearing down the hall. Even through the exhaustion weighing you down, you heard the faint sound of him rummaging in the bathroom, retrieving what he needed.

When he returned, Zayne knelt beside you, his medical kit in hand. His usual calm, professional demeanor was still there, but this time it was softened with a tenderness only reserved for you. Gently, he began to disinfect the cuts, his touch as light as it was thorough. The sting of the antiseptic bit into your skin, making you wince, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing reassuringly over your knuckles. It was a silent promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

With every stroke of the gauze, every carefully placed bandaid, Zayne’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained trained on you, on the cuts he was tending to, but there was something deeper in his expression—something protective, almost reverent, as though he was caring for a part of himself.

When he finally finished, he sat back slightly, his hand resting on your arm, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were truly okay. You could see the tension from earlier still lingering in the set of his jaw, the concern etched faintly into the lines of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion, your body finally giving in to the weight of the night. Your limbs felt like lead, but your heart fluttered at the care he was taking with you, the gentleness of his hands now so different from the intensity you’d felt earlier.

“I’m just…so exhausted now” you sigh, briefly closing your eyes as another wave of tiredness washed through you.

Zayne’s expression softened into a small smile, one so full of adoration it made your chest tighten with affection. He stood, helping you up with careful hands, supporting your weight as he guided you to the couch. His arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, steadying you as he laid you down gently, as though you were something fragile.

He settled in beside you, his body curling protectively around yours, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll clean up later,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss. The warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you, the scent of him comforting, grounding you.

You nestled deeper into him, the tension of the night melting away in his embrace. Wrapped in his arms, in the safety of his presence, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the world around you fading into the soft haze of sleep. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both drifted off together, tangled in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (9)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this was tricky to write I won't lie. I wanted it to be sweet but not unrealistic. Tension and angst filled but fair to our protagonists who have struggled through a lot. Oh well, you'll see. Enjoy!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

We find out what happened at the end of the reader's date with Matt. Can Ewan and his darling still mend their rift or will things be too far gone?

Matt sits next to you on your couch, as you enjoy one of his favourite films on the TV. He’s close – not too close that he’s flush against you – but enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. His arm is casually draped on the back of the seat, and his other hand often reaches up to run through his perfectly tousled hair.

As the film plays on, you can’t help but remember the intensity of last night’s kiss. Every time he turns to you, his disarming smile draws your gaze to his lips, lingering on the memory of their softness. 

The kiss had grown heated, leading him to press your back against your door. With a soft, frustrated growl, he had fished your forgotten key from your hand, unlocking your front door himself, while keeping a firm grip on your face, as if afraid the moment would fade if he let go. 

“Come here, love,” he had half-demanded, half-pleaded once you both entered the apartment. In a swift motion, he had picked you up in his arms and threw you down on the couch – the very same couch you two are lounging on right now. His touch had been intoxicating, his lips trailing hungry kisses down your neck while his hands roamed eagerly over your chest, your hips, and eventually, your backside. His muffled moans brought a heat to your core that almost made you let go and abandon all your inhibitions. Yet, as if on autopilot, or perhaps due to the image of a certain someone lingering in your mind, you pressed a hesitant hand to his chest and asked him to wait. 

His pupils were shot black, his lips swollen red, revealing the depth of his desire. He had reluctantly complied, burying his face in your neck and releasing a frustrated laugh that rumbled through his chest. You could see it - the figure of Ewan standing in the corner, arms crossed and lips curled in disappointment. Tsk tsk, he seemed to chide, leaning against the wall, judging you.

Oh sod off, you almost grumbled aloud, covering it up by running a hand down your face. This is my moment. 

And that moment came and went. The night had drifted away as you and Matt talked for hours, the connection deepening with each passing minute. He left early in the morning with a promise to return in the evening, bearing food and wine. “I just enjoy being in your company,” he had shared, and he was true to his word. 

Now, as he reaches for your bare knee, you thank your lucky stars that you chose to wear shorts.

“Where were you just then?” he asks, his smile playful.

“Hmm?” 

“You were lost to me for a moment there,” he says, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Care to share what occupies your thoughts?”

Your phone buzzes on the side table, cutting through the tension. It’s a sudden lifeline – an excuse not to come up with some witty response that doesn’t reveal how fixated you had been on the kiss that nearly turned into something more carnal. Or how it had been the thought of Ewan that kept you from pulling him into your bedroom. 

You give Matt a look, silently telling him to hold on a moment, then you glance down at the screen which displays that all-too-familiar Ewan One-Eye, and you realise that you might need a longer while.

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get that?” His tone is light and teasing, but something darker flashes across his gaze, something you haven’t seen in him before – it seemed like suspicion, or maybe even jealousy. 

You push it out of your mind, convinced you are just getting ahead of yourself.

You try to match the intensity of his gaze for a second before letting out a sigh. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

“A minute,” he echoes, index finger held up as if to confirm your time limit. 

With the phone pressed to your ear, you retreat into your bedroom, leaving the door open just an inch. Your hello barely stumbles from your lips before the familiar sound of Ewan’s voice greets you, rougher than usual.

“Darling,” he breathes, his voice low and raspy, “I think we need to talk.”

His tone is sombre, so unlike the usual cadence of your late-night calls, made for the usual purpose of making good on the arrangement. Those calls inevitably result in the two of you stumbling blind into the night, tangled in sheets and each other’s arms. 

“What is it?” you respond, unable to mask your nerves.

“About us,” he says, his voice slurring somewhat. Is he drunk? “We need to talk about us,” he repeats, as if he needs to convince himself just as much.

“What do you mean?” you ask quickly, getting defensive. You have a feeling that this isn’t going to end well. “What is there to talk about?”

“You know exactly what,” he snaps, unable to keep his emotions in check. “This… whatever we are.”

“Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes, now. Why not? You’re not busy, are you?”

“No… no, but – ”

“Okay then,” he presses on. “Let’s talk. I’ll start with… the fact that it didn’t sit right with me, seeing you on that date with Matt.”

“How did you see – ” The realisation dawns on you. “ – of course. Photogs.”

“Like I need their photos to know what’s happening. I know it was a date,” he spits, each word laced with frustration. 

You shut your eyes for a moment, trying not to let him get a rise out of you. “Yes, because I told you. I’m not hiding anything, Mitchell.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” His voice rises, the bitterness sharper now. “You think honesty makes it hurt any less? You’re everywhere with him. It’s like... you don’t even care.”

The ache in his voice catches you off guard. You clench the phone, fighting back the surge of guilt threatening to overwhelm you, reminding yourself that you have nothing to feel guilty about. “What do you want me to do, Ewan? Push everyone away? Completely ignore this person who shows me genuine interest? Is that what you expect?”

“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly. “Just... stop.”

“You’re the one who made the rules, remember?” you snap, your own anger rising to meet his. “You were the one who said I wouldn’t be yours. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Not being yours.”

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, “I know that.”

“Then why are you acting like this? Like I’m betraying you?”

“Because,” he says finally, his voice raw, trembling. “Because I want you to be mine. Goddamn it, I want you to be.”

The air leaves your lungs in a single, sharp exhale, your heart pounding in your chest. You stand frozen, the words echoing in your mind, too much and too little all at once.

“What?” The word barely makes it past your lips, but it’s all you can manage.

A hollow laugh escapes him, strained and bitter. “It was stupid of me to say otherwise,” he murmurs. “I never stopped wanting you, not once. Not since you first smiled at me. I’ve always been yours.”

The confession hangs between you, finally out in the open. You let out a pained breath, and grip the phone tighter, needing to anchor yourself to something.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ewan,” you whisper.

“Say you’ll let me fix this,” he breathes. “Say you want me too.”

Your mind reels, torn between the ache for him and the reality that Matt is waiting just outside the door. But in this moment, it’s Ewan’s voice that consumes you – the yearning in his voice, the raw confession of someone who’s done with pretending not to care. 

“I – ”

“Hey, love.” Matt’s voice cuts through your thoughts like a blade, and you see him casually leaning against the doorframe. His tone is light, but the look in his eyes says he knows something is off. “I thought we said one minute.”

“Who’s that?” Ewan’s sharp question cracked through the phone.

“It’s – ”

“Why don’t you kindly tell Ewan that it’s rude to keep you from company?” Matt approaches slowly, his voice growing more pointed with every step.

“Matt?” Ewan’s voice is icy, his frustration palpable even through the phone. “Matt’s there?”

“Hey there, mate!” Matt calls out, loud enough for Ewan to hear, his tone overly cheerful, completely at odds with the atmosphere thickening in the room.

Your stomach clenches. The situation is getting out of hand. Fast. 

“Your date was yesterday,” Ewan mutters, the pieces starting to fall into place. “Did he stay the night? Is that why he’s still there? Did you – ”

“Yes,” you blurt out, the truth tumbling from your lips before you can stop it. Panic flashes through you. “I mean, yes, he stayed the night, but it’s not what you think – ”

“I don’t think you owe him an explanation, love.” Matt’s voice drops into a low whisper, leaning into you as if staking his claim. 

Ewan’s voice darkens, the sarcasm biting. “Not what I think? Really? So... what? He didn’t touch you? He didn’t – ” His words falter, but you can feel the unspoken questions twisting the knife deeper. Did he fuck you? Did he lay in your bed, his arms around you? Did he touch what was mine?

You feel the heat rise to your face, the sting of his accusations sharper than you expected. “Listen, Ewan, we just went on a date, that’s all. He came back to mine, but we didn’t – ”

“I get it,” he cuts you off., the bitterness dripping from his words. “I understand, darling. Like you said, this is what I signed up for. Who am I to stop you?”

“That’s not fair,” you whisper. “You can’t make me feel wretched for simply going – ”

“For what? For living your life?” Ewan interrupts, his tone bitter but resigned. “I told you I wouldn’t stand in your way. So go on, enjoy it. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Ewan,” you sigh, blind to Matt’s disapproving look. “Just wait.”

Ewan’s voice is soft now, almost too soft, like he’s already slipping away. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, but the hollow sound of his reassurance feels like a knife twisting deeper. “We’ll talk another time.”

The line between you feels like it’s fraying, each second stretching longer, heavier, with neither of you able to say what you really mean.

“Okay,” you whisper, though it feels like a surrender.

“Okay,” he echoes, the finality settling in the silence that follows. 

For a few excruciating seconds, neither of you hangs up. You can hear his breathing – steady but strained – and in your mind, you see his face, that familiar frustrated pout tugging at his lips, the way his jaw clenches when he’s trying to hold something back.

But Matt is standing right there, his gaze piercing through the quiet moment you’re desperately clinging to. With a trembling hand, you lower the phone, ending the call. 

“Sorry, Smithy,” you weakly smile, in considerably lower spirits than before you entered your bedroom.

Matt studies you for a moment, his face unreadable, and the weight of everything you’ve left unsaid presses down on your shoulders. “No need to apologise, love,” he says, gently slinging an arm around you and pulling you to him. “Let’s go, you’re missing the best parts of the film.”

The next day, the events from the previous night still weighed down on you. Ewan’s words echo in your mind when you go about your routine. 

When you wake up and brush your teeth – “Darling, I think we need to talk.”

When you make your cup of morning joe and help yourself to some breakfast – “... I want you to be mine.”

When you try to focus on the scripts for season three, settling into the worn comfort of your couch. – “Say you’ll let me fix this. Say you want me too.”

By late afternoon, a call with Phia offers some reprieve. You confide in her about the recent happenings with Ewan and Matt. She alludes to being in contact with Ewan, and ‘making sure his head is screwed on straight’.

“He can’t be like this,” she passionately exclaims. “He can’t act all macho and possessive when he’s been treating you like a throwaway lay in the sack. I mean, no offence, I love you but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” you laugh despite yourself, already feeling lighter.

“You do you, my darling,” she reassures, before reminding you, “But listen, he told you his truth. More or less. I think it’s your turn to tell him what you really think, don’t you?”

“You’re right, Phi,” you admit quietly. “I guess I’ll have to start from the beginning.”

An hour after the call, you find yourself laying down on your bed. Sansa, curled up on Ewan’s side, is doing little to help. She nestles on top of his pillow, her paws digging into the soft fabric as if to anchor herself to his memory. Either it’s due to the events that transpired, or your mind is playing tricks on you, but she reminds you of Ewan with each passing day. 

Ewan, with whom she quickly decided to replace you as her favourite human the moment she got a good sniff of his hoodie. 

She meows softly, as if privy to your thoughts, as if to say that she misses him too. The little squishball of a traitor. 

Then she suddenly raises her head, in that feline manner of being alert to something that eludes you. She scrambles out of the bed, her small form darting out of the room with a purpose, her persistent meows filling the apartment. You’re about to tell her to shush, when the buzzer rings. Your heart skips a beat. Someone has been let up already – someone familiar enough to bypass the usual formalities. 

You pad to the door in your worn pyjamas, exchanging a knowing glance with Sansa, who waits by the entrance like a sentinel.

“Meow,” your turncoat companion looks at you briefly, then at the door. Open the door, you silly human, is what you’re certain she would demand if she could form the words. 

“I know, I know.” She follows close behind as you unlock your door to reveal your visitor. Sansa’s favourite person in the entire world. 

When the door swings open, there he is – Ewan One-Eye. Standing tall in his black leather jacket and worn jeans, his hair returned to his natural, darker shade you prefer on him. Your breath hitches, your gaze dropping to the delicate bouquet of white roses he holds in one hand.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs, that familiar smile tugging at his lips. “I come bearing a white flag.”

Before you can respond, Sansa lets out an elated meow, bounding toward him like he’s a long-lost friend. Ewan snorts softly. “Hey, Sansa,” he greets her, crouching slightly to give her a small scratch behind the ears. Then, with a glance up at you, he adds, “Think you can convince your mum to let daddy inside?”

You roll your eyes, unable to fight the smile that’s already tugging at your lips. One smile from him and your resolve is at risk of unravelling completely. 

“A white flag, huh?” you ask, stepping aside to let him in. But you barely have time to close the door before he leans in, catching you by surprise with a firm kiss. It’s not rushed or desperate, but there’s a weight to it – a need that hums beneath the surface.

When he pulls back, you realise he’s slipped the bouquet into your hand. You stare down at the roses, his symbolic white flag.

“These are for you,” he says, his voice soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “I, uhhh, I wanted to apologise for being… you know.”

“A dick,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “I know.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a small grin. “Well, don’t hold back, darling. But yes, I shouldn’t have gotten on your case over… him.”

“Him?” you ask playfully. “Don’t worry about it, One-Eye. I always knew you and your uncle had bad blood.”

His eyes narrow, his smirk faltering for a second, and you watch as his gaze flickers down your body, slowly taking in the sight of you in your comfortable attire. It’s a familiar look – the way his eyes sweep over every patch of exposed skin with barely veiled hunger. Normally, he would’ve made a move by now, reached out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, or run his thumb lightly across your bottom lip. But today, his gaze lingers longer than usual – right at your neck and exposed collarbones, like he’s searching for something. Or someone else's unwelcome mark.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, the surge of jealousy he’s trying so hard to suppress. But the way his jaw tightens gives him away.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” he asks casually, breaking the silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh well, this is fine, I suppose.” He shrugs, eyes flashing with mischief. “You look beautiful in pyjamas… or a fucking ball gown.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” 

“I’m taking you out. We’re going on a date, my darling.”

You openly gape at him, stunned by the sudden shift of events. “I’m sorry, did I miss your memo or – ”

“It’s a surprise,” he cheekily grins. “So, you know… surprise! And all that.” 

You cross your arms, trying to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. “So you’re fine with taking me out on dates now?”

“Mhmm.” He takes another step, and his voice drops lower, the teasing edge in it sharp enough to make your breath catch. “I realised you deserve a little more than I’ve been giving. The bloody arrangement we have isn’t enough for me. It never has been. I’ve been too stupid to see it, and maybe I’ve got competition now, but you better believe that I’m not backing down easily.” 

He leans in slightly, adding in a sarcastic tone, “Especially not to Daemon Targaryen.”

“Took you this long to come to your senses, huh.” you say, biting back a smile. “It took another man successfully sweeping me off my feet – ”

“Okay, now,” he looks away, his lips curling. “No need to rub it in.” 

You can’t help but laugh softly at his wounded pride. “So what now?” you ask. 

“Why don’t you let me sweep you off your feet this time?” he offers. “With each and every single string attached.”

He offers something real, something more. Something resembling what you once shared, and perhaps even better this time. 

“Fine. I’ll get dressed,” you relent, backing toward your bedroom.

“Can I watch?” The boy has the audacity to call after you, his signature smirk in full display. 

“Ewan Robert Mitchell,” you click your tongue in mock disapproval, eyes narrowing at him, “why don’t you buy me dinner first?”

The cab rolls to a stop in front of a familiar modernised brownstone, and you turn to look at him suspiciously. “You brought me back to your place?”

Without a word, he slides out of the cab, quickly ambling to your side and opening the door for you. “My lady.” He offers his hand and you take it with an amused look in your eyes, still awaiting an explanation.

You ask again, “Mitchell, did you just lure me back to your apartment?”

“Yes, you’ve cracked it,” he smirks. “But don’t worry, I won’t just be seducing you into my bed. As tempting as that might be.”

He leads you inside, and when you step into the elevator, you notice he presses the button for the topmost floor – not his apartment. Your brow furrows. “What are you up to, Mitchell?”

“Patience is a virtue, darling,” he quips, his hand massaging the small of your back. 

The elevator dings to signal that you’ve reached your floor. He says, “Remember our first date? Up on that roof in LA?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, I thought we could pay tribute to that memory.” The doors open and you’re met with the sight of a breathtaking rooftop pavilion, softly lit with hanging lights strung between metal beams, casting a golden glow that dances across the polished stone floor. It feels like an amplified echo of your first date, everything sharper and more vivid.

A small table for two sits in the centre, adorned with candles and more flowers, the atmosphere far more intimate. A bottle of wine sits in the centre, already uncorked, with two delicate crystal glasses waiting beside it. 

You blink, surprised and touched. “You did all this?”

He comes up behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders, his breath warm against your ear. “Did you really think I’d just settle for my couch and Netflix?”

“Honestly? I did,” you tease, leaning back slightly into him.

He chuckles, low and deep. “Well, I have to keep you on your toes, don’t I?” Then, more seriously, he adds, “I wanted to make up for weeks of mere stolen moments, you know?”

He moves to stand in front of you, and he asks, “Do you think I could steal a kiss, darling?” he asks, still teasing, but with an undertone of vulnerability. Do you like it? Do you approve of everything? his eyes seemed to say.

Slowly, you close the gap, your lips brushing his in the softest of touches.

It’s tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but then his hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, deepening the kiss. There’s no more teasing now, just raw, unfiltered emotion in the way his lips move against yours.

“I guess I didn’t need to steal it after all,” he whispers, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“No,” you say, mirroring his expression, “that one was all yours, baby.”

After dinner, which was nothing short of extraordinary – Ewan had gone all out, employing the exclusive restaurant from the ground floor of the building to cater the night’s meal – the two of you settle into the rooftop’s plush seating area. 

The conversation shifts naturally, easing into shared memories and playful banter. You both laugh about that disastrous karaoke night during your first press tour together, and how he barely made it through his favourite ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’ without collapsing into a fit of embarrassed and drunken giggles. Tom, of course, relentlessly made fun of him for it, stepping into his role like an actual older brother. 

You wish you could stay in these moments, ignoring all the things left unsaid. But the weight of those things hangs heavy, demanding to be addressed.

“Listen, I have to tell you something.” The words almost catch in your throat as you search for the right way to begin.

“What is it, darling?”

“When I… When I broke things off between us, I wasn’t entirely honest with you. I know I said I wanted you to take on the film, and I did, I really did. But when I mentioned that thing about Jacob, about wanting to see where things would go with him, about feeling something for him… none of that was true. I just needed to say something that would convince you. Something that would keep you away, and hopefully change your mind about taking on the film.”

His expression turns stony. “You lied to me.”

“I lied for you,” you say, trying to keep your voice firm. “I know how important acting is for you. It’s been your dream ever since you can remember, and I didn’t want you to jeopardise that dream for my sake.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” he snaps, his voice tight with frustration. “I gave that up for us.”

“I never asked you to!” you nearly shout, the weight of it all spilling over. “You did that for me, I know you did. And you didn’t even tell me.”

“I would do it all again. I would make that same choice again. For you.”

“You made that choice all about me, without even consulting me,” you shoot back, the hurt evident in your voice. “If something went wrong with your career, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Knowing that I caused it.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he says, shaking his head, “But you were wrong to lie to me.”

“And you were wrong in not including me in your decision,” you retort, the back and forth bickering reminding you of playground taunting.

“So? You did the exact same thing.”

“I guess we’re both fucking hypocrites, aren’t we? Anyway, things fell into place. You’re all set for that franchise. And soon you have to play at being in love with someone else.”

“I don’t want to – ” he starts, but you cut him off. 

“You’re not quitting,” you say in finality, “Not for me.”

“Look at you now making decisions for me. How bloody generous of you,” he says venomously, all traces of softness gone from his voice. 

You stand in a huff, unable to take the arrogance he is showing you. 

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. It’s a silence filled with the unspoken frustrations and regrets of two people who thought they had control over the situation, only to find themselves in a web that is already far too tangled.

“I’m sorry,” he says, now standing close behind you.

“I’m sorry too,” you echo his sentiment weakly, casting your gaze to the night sky to find some solace and finding none. The only comfort would be in his eyes, but they might be a bit too cold for your liking at the moment. 

“I have to be in LA in a week,” he says in a flat line. “Pre-production for the film.”

“Ewan… I can’t just stand by while you have to be someone’s pretend boyfriend. We both know that these things have a way of making things messy.”

“Hmm,” he says, blankly staring out into the distance. “It's too late for me to quit anyway. Already signed on the dotted line.”

“So I guess we both know where we stand.”

“I guess we do,” he responds, his tone almost resigned.

“Matt asked me to be his date to his friend’s film screening,” you reveal, “and I think I’ll go.”

“Do you really… you and him, is that… ?” His question hangs in the air, fraught with unspoken jealousy and hope.

“I do like him,” you admit, holding back from the expanded truth, the addition of ‘but I love you’. 

“And you’re not just lying again for my sake?” he presses, eyes locking onto yours.

You glare at him. “Really?”

“Right,” he mutters, his shoulders slumping. “My bad.”

“I wish I could say I’m sorry for proposing no strings attached between us,” he starts, turning to face you, his voice tinged with regret. “Maybe I am, because I see now how it hurt you. But the truth is, I needed you – desperately. I needed you, but I couldn’t let go of my pride. I don’t regret having you, feeling you, holding you... even if it was all wrapped in that fucking mess. It was all I could manage, darling, and I’m sorry.”

You don’t even notice the stray tear that slips down your cheek, but Ewan is quick to brush it off with his thumb. His eyes also well with tears, and he smiles ruefully. 

You keep his hand pressed to your face, shutting your eyes for a moment. He leans in until his forehead meets yours, and the two of you stay there, two hearts hanging on the line.

“So you’ll go,” you say.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks,” he replies.

“We’ll be okay, Mitchell,” you say, leaning back to look at him. No matter what, in whatever capacity, you want Ewan in your life. Even if circumstances dictate that you can’t be with him. 

“Hmm.” His gaze sharpens. “And Matt? What about him?”

You hesitate, grappling with the truth that you’re not even certain of. “I can’t just push him aside. I owe it to myself to see where things go.”

He sneers, his eyes narrowing. “You think a few weeks away will change how I feel? If you want to explore things with him, fine, but don’t expect me to just back down.”

You meet his gaze with equal intensity. “And don’t think that things will just magically fall right back into place between us.”

“No.” He nods just the once. “But remember something, darling.”

“What is that, Mitchell?”

“You were my Alyna first.”

💌 next chapter

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Some notes in the margins...

When I said sweet, I hope you know that this is what I meant. Sweet.. and bitter, essentially. Like a good cocktail. A balance is needed 🍸

Well, well, well... now that everything has been laid out on the line, it's open frickin season, babies!!! Anything can happen. Woohoo 🤍

PS. this doesn't show the true outcome of THE poll (which I have already made up my mind over). That's still to be written. Watch out :)

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

rating: 18+

warnings: pregnancy scare, mean possessive jungkook 😾, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, fingering, choking, oc gets her hands tied bc she's a brat ! ☝🏼, blowjob, cum eating, car sex, teasingg, tipsy oc, v vulnerable oc :(, dirty talk, daddy kink, crying, one boob bite methinks

summary: having a bit too much fun at chanyeol's halloween party, jungkook unexpectedly joins the party too.

a/n: it's finally here !! i hope u like it hihi <3

you're losing me masterlist

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Chanyeol never misses with his Halloween parties.

And usually, you never miss with your costumes too, but given the circumstance you’re glad to even attend.

Truthfully, it was entirely your own fault, and you hate to admit it because you had been extremely excited to wear your customised Barbie doll outfit, but one spill of your wine and the dress was disastrously ruined.

So you had to come up with a spontaneous Plan B.

You finally found usage for the small Victoria Secret wings from their special collection you received during a fashion show. Cinching a lace-embellished corset from Dolce & Gabbana, you paired it with a flirty ruffled miniskirt from Chanel. Your hair was crowned with crystal-embellished hairpins by Jennifer Behr. And oh, those satin heels by Jimmy Choo, adorned with dazzling crystals, added the perfect dose of sparkle to the outfit. You think you might’ve redefined last minute-magic.

“You’re trending on Twitter.”

As you sit on the couch, reaching down to retrieve the ping pong ball for Eunwoo turn at beer pong, Chanyeol abruptly shoves his phone in front of you. His screen is showing the trending page on Twitter.

“Didn’t realise my costume is that cute.” You look down on yourself. It’s a basic costume, but you would have thought that Chanyeol’s vampire look gained more attention.

“Your outfit’s cute, but everyone’s talking about what you posted on your Story,” Chanyeol remarks. He taps on your name trending and scrolls through a myriad of Tweets, with people reposting the picture.

“Oh.”

Eunwoo peeks over Chanyeol’s shoulder and reads the Tweets. He chuckles. “Everyone’s just talking about how hot we look.”

You giggle, swatting his arm.

You didn’t expect a little mirror pic creating chaos to this extent.

It was just a funny coincidence seeing Eunwoo dressed up in a matching costume to in a devil costume, complete with fitting horns and wings, creating an impromptu couple costume. It was his idea to take a picture.

You probably should have considered that Eunwoo is a rising idol and actor. Everyone adores him. And seeing him photographed next to a girl off-screen, especially when it’s not for a highly anticipated KBS drama, might not sit well with everyone.

“Has your hubby seen it?” Chanyeol asks.

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe? He does regularly check what I post.” But he told you how busy he is today, so you’re not sure if he saw.

“Have you thought about my offer, by the way?” Eunwoo asks.

“What offer?” Chanyeol curiously chimes in.

“The lead role in my next drama. They're srill looking for an actress and honestly, I think ___ would be incredible for this one.”

Chanyeol’s eyes grow wide. “You two in a drama? That’s insane.”

“I’ve never tried acting. Not sure if I’d be any good,” you confess,

“I feel like you’re good at anything,” Chanyeol assures with a grin.

“I’ll think about it.”

They both resume playing beer pong with the others while you watch them as you drink.

As you take a sip from your drink, the weight of lingering gazes persists – less intense than in the beginning, yet a subtle scrutiny remains.

The curious looks undoubtedly trace back to the headlines two weeks ago, when pictures of Jungkook and you in his car near the gynaecologist’s building surfaced online. Captured in a vulnerable moment, perched on Jungkook’s lap with tears streaming down your face, you know how it must’ve looked like to the public.

You couldn’t stand those pictures making the rounds, especially with you in tears.

~

2 weeks ago

“You don’t need to worry.” Jungkook gently traces his thumb over the back of your hand.

You huff, frowning at your interlaced fingers. “But I do worry.”

“Love, if you are potentially-”

“Don’t say it!” you cut him off. “Hearing the word makes me more anxious.”

You hear him utter an exhausted sigh. “You said yourself that your period has been irregular in the past.”

“Yeah, minus the morning sickness.” Your tone is a bit sharp, maybe even sassy, and you don’t actually want it to come off that way and in another circumstance you’d feel guilty, but you’re too drained from your emotions and the conversation to care.

“But the tests you took were negative,” he tries again.

“It’s just plastic. I can’t trust it.”

You took countless of pregnancy tests weekly, filled up the bathroom bin with those stupid little things until you finally acquiesced to Jungkook’s persistent suggestion to schedule an appointment with your gynaecologist.

The slow traces on your hand come to a halt. His fingers lightly squeeze your chin, directing your gaze at him.

“I promise you, whatever the outcome is we’ll make the best of it.”

“I don’t understand how you’re able to stay calm,” you say, eyebrows arching at his composed demeanour.

In truth, this is an authentic depiction of your relationship dynamic. You deal with lots of anxiety, always have been, and Jungkook stands as the serene counterbalance – tranquil and calm, akin to a gentle, silent breeze sweeping over your arms just as it gets unbearably hot in summer and you’re out of options to cope with the temperature.

But this is concerning you both and you can’t grasp the ease with which he handles the plaguing situation.

“Either outcome won’t change anything drastically.”

You head turns to the side and your stare out the windscreen, a hint of pique evident as your tongue pokes your cheek.

“I don’t want a baby.” It’s barely a whisper under your breath. “But you want one.” Your eyes flutter back to him.

Thinking about it, it dawns on you that a potential pregnancy would undoubtedly bring joy to everyone in your life. Especially your dad, who has been eagerly anticipating it for years – bugging you about it almost every time you see him. However, at 24 you have dreams beyond motherhood. The thought of being tied down to it now fills you with a quiet sense of unease.

You know that Jungkook views it differently. It’s understandable; he is 31, and despite mutually agreeing to wait for a baby, for him it’s not the end of the world. His calm demeanour, shaped by having navigated through a previous marriage and bringing a wealth of life experience, contrasts with your apprehension.

Jungkook hesitates. “I do want a baby,” he confirms, a shadow of regretful longing crossing his face. “But it doesn’t matter. Whatever the result is, I will support it – I will support your decision.” Upon squeezing your bare thigh, he realises how cold you are. “Love, you’re freezing.” He fetches a fuzzy blanket from the backseat that he keeps there just for you. He tucks you under the comfy blanket.

“It’s ‘cause I’m scared,” you mumble, leaning back in your seat.

“Come here.” He softly anchors his hands on your hips and guides you to his lap. “It pains me to see you like this.” He wraps the blanket around you tighter. “You don’t wanna go in there and get this done quickly? Avoiding the inevitable messes with your headspace.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

Jungkook mindlessly cups your cheek, tatted knuckle skimming over your skin.

Maybe it’s the way he peers at you. With a gentle shimmer reflecting sheer fondness and poised to unfold the world at your feet, build a home for you wherever your finger points to without having to ask. Maybe it’s the way he is holding you to himself, his hands serving as a protective embrace, a shield warding off any harm that would dare come your way. Or maybe it’s the tall, daunting building on the side of the road, towering over you like a spectre of uncertainty.

But something brings tears to your eyes – making you grow smaller and younger and suddenly fragile.

“My love,” Jungkook utters tenderly. It fills you with warmth and so much love.

Worry contorts his face. His hand around you holds you tighter.

“I’m not gonna cry.” It serves more as a reassurance for yourself than for him.

“You know you can when you’re with me.”

You refuse, adamantly shaking your head. But when you lose control over the tears stinging your eyes, you bury your face into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, adding a small peck to your temple. “It’s okay to feel this way.”

“Don’t like it,” you murmur into his now tears stained skin.

“But there’s no point in denying it.”

“There’s just...so much. All at once.” You lean back a bit, finger pointing right to your heart.

“I know, love.” He gingerly caresses your back. He softens at your trembling bottom lip, a piece of his own heart falling apart upon seeing you vulnerable on his lap. “I’ll carry everything you can’t, remember?” It’s a vow that formed the foundation of your shared existence. In the quiet assurance of his voice, he continues, “I’ll carry your worries, your fears, your doubts.” His promise is a soothing melody in the symphony of your shared moment. “As long as we talk – communicate properly, this won’t be difficult.”

“But we do talk,” you reply, scrunching your stuffy nose. “No?”

“Yeah, I know.” He nods, thumbing away the tear from the corner of your eye. “But I need you to be honest with me regarding this. No hiding your thoughts from me.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re ready now?” Jungkook asks. As much as he comforts you, traces of curiosity glimmer in his eyes.

“I think so.”

“There’s nothing to worry.” Jungkook smiles in that boyish and lovely way that it coaxes a weak smile on your face.

~

Jungkook had been right the whole time. You weren’t pregnant.

There had been nothing to worry.

You’re still in awe at how he never doubted his feeling. He just knew you weren’t pregnant – typical Jungkook, always has this uncanny grasp on things, like an innate ability.

Your gynaecologist attributed it to a lack of vitamins and advised better hydration.

Jungkook, feeling more than a tad guilty, bombards you with constant reminders to take your vitamins, drink and eat even more than he used to.

“Is that Jeon Jungkook?” A hushed female voice utters to the person beside her.

As you gaze upward, your eyes lock onto Jungkook in the back of the crowd. A flutter dances through your heart at the mere sight of him.

Jungkook’s presence demands every ounce of attention as people instantly recognise him. He’s draped entirely in black. His pants temptingly cling to his thighs, the buttons of his shirt straining across his chiselled chest and strong arms. His Rolex sits prettily around his wrist, it’s gleam harmonising with the brilliance of his wedding ring.

And you find it so funny, silly almost, because this is just Jungkook in his work attire, you see him like this every day, and yet people’s eyes morph into tiny hearts as he effortlessly strolls by, leaving a trail of heated admiration.

Sometimes Jungkook has a way of teasing your sanity. He turns your life into a whimsical romance, making you wonder if you’re living in a silly, sappy romance movie with the dreamiest guy as the lead. Because in this fleeting moment, the world around you dissolves into a blur, and you see nothing but him. Everyone fades, except him.

“Jungkook!” You stand up, a bit wobbly on your heels. He immediately wraps his hands around your sides.

“Hi, love.” He kisses you softly.

You missed his sweet, gentle voice when he talks to you.

He rakes a stare over you, one brow arched. “You’re already drunk? Who’s been giving you drinks?”

You deny his question with a dragged out “no”. “Just a bit tipsy – if even.” Before he can comment anything else regarding how many drinks you’ve already had, you ask, “Where’d you get these cute horns from?” Your hand reaches for the hairband with two attached red horns on them.

“Don’t know the brands name. Just a cheap store down the street from the company.”

You tilt your head as you ponder. “I don’t know of any cheap store close to the company.”

A ping pong ball rolls towards you on the floor. As you bend down to retrieve the ball, Jungkook’s hand pulls you back by the waist and he picks it up himself. His possessive hand travels to your butt and he slides his palm over the ruffles of your skirt.

“You’re not wearing any panties, are you?” he whispers into your ear. He throws the little ball towards the other end of the table. You shake your head, not really comprehending what he’s implying. Your more focused on how he effortlessly threw the ping pong ball straight into the cup.

“Yah, Jungkook! Come here, I need you in my team right now!” Chanyeol yells.

Jungkook lets out a humourless laugh. “Has Eunwoo not been good enough?”

Eunwoo sends a glare his way. “Chanyeol’s just taking everything too seriously.”

Jungkook rolls up his sleeve. “Too good that I’m also competitive.”

~

When Jungkook has enough of beer pong after carrying his team every round, he sits down next to you, pulling you to his lap.

You were just talking with Jisoo about the newest Dior collection, but she leaves the two of you alone with a knowing smile.

Jungkook swiftly takes the partially filled cup from your grasp and places it on the table. “You’ve had plenty to drink tonight.”

“I didn’t drink that much.” You don’t know exactly how much you drank because maybe you had too much to count, but you won’t tell him.

Jungkook cocks his head. He doesn’t need you to tell him to know.

“Get up.” His palms push your lower back.

“Huh?” You play with his necktie, leaning closer to his body. “For what?”

A crooked, entertained smirk crosses his face. “For what?” he scoffs.

His tatted arm snakes around you, his rolled-up sleeve flaunting the pretty inked lines adorning his skin. Jungkook grips you close to him. He angles your face down, his lips brushing over the sensitive part of your neck until he reaches your ear.

“Gonna fuck your brainless in my car. That’s why.”

His voice has got that pretty husky rasp you love so much. Tingles spread everywhere, especially your pussy. Jungkook sucks your earlobe between his teeth, and you think you can feel his smile when an unintended moan bubbles up your throat. You squirm in his lap.

“Someone’s got excited,” he teases as his hands run up your thigh, thumb disappearing underneath the white material of your skirt.

“Don’t.” Your fingers fly to his wrist. “There are people.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Now you care about people watching?”

Your lips pull together in a confused pout.

“You never notice, do you?” He decided against sneaking his finger further between your legs. Instead, he smoothens the hiked-up fabric of your skirt, though there is not much to adjust. It’s a skimpy skirt, it barely covers you.

“Notice what?” Your sparkly heels distract you and you move your feet around, watching every crystal glitter. “You’re being confusing, Koo.”

“I’m not being confusing,” he denies.

“Yes, you are.” You shift your gaze to him. A subtle crease appears between your brows. “You told me you didn’t have time for a silly Halloween party and yet you showed up.”

Jungkook dislikes seeing you upset. He really does. It creates this unexplainable feeling of protectiveness that sits right behind his rib – annoying and intolerable, coupled with a hint of guilt. But seeing your tipsy form upset delights him the tiniest bit.

“I was able to finish off early,” he explains. “Thought I’d join you, ‘cause you wanted me to.”

“And you were pretty mean to Eunwoo.”

“He can fuck off. I really don’t care about him.” His tongue peaks out as he swipes it over his bottom lip, teeth biting at the skin with furrowed brows.

“You’re such a meanie sometimes.” You run your fingers over his eyebrows, relaxing them.

“Want me to show you how mean I can be?” He tilts his head, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“You can’t be mean to me,” you say, shaking your head as your fingers settle on his broad shoulders. “Been good today.”

“You’ve been driving me insane tonight.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Jungkook rises to his feet with you, and you stagger a little at the sudden movement, but he keeps a safe arm around you. “Always so clueless,” he mumbles as he leads you through the crowd.

“___!” someone yells your name.

You stop when you see Karina rushing towards you.

“I’ve been looking for you all night!” She hands you a drink

You look at her through apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m leaving already. I’ll see you soon!”

Jungkook takes the drink from you after you had a sip and downs the whole thing. He tosses the cup into a near trashcan as you step out of the house.

“Oh, no. I told Eunwoo I’d give him my number,” you remember. “Lemme go back.”

But Jungkook’s hand on the small of your back remains firm.

“He’s not stupid. He’ll find a way to contact your manager.” Jungkook is pissed and you’re not quite sure if you heard it right, but you think he adds a small “Doesn’t need my wife’s number.”.

“Can you imagine me in a drama?” You giggle as you think about it. “Would you watch it?” You turn your head. “You don’t like watching dramas.”

“Of course, I’d watch it. Immediately.”

Your eyes spark up and Jungkook wants to have this image of your forever ingrained in his memory. A literal angel staring at him as if he was the one that hung up the stars.

You stumble over your heels when you refuse to look ahead, pretty eyes still admiring him. “Careful, love.” He quickly steadies you.

He unlocks his car when you reach it and opens the door to the backseat for you. But instead, you pull open the passenger door and bend over to open the glove compartment.

“Are there condoms left here?”

You search for the familiar package, but Jungkook hurriedly pulls you back, shutting it closed along with the car door.

“Nothing left,” he replies. “Get in the backseat.”

As you get into the car and settle on your back, you ponder, “Didn’t realise how many times we’ve fucked in the car.”

You're not particularly interested in cars, but in rare – or apparently not so rare – moments like these, you appreciate the spaciousness of Jungkook’s G-Wagon.

Before Jungkook joins you in the car, he scans the surroundings, vigilant for any lingering onlookers. He doesn’t need you on the front page of every media outlet again. You’ve had enough of that lately, and that darn Instagram Story of yours likely fuelled the gossip mill again.

Jungkook barely uses social media. You’re the only reason he has the apps on his phone. He doesn’t follow anyone except you, only has your notifications on. During a short break he mindlessly clicked on the Instagram notification, expecting a cute picture of your angel outfit – you had texted him complaining about your ruined Barbie dress and he suggested you could use the angel wings he once saw you carrying into your wardrobe.

Safe to stay he expected everything, but a picture with fucking Eunwoo wearing fucking matching costumes.

As hours passed by, his anger didn’t simmer; instead, it prompted his decision to make a swift trip to the dollar store and join you at the party.

“You tend to conveniently forget when you’re a needy brat.”

“It’s ´cause I’m not a brat,” you reply with a huff, yanking at his tie. “Just a bit needy sometimes.”

“Hmm, just a bit needy?” His knuckle follows along your jaw, teasing you with his gentle touches and the mock sympathy seeping from his tone.

You look so cute lying here for him, with the angel wings peeking from your sides and the little sparkly pins adorning your hair. He just wants to fuck you silly.

You nod pliantly. An innocent smile blossoms on your face.

Jungkook’s hand disappears under the ruffles of your skirt, middle finger sliding over your pussy. You gasp, body twitching at the sudden touch.

“So wet already?” he sneers. “All for me?”

You grind your pussy against him, hungry for more.

“And so greedy for me.” He spreads your pussy lips, gently rubbing the pad of his finger over your sensitive clit. Jungkook moves your skirt up and an immediate glint surfaces in his eyes. “So pretty.” He slips two fingers in, smirking when you shake beneath him. “Baby’s sensitive, huh?”

He pumps his fingers into you and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. The alcohol running through your veins heightens your sensitivity to his touch. Everywhere he touches leaves a shimmering trail of tingles, enveloping your body in a cloud of euphoria, a sensation both fuzzy and dreamy.

“I want you.” You reach for his cock, but Jungkook seizes your wrist.

“Did I say you could touch?” His voice drips with condescension.

You weakly shake your head, a frustrated whine accompanying it.

“Use your big girl words.” His fingers stop moving and he completely removes them when you remain silent. “C’mon,” he urges, growing more impatient.

“No, you didn’t,” you sulk. Even dare to look at him through a frown.

“You don’t get to do anything," he tells you. He loses hie tie, wraps it around your wrist in a swift, practiced motion and ties them above your head. “Just lie there and look pretty for me.” He pulls his pants and briefs down, stroking his hard cock before he teasingly nudges his tip against your clit.

You watch him play with your pussy and you’re unable to keep the desperate moans from leaving your mouth, eagerly waiting until he aligns his cock to your entrance, slowly filling you up with his entire length. A throaty moan reverberates when he’s all the way in.

“Pussy’s so good at taking me.”

A gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you out. “So good,” you mumble.

Jungkook waits until he knows you’re used to h is size before he starts moving his hips.

Your tits move in the confines of your corset. Jungkook’s head dips down and you feel his tongue slide over the swell of your boobs that peek out, teeth slightly grazing over your skin.

“Don’t bite,” you utter between moans.

But Jungkook does exactly that. Even sucks on your skin a little bit.

“You think you have a say on anything?” His hand squeezes your face. Traces of petulance lie in your eyes. His other hand grips your hips, fingers buried in your skin to fuck you fast.

It’s almost ridiculous how fast Jungkook gets you to your high. He knows exactly what to do to get your walls clamp around his cock, begging him to give you just a little bit more to push you off the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, eyes falling closed as you the pleasure builds up in your tummy.

But then Jungkook suddenly stops moving. You open your eyes to find Jungkook smirking at your trembling body, amused when a shaky breath escapes you.

“Why would you do that? I was close!”

He pulls his cock out, tapping it over your clit.

“Hmm, no idea why I would do that?” he asks, pushing his cock back into your pussy in one swift motion.

“I haven’t done anything,” you say meekly, staring at the way he slowly fucks you. He could make you cum so easily.

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “Can’t recall anything bad you did?”

He picks up on his pace and you can’t think at all, barely able to shake your head as more breathless moans fly past your lips.

“Posting a couple costume picture online? Fuck, ___ what were you thinking?” He hooks his hands underneath your thighs, pulling them up to fuck deeper. “Wanted everyone talking about you two? Wanted to piss me off?”

“No,” you whine. “Didn't mean it that way. We- we didn’t plan on it at all. Just – when we saw each other it was really funny, and I just took a pic of it.” You’re a babbling mess at this point, the ability to form comprehensible sentences gone once Jungkook sticked his cock in you.

“I don’t fucking care,” he curses. “You know how people perceive this stuff.”

“You don’t... don’t think it was a silly coincidence?”

Jungkook is flush against you. Your nails dig into your palms at how deep his cock is buried in you.

“I should find it silly?” A deep glower settles on his face and in a sick, naughty way it turns you on, making your pussy involuntarily squeeze around his cock. “Fuck, ___, do you wanna cum at all?”

“No, please,” you fuss desperately. “Wanna cum.”

“Then start behaving. Quit being a brat.”

“I am good,” you try to convince him.

Jungkook shakes his head in dismissal. “Put on an angel costume and yet you’re such a dirty girl.”

While you may not encapsule the right persona regarding the angel outfit, Jungkook undoubtedly fucks you like the devil. So mean and selfish, teasing and cursing at you.

“Wanna be – wanna be good for daddy.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, hand travelling up your body until it reaches your throat. “Then don’t disappoint me.” With his shiny Rolex around his wrist, he wraps his fingers around you, squeezing the tiniest bit. You feel the familiar outline of his wedding ring press to your skin.

Your legs wrap around him and you try not to poke him with your heels, but tears obstruct your view and you can barely control yourself, the aching feeling to come undone is back in your tummy.

“Jungkook,” you utter between little desperate puffs. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“Only when I allow you to.” Jungkook looks down at your defeated, crushed face with a smug smirk. “Can do that, right? My wife’s capable of that, hmm?”

Your eyes flutter shut. A single tear rolls down the corner of your eye. “Yes, I – I can wait.”

“That’s my good girl.” He leans closer, whispering it into your ear. “Cock so good it’s making you cry, huh?” His lips press to the corner your eye and he kisses your tear away.

The more he talks and whispers dirty word into your ear, the harder it becomes to resist the temptation to pull yourself back and cum on his dick. But you want to be good for Jungkook, want to hear him praise you for being a patient girl.

“Slow down, please.” Your bound wrists unconsciously attempt to free themselves, but Jungkook’s knot is too tight for you to undo it. You’ll cum soon if he continues at this pace.

“Nuh-uh.” He denies firmly. “You can take it. Show me how good you are.” His fingers dig deeper into your throat and your eyes open again. His brows are furrowed, an angry flush tinting his cheeks. “That’s it. Look at me – look at me when you cum.”

It crosses your mind to secretly cum, but Jungkook’s got a knack for spotting your telltale signs, so it wouldn’t be that sneaky after all. You did try to do that once though. You couldn’t properly sit the next day.

Jungkook swipes his tongue over his thumb before he slips his hand between your legs and starts to slowly circle your clit. A devilish grin sparks up his face.

“You wanna cum so badly, don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Wanna cum all over my cock?” His thumb moves faster. “Make a little mess?”

“Yes,” you pant. Pleasure seeps through your entire body and the effort to ignore the feeling becomes so exhausting, more tears fill your eyes.

“Then cum for me,” Jungkook demands, keeping a gentle trace in his voice. His gaze remains on your face and he watches you with greedy eyes as you come undone beneath him.

It happens almost instantly, like a string that snapped. You’re body shakes as your orgasm rumbles through you and you’re so sensitive you want to yank his hand away fromyour clit, but Jungkook enjoys seeing your writhe way too much to stop playing with your nub.

Shaky breaths escape you. Jungkook fucks you slower now, still rolling his hips into you with precision to hit your sweet spot.

“Doing so good, love.” The hand on your throat moves to your face, swiping away the tears. “So good for me.”

And just as you’re about to tell him you’re too sensitive, Jungkook removes his finger from your clit and pulls his cock out. He sits down and pats your thigh. “Come here.”

Despite being tired from just cumming, you’re hungry for him just by the sight of Jungkook stroking his cock. You move to sit on your thighs, tied up hands on your lap.

Jungkook gathers your hair in his hand before he moves your head down. “Open wide,” he instructs, guiding his wet cock into your mouth.

You taste yourself on his dick as your slide your tongue around him. Jungkook is close to cumming. You can feel it in the way his he impatiently pushes your head further down his cock.

“Gonna cum in your mouth.” Tiny moans fill your ear and you take as much of him inside your mouth as you can. “Fuck, just like that.”

Your mouth fills with hot, salty cum and you continue bobbing your head up and down, getting every drop of it.

“Good girl.” Jungkook pulls you away from his cock. You swallow his load as you look at him. He hums approvingly. “Wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks, untying the know from your wrists. He rubs his fingers over the red marks.

“I’m fine. Didn’t hurt.” Your eyes close when he pecks your forehead.

After he pulls up his pants and briefs, Jungkook checks his phone. His fingers are quick as he types something.

“Who’s texting you at this hour,” you ask, curiously peeking over his arm.

“Just work. I left a bit abruptly.” He tucks his phone away before you can read anything.

Before more questions can leave your lips, he meets yours in a sweet kiss.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says, patting your hair to tame the mess on your head. “Once we’re home, I’m gonna give your ass the attention it hasn’t got yet.”

[jmliebert]

♡ halsin's little distraction♡

pov:halsin pinning over tav during the tiefling party, after declining their offer to get to know them, he sneaks off to please himself

"There are a lot of thirsty people down there," Halsin remarked, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. He watched you leave, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. Despite your outward composure, he noticed the slight heaviness in your steps, the way your eyes avoided his for a second, and the subtle redness creeping up your neck.

He had known you for such a short time, really; but the sincerity of your reaction to his rejection had stirred something within him. You seemed sweet, trying to mask your disappointment with a brave face. It was a shame, as in his eyes there was no reason for embarrassment. You simply saw an opportunity and took it. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t have needed to ask—he would have been the one to come to you first, eager and unabashed. But duty weighed heavily on him, now stronger then ever. So Halsin held back his desires, even as a slow-burning heat smoldered deep inside him, a tightness growing within.

oh

He felt a bit too old to be reacting to you with such enthusiasm. Perhaps the goblin cell had worn on him… or maybe he simply liked you more than he expected.

The Tiefling party continued in full swing, laughter and music blending into a joyous symphony. Yet, amidst all of this, Halsin couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. His thoughts lingered on the curve of your smile, the subtle grace in your movements. A bottle of wine, held firmly in your hand.

His mind swirled, unable to withstand the overwhelming desire. He had to get out of there, to clear his mind and relieve the tension building in his pants. He could sense you, see you talking and laughing with joy, your eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

Halsin definitely needed a moment of solitude away from certain distractions; realizing he had to distance himself from you. Otherwise, he might reconsider your rather open invitation, take you somewhere private, and thoroughly fuck you until those cheeks turned red for entirely different reasons than sour wine. Oh, how he would like to see that, but he couldn’t; he needed to remind himself over and over again. So discreetly, Halsin slipped away, his tall, broad frame moving with surprising stealth as he sought refuge in the embrace of the forest.

The sounds of the party faded behind him, replaced by the whispering of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Halsin took a deep breath, letting the crisp night air fill his lungs. He closed his eyes, hoping to regain some of his composure. But the fire within him burned just as fiercely, refusing to be extinguished. Leaning against the rough bark of a towering oak, he allowed his mind to wander, conjuring images of you. On your knees. Your mouth ready for him, your fingers eager, clutching his cock like you clutched a wine bottle mere moments ago.

His hand, large and calloused, ventured beneath the waistband of his pants, seeking the source of his mounting passion. As his fingers brushed against his hard length, a shiver ran through him. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

With deliberate slowness, Halsin freed his aching erection, the cool night air a stark contrast against his heated skin. His shaft was thick and heavy, already slick with the evidence of his arousal. He wrapped his fingers around his throbbing member, his grip firm.

Closing his eyes yet again, he allowed himself to fully indulge in the fantasy. He imagined your hands instead of his own, your touch gentle and exploring. He could almost feel your breath against his skin, your lips leaving a trail of fiery kisses along his length. A low groan escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, his hand moving in a slow, rhythmic motion.

Up and down, up and down. Each stroke was deliberate, drawing out the pleasure with a tantalizing slowness. He smeared the bead of precum over the swollen head of his cock, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through his body. His thoughts were consumed by you.

Halsin’s breathing grew heavier, each exhale a soft, breathy moan that mingled with the night air. His strokes quickened, his hand sliding smoothly along his shaft, the friction igniting a burning need that only seemed to grow with each passing moment. He pictured you on your knees before him, your mouth soft and inviting, your tongue swirling around the tip of his cock. The thought alone made him tremble with anticipation. His hand moved faster now, his grip tightening as he chased the rising tide of pleasure.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the world narrowing down to the sensations coursing through his body. Halsin’s mind was awash with lust and longing, each stroke of his hand bringing him closer to the edge. He could almost hear your voice, whispering words of encouragement, encouraging him with breathy moans and soft gasps.

The look of disappointment on your face, eyebrows slightly raised, lips wet, slightly open.

As his release neared, his strokes became more urgent, his hips thrusting into his hand with a desperate need. The tension coiled within him, growing tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. With a deep, guttural groan, Halsin came, his seed spilling over his hand and onto the forest floor. The intensity of his climax left him breathless, his body trembling with the force of his release. It felt so good.

For a moment, he stood there, panting and spent, the cool night air a soothing balm against his heated skin. Leaning his head against the oak, he tried to regain his composure. Slowly, he opened his eyes, the world coming back into focus. The forest seemed to hum with a quiet, calm energy. The nature was particularly beautiful during nights like these and so were you, he instantly thought. Utterly beautiful.

Halsin wiped his hand clean, his mind slowly clearing as he adjusted his clothes. A sense of peace settled over him, the tension that had gripped him now replaced by a comforting warmth. After this, he believed he could endure being near you for a little longer.

A gentle smile tugged at his lips. It was fortunate he hadn’t had a drink that night, as he was certain he would have blurted out his feelings for you and maybe even tried to serenade you, which would have been unbearably embarrassing, even for him.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

again, thank you for this request

you can find more of my works about halsin ♡here♡

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

Date Night Surprise

SYNOPSIS: Trying to get anything out of Dean after a hunt seems impossible - especially when he's trying to surprise you with a date night.

PAIRING: Reader x Dean

WARNING: mentions of alcohol

CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester

FANDOM: Supernatural

You first notice something off about Dean when he brushes off your questions about the latest hunt. Usually brimming with theories on how it could have happened, today he's unusually tense, muttering about "complications" and "next time." You figure it must have been a tough case, another monster that got away or a plan gone sideways.

Throughout the day, he disappears into the garage for extended periods, claiming he's "working on Baby." Sam seems equally tight-lipped when you ask him what's up with Dean, only offering a knowing smile and a shrug. Frustrated and a bit worried now, you resign yourself to giving Dean space, hoping he'll open up eventually.

By late afternoon, Dean finally emerges, looking slightly less tense but still preoccupied. "Hey," he says, catching your eye. "You free tonight?"

You nod cautiously, unsure where this is going. "Yeah, I'm free. What's up?"

Dean's lips curl into a mischievous grin. "Great. Get ready around seven. Wear something casual, and meet me in the kitchen."

With his smirk turning into a full grin, Dean disappears down the hall, leaving you more confused than ever. What is he planning? Is this some sort of apology for being distant all day?

At seven o'clock sharp, you make your way to the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a comfortable t-shirt. Dean is already there, setting out an array of items on the table—a bottle of your favorite wine, a takeout container from your preferred taco joint, grocery store flowers, and a map spread out, showing the local town.

"Surprise," Dean says, his smile widening as he sees you enter. "I know today's been weird, but I've been planning this."

Your confusion gives way to a wide grin as you take in the spread before you. "You did all this?"

Dean nods, gesturing for you to take a seat. "Yeah. Thought we could use a break from the usual. Wine, tacos, and a walk along the boardwalk. What do you say?" He finishes, handing you the flowers.

You can't help but laugh, feeling touched by Dean's effort to make your night special despite his earlier distractions. "I say it sounds perfect." You inhale the flowers - they smell amazing.

Over dinner, Dean fills you in on the details of his day—trying to find a good rated taco place, the frantic hunt for your favorite wine, and the nervousness that you might catch on before he was ready. He admits to roping Sam into helping with the flowers and confesses it was Sam's idea to take a stroll by the beach.

As the evening progresses, you and Dean leave to stroll along the beach, enjoying the cool summer breeze and each other's company. You talk about everything and nothing, savoring the rare moment of peace and normalcy in your chaotic lives.

Later, under the soft glow of the boardwalk lights, you find yourselves standing by the water's edge, hand in hand. Dean looks at you, his green eyes reflecting moonlight dancing on the water.

"I just want you to be happy," he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "You deserve it."

You squeeze his hand gently, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Dean. This is... all I want."

Dean pulls you into a warm hug, kissing your head and then resting his chin on the top. "Anytime, sweetheart. I'd do anything for you." He exhales big, shoulders dropping and for once, feeling relaxed and calm.

As you lean into him, watching the moon sparkle and dance on the waves, you realize that despite the day's normalcy of Dean Winchester being a little weird, he has once again proven why he's not just your partner in hunting but also your partner in life.

[thatonegreekgodwrites]

“ECHOES OF ELYSIUM”

Odysseus x Fem!Reader

warnings. sexual assault, slavery, a greek retelling, eventual smut, war/gore, this won’t have a happy ending

pairing. odysseus x fem! reader (inspired by epic:the musical)

in the heart of troy, amidst the towering walls and architecture, the city bustled with the vibrant energy of its people. the market squares were filled with the sounds of merchants haggling and children playing, unaware of the shadow of war creeping ever closer. within the palace, the air was different—heavier with the scent of incense and the hum of anticipation.

you, a young slave girl with kind eyes and calloused hands, moved silently through the halls. your life was one of routine and quiet obedience, your existence almost invisible among the grandeur of the palace. today, however, was a day of celebration, and even you could not escape the excitement that seemed to permeate the very stones of troy.

the reason for the festivities was the birth of the heir, the firstborn son of prince hector and his beloved wife, andromache. the birth of the child promised new hope and joy, a symbol of strength and continuity. their legacy now secured if the gods favored them so. the celebration was to be grand, with nobles and warriors alike gathering to honor the new prince and his family.

you had been tasked with pouring wine for the guests. it was a simple task, yet it required precision and grace—qualities that had been drilled into you from a young age. you carried a large jug, the cool red liquid sloshing gently inside, as you made your way to the grand hall.

as you entered the hall, you were struck by the sight before you. the room was adorned with rich tapestries and garlands of flowers. the tables were laden with food and drink, and the air was filled with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. at the center of it all was prince hector, his tall frame and noble bearing making him easily recognizable. beside him stood andromache, cradling their newborn son, both of them beaming with pride and joy.

you approached the head table with a steady gait, careful not to draw too much attention to yourself. you dipped your head respectfully, eyes fixed on the ground. you could feel the weight of the guests' gazes on you, but you remained focused, constantly reminding yourself to not make a mistake in your mind as you were known to be a bit clumsy.

"wine, my lord?" you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

hector turned to you, his expression warm and kind. "yes, thank you," he said, gesturing to the goblet before him.

you carefully poured the wine, the liquid catching the light and sparkling as it filled the goblet. moving down the table, you repeated the process for andromache and the other guests. as you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at the infant in andromache's arms. the baby boy, unaware of the significance of his birth, slept peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

the celebration continued, the sounds of music and laughter filling the hall. you retreated to the edges of the room, task completed only for the moment. you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of longing and contentment in your heart. despite your status, you found joy in the happiness of others, even if it was a distant joy.

the night wore on and you remained vigilant, ready to attend to any needs that might arise. you and everyone else were unaware of the storm brewing beyond the walls of troy, the consequences of paris' actions casting a long shadow over the kingdom that would consume them in darkness in due time. for now, in this moment of peace, the future seemed bright and full of promise.

but you knew, as did everyone in troy, that peace was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the whims of fate. and as you stood in the grand hall, the echoes of the past and the whispers of the future intertwined, creating a tapestry of uncertainty that would shape the destiny of troy and all who lived within its walls.

lingering on the edges of the grand hall, your eyes scanning the room for any sign that you might be needed. the celebration for the birth of hector's son was still going even as night fell, the hall being brought alive with music and laughter.

suddenly, the room seemed to tilt as a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you roughly into the light.

you turned to see hector's younger brother, prince deiphobus, his face flushed with wine and his eyes glazed with a drunken haze. he was known for his roguish charm, but tonight, it was more than evident that he had indulged too much.

"well, well, what do we have here?" he slurred, his hand wandering from your shoulder down your arm, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. "a pretty little dove in the midst of all these hawks."

you stiffened, your pulse quickening as you bit your tongue, swallowing the surge of disgust that rose within you. you were a servant—a slave, and he was a prince. to resist would mean severe punishment, which meant you had no choice but to endure.

"my lord, can i get you some water?" you offered, hoping to distract him, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

deiphobus laughed, a sound that was more menacing than mirthful. "water? no, i have something else in mind." his hand moved to your waist, drawing you closer as his breath was hot and reeking of alcohol against your ear. "tell me, does a slave like you know how to have fun?"

you forced a smile, the muscles in your face straining with the effort. "i am here to serve, my lord, in whatever way pleases you."

he grinned, his hand sliding lower. "good girl," he murmured, fingers tracing the curve of your hip. "i knew you would understand."

every fiber of your being screamed to pull away, but you remained still, eyes fixed on the ground. you could feel the weight of the guests' gazes on you, some watching with curiosity, others with indifference—after all, your plight meant nothing to them.

"why don't we find a quieter place, hmm?" deiphobus suggested, his tone laced with a dangerous edge.

"deiphobus," helenus called out from next to them, raising his goblet to his lips as he quirked a brow, voice calm but commanding. "leave her be."

deiphobus turned, a drunken sneer on his face. "ah, helenus. always the serious one. why don't you go back to your scrolls and leave the fun to me?"

helenus' eyes narrowed. "surely you can go one night without tainting another servant. find entertainment elsewhere and by the gods, remember that you're a prince, have some decorum."

deiphobus scoffed, but the firmness in helenus's voice gave him pause. he let go of you with a rough shove, making you stumble back. "fine, fine," he muttered, turning away with a dismissive wave. "always spoiling the fun."

helenus watched him go, his expression unchanging until deiphobus disappeared into the crowd. then, he turned to you, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "next time you ought to remember i won't be able to stop him, i suggest you find a way to keep your hands busy."

you nodded with a tug inside your chest. "yes, my lord, thank you."

with that, he looked away, drowning the conversation of the people around him as his own servants served him grapes. you took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you took helenus' advice, moving around the large room to keep yourself occupied and out of the sight of deiphobus.

you felt the fragility of peace hanging in the air, a feeling of knowing that the celebration of new life was shadowed by the impending storm. yet, within the confines of your role, you found a flicker of strength, a resolve to endure whatever fate the gods had in store for you.

author’s note. comment your thoughts, if this does well I’ll continue it over on here and might put more effort into the account. you can find this story also on my wattpad account. thanks for reading!

[v6quewrlds]

❝ all that matters, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: joe burrow will always be a stubborn, ohio boy. even when his wife's brother is a 4-time nba champion for the cav's rival team.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: this was a cute request sent in by an anon. i had so much fun writing this one. might turn this into a cute little mini-series that i revisit every now and then, we'll see though.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: fluff, some language, joe wears cavs colors to a warriors home game.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x curry!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3k.

You leaned into the bathroom mirror, your hazel eyes scrutinizing the smudge of mascara you had just applied. It was a rare evening when you had the luxury to play around with your makeup products; the rigors of your soccer schedule usually had you rushing from the pitch to your London flat and back without much time to breathe. But tonight, you had promised Joe something special: a date night.

The youngest of the Curry siblings, you had grown up in the shadow of your older brother's fame, but now you were a star in your own right, a forward for Chelsea FC, making waves across the pond.

Your honey-blonde hair, the result of your most recent self-care Thursday, was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and you adjusted your custom Warriors letterman jacket with a smile. It was a nod to your brother and the Curry family's accomplishments, but more importantly, it was a declaration of where your allegiance lay tonight.

Joe emerged from the walk-in closet, grinning wide as his blue eyes crinkled, wearing a wine and gold vintage Cavs shirt underneath a black jacket. "Ready to rep the O-H-I-O?" he teased with a flex of his muscular arms.

You rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at him with a laugh. "You're insane for wearing that in the Chase Center, Joe. The Warriors' fans are going to eat you alive."

Joe shrugged, unbothered. "I'm not worried. Besides, it's just a game, right?" He winked, the singular dimple in his cheek deepening, and you couldn't help but smile back. Your fun rivalry was all part of your dynamic, a playful tug-of-war that had begun when you first started dating and had only intensified as your respective athletic careers had taken off.

"Steph's gonna kill you, babe." You laughed as Joe spun around, striking a pose in the middle of your luxurious hotel room.

Joe chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he'll love it. Besides, I'm not scared of a little trash talk. I've faced down 300-pound linebackers, I can handle some rowdy Warriors fans." He kissed your forehead lightly, and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You had been married for a year now, but with the distance and your hectic schedules, moments like these felt like a first date all over again.

You stepped out of the hotel and into the brisk San Francisco night, the air buzzing with the electricity of game day. The lights of the Oracle arena shone like a beacon, a stark contrast to the darkness beyond. Fans were already streaming in, slightly tipsy, jerseys donned, and voices raised in chants. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and pretzels, the sweet scent of victory and hope.

Your Uber pulled up, and Joe held the door open for you, flashing a grin. "Ladies first," he said with a dramatic bow, which earned him a coy eye roll in return. You climbed in, the leather seats cool against your skin, and headed towards the stadium.

"You know, if you keep that up, people might think you have a crush on me," you quipped, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you stuffed into the backseat of the sedan.

Joe leaned in, whispering, "But what if I do?" His breath tickled your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. You giggled, swatting him away, the warmth of his touch lingering.

As you approached the arena, the crowd grew denser, a sea of blue and yellow interspersed with a few brave souls in wine and gold. Joe pointed each group of Cavs fans out to you who simply rolled your eyes in return. You made your way to your courtside seats, the anticipation of the game mingling with the excitement of your date night. Ayesha and the kids sat upstairs in their family suite, recognizing that the excitement of the floor would be too much for little Caius. The arena was a cauldron of noise, fans stomping their feet, the echoes of their chants reverberating through the rafters.

Your heart swelled with pride as you caught sight of your brother, Steph, warming up on the court. His movements were fluid, a silent symphony of skill and athleticism. You knew Joe was watching him with a mix of admiration and competitive spirit. Despite being from different sports, they shared a deep respect for one another's talent.

As you settled into your seats, the Jumbotron blazed to life, displaying a montage of the players' faces. When Joe's filled the screen, the crowd booed playfully at the sight of his Cavaliers jersey, and Joe laughed amusedly, soaking in the attention. You elbowed him gently, whispering, "You're asking for it." He just grinned wider, his amusement more pronounced than ever.

Your face was displayed after his, and the stadium erupted in cheers, a wave of love that washed over you, making you feel both awe-struck and invincible. You smiled in acknowledgment, flashing a shy grin that could only be described as uniquely 'Curry'. The contrast between Joe's jeers and your cheers made you both laugh.

The game tipped off, and the atmosphere was electric. You were in your element, both of you were used to the roar of the crowd and the thrill of competition. The Warriors played with a finesse that was a testament to their unrivaled teamwork. Meanwhile, Joe remained unfazed by the glares of the die-hard fans around you, occasionally throwing a peace sign or a thumbs up, his charm doing wonders to lighten the tension.

You watched your brother closely, your heart racing every time he had the ball. Each shot he took was a masterclass in precision, and each pass was silent communication with his teammates that seemed almost telepathic. Despite the noise of the arena, you could hear the sweet symphony of sneakers squeaking against the gleaming hardwood, the swish of the net, and the thump of bodies colliding. It brought you back to your childhood, watching your father play in arenas just like this one, and then your brothers in their AAU leagues.

Joe's hand found yours, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your palm, grounding you in the present. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I know you're enjoying this, but don't forget we're still on a date."

You turned to look at him, your smile brightening slightly. "You're right," you conceded, tearing your eyes away from the mesmerizing dance of athletes on the court. You shared a kiss, quick and sweet, that seemed to echo in contrast to the pulse of the game around them.

The second half began, and the Warriors picked up the pace. Each basket scored brought the stadium to its feet, and the air was charged with excitement. The tension grew as the clock ticked down, the score neck and neck. Joe, despite his jovial exterior, couldn't hide the tension in his grip on your hand.

Your eyes remained glued to the game, your heart racing with every play. You felt a strange kinship with the players on the court, a shared understanding of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into every win and loss. Your mind drifted to your own training sessions, the countless hours spent perfecting your craft, and you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for your brother's success.

The third quarter ended with a dramatic buzzer-beater, and the stadium went wild. The energy was intoxicating, a heady mix of adrenaline and anticipation. As the players took their seats, the kiss cam made its reappearance. Though the two of you had been lucky enough to evade the cameraman the first round, this time, it found you this time around. The crowd's cheers were mixed with good-natured jeers at Joe's persistent loyalty to his Ohio roots when he appeared on the Jumbotron again.

Joe leaned over, whispering, "I dare you," his eyes alight with challenge. Without missing a beat, you turned to him, your own eyes twinkling. The cameraman hovered above you, waiting. And just as the spotlight hit your faces, you leaned in for a kiss that was more passionate than any you had shared in public before. The crowd erupted into applause, and even the die-hard Warriors fans couldn't help but cheer for the star-studded couple.

Your kiss played out on the giant screen, and even Steph couldn't resist looking over from the bench, shaking his head in feigned disapproval. The sight of your brother's amusement only made your heart swell more. You were a family of champions, bound by love, competition, and a shared love for the sports that had defined your lives.

The final quarter was a battle royale, with each team fighting tooth and nail for every point. The tension in the arena was palpable, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. Joe was on the edge of his seat, his eyes never leaving the court, even as he held onto your hand tightly. You, too, were absorbed in the game, your nails biting into your palm as you willed the Warriors to victory.

As the last minutes ticked away, the score remained tight. The crowd was a blur of color and noise, a symphony of hope and nerves. Then, in a moment of pure magic, Steph took the ball, dribbled around two defenders, and launched a fadeaway three-pointer that swished through the net, giving the Warriors a lead that would ultimately seal the deal. The stadium exploded in a cacophony of cheers and high-fives, and you jumped to your feet, screaming with pure elation.

Joe leaned back, a look of mock defeat on his face. "Well, I guess the Currys wins again." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his smile unwavering.

You couldn't help but laugh, pushing your husband's shoulder playfully. "You say that like it's a surprise," you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. "You married into a family that doesn't like losing. Get used to it."

The final buzzer rang out, echoing through the arena, and the Warriors emerged victorious. The sea of fans around you surged to their feet, a wave of euphoria crashing over them. The Jumbotron played highlights from the game, and Joe couldn't resist pointing out every time the camera caught him looking less than thrilled. "Look at this face," he said with a chuckle, "It's like I'm at a funeral."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't wipe the smug smile from your face. "You're just salty," you said, leaning into his side. "It's okay, you have to lose sometimes. It builds character."

Joe squeezed your hand, his competitive spirit not quite letting him admit defeat. "Yeah, yeah," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I'll just have to beat you at something later to make up for it."

The stadium lights dimmed, and the players made their way to the locker rooms. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and victory, the cheers slowly morphing into a low murmur as fans made their way out. The arena staff began to clean up, and the reality of the night's end set in.

You and Joe waited patiently for the crowd to thin out before being escorted down the tunnel alongside a few other Warriors' family members. As you approached the waiting area, you spotted your sister-in-law Ayesha settling baby Caius in her arms. Your nieces Rylie and Ryan were engaged in a hand game with your nephew Canon, mysteriously all fully awake in anticipation of seeing their father and auntie.

"Is that the Currys?" You called out, your voice a mix of excitement and fatigue. You haven't had much time to spend with the kids since your move to London so any chance to see them was a blessing. Ayesha's face lit up as she saw the two of you approaching.

"Hey, Joe," she said with a knowing smile, eyeing his outfit. "You're a brave man."

Joe grinned back, his confidence unshaken as he leaned over to embrace her warmly. "I'm an Ohio boy, Ayesha. I wear my colors proudly."

You stepped forward, kissing Ayesha's cheek then Caius'. "How did the little ones survive the game?"

"They're all about the snacks, not the score," Ayesha said, her own eyes sparkling with mirth. She handed Caius to his aunt, and the baby's tiny hands reached for your letterman jacket. The sight of your brother's name and number on the back of his onesie made you chuckle.

"He looks just like Steph, square head and everything," you said, bouncing the baby in your arms. Caius gurgled happily, oblivious to the sports allegiances swirling around him. The three other children's laughter filled the otherwise empty tunnel, a reminder of the joy that these games brought to your lives, beyond the wins and losses.

"What's going on, champ?" Joe offered a fist bump to Canon as he knelt down to the kids' level, Rylie and Ryan flanking his sides with hugs of their own. Canon's eyes widened with excitement as he attempted to recount every thrilling play of the game in dramatic fashion, his enthusiasm bubbling over like a pot of boiling water.

You couldn't help but feel a tug at your heartstrings. Despite the chaos of your lives, these moments with your family grounded you. You looked over at your brother, who was signing autographs and taking selfies with fans. His eyes met yours, and you knew he felt the love too.

"You guys have fun?" Stephen asked, making his way over to the group of you with a bounce in his step. His oldest three children took off in his direction, their laughter bouncing off the walls of the tunnel like the echoes of the game.

"Always fun to watch you kick butt," Joe said, giving him a hug that was half squeeze, half pat on the back.

Steph grinned, his teeth gleaming against his tanned skin. "Thanks, man. Always a pleasure to send your sorry-ass fan club home where they belong." He clapped Joe on the back, the teasing glint in his eye never fading.

You hugged your brother tightly, feeling the warmth of his post-shower skin against your cheek. "Great game, Wardell," you murmured into his ear, the sound of his government name falling off your lips drawing a scowl from the basketball player.

"Don't start with that," he spoke back, his voice a mix of affection and annoyance. He took another moment to greet his wife and infant son before turning his attention back to Joe. "No seriously, how you gonna wear that in my house?" He nodded towards Joe's shirt, feigning disgust.

Joe just laughed, shaking his head. "I gotta represent, even if it's in enemy territory."

Steph rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his amusement. "As long as you keep that one in line," he nodded towards you who simply kissed your teeth, "I'll forgive you."

"I'll do my best," Joe replied, looping an arm around your waist. "She's quite the handful most days. But luckily for her, she's got good taste in quarterbacks," he added, planting a kiss on your cheek.

The adults shared a laugh, your bonds unbreakable despite your playful arguing. The night was still young, and the promise of more teasing and laughter lay ahead. The tension of the game had been a welcome distraction from your daily routines, but now, as you stepped into the cool San Francisco Bay breeze, the reality of your careers crashed back in.

You knew your time was limited; tomorrow, you'd be back in the grind, preparing for your upcoming training camp with the US Women's National Team. But for now, you cherished every second with Joe and your family, the joy of the victory still buzzing in your veins.

As you made your way out of the arena, the cool night air greeting you like a refreshing splash of water, you whispered into Joe's ear, "Thank you for flying out with me. It means a lot."

Joe looked down at you, his blue eyes warm with affection. "Anything for my favorite girl."

"You got more than one girl, Burrow?" You teased with a squint of your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Just you and the football, baby." He whispered back. You strolled down the crowded streets, the distant echo of the game still reverberating in your ears, mixing with the chatter of the fans leaving the arena.

"Unless you have something you wanna tell me?" He continued with his low whisper, his thumb brushing across your stomach as he held your waist delicately. The conspiratorial tone hinted at his most persistent wish in the last few months, one that had become a running joke between the two of you.

You playfully elbowed him. "Don't start with me, Joe. You haven't upgraded yourself to baby daddy yet." But the smile on your face gave away your secret longing. The thought of a baby had been a topic of gentle teasing and hopeful glances for a while now. It was a future you both craved, but one that had to wait until your schedules allowed.

You continued to walk in comfortable silence, the cacophony of the city blending into the background. The night was alive with the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement, the distant honks of cars, and the occasional cheer from a passing fan. As you approached your Uber, Joe paused, looking around at the bustling streets of San Francisco.

"You know, I could get used to this," he mused, his eyes taking in the scenery. "Maybe we should get a place out here."

You looked up at him, your smile growing. "You'd leave the Bengals for me?"

"Woah, I didn't say all that," Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "But maybe a second home wouldn't be the worst idea." His eyes searched yours, hopeful and playful all at once.

You felt the weight of his words, the hint of a future where your paths didn't have to be so separate. "We'll see," you said, your voice softer than you intended. The thought of having Joe all to yourself away from the bustle of his Cincinnati fame was tempting, but you knew your careers weren't going anywhere, not soon enough for the two of you to seriously consider a second home anyway.

You slid into the Uber, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of Joe's hand in yours. You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching the city lights blur by, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breath against your hair.

[azsazz]

Lavender Haze

Rhysand x Rhysand's Sister's Best Friend/Virgin!Reader

Summary: Having a crush on your best friends older brother isn't ideal. Especially when he has one back.

Warnings: Flirting, sexual taunting and begging.

Word Count: 3,065

Belongs to the timeline and predates Clandestine Love

_________________________________________

“Where’s Ara?” you ask your dinner mate as Einar places a steaming dish before you. The savory scents of the herbs he used on the fresh meat fill your senses, and your mouth waters at its deliciousness. Vegetables swim in a thick cream sauce that looks all too delectable, and the mound of cut potatoes doused in flavor has your jaw tingling. You simply cannot wait to dig in, only able to keep yourself from diving straight into your dinner as the family cook replenishes your half drank glass of sparkling fae wine. “Thank you, Einar.”

The chef dips his head in response then spins on his heel, quickly leaving the room. A bite of guilt pinches your stomach as you watch the green-skinned, normally bright-eyed fae stalk back to the kitchen to prepare dessert. It’s not like Rhysand is that much like his father. While his personality and aura tend to lean to the more arrogant side, it’s usually attributed to the fact that he is a young, confident male, eager to bask in all of the indulgences son of the High Lord is offered.

Said male sita across from you, pinning you to your seat with searing violet eyes. His spine is rigid and his fingers are curled tightly around his utensils as he watches your gaze follow the chef scurrying from the room.

He wants to fire him, no matter how delicious his food is.

Rhysand doesn’t have a right to feel this way. He doesn’t like the rage that coils his stomach, that lights his bones on fire when your soft eyes meet those of any other male in the court. Ever since you’d worked up the courage to kiss him all those months ago, it had ignited something inside of him even he couldn’t seem to make sense of. He shouldn’t be feeling this conflicted over his little sister's best friend of all people, but even he couldn’t ignore your otherworldly beauty, the musical laughter he always ached to hear, feel those gorgeous eyes roaming down his body while you thought his attention was elsewhere. 

The following months after that fateful night had been spent in the Illyrian camps, avoiding you. He’d tried occupying his mind with training or drinking with Azriel and Cassian until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have your lips pressed against his own, your breasts pressed against his chest, and your scent burrowing so deeply into his soul he might never forget it. 

You couldn’t be drowned by any female nor male he fell into bed with since. Rhys, as sick as it might be to admit it, had resorted to imagingin his partners were you when he couldn’t seem to get off. Horrible, he knows, but you’ve planted that seed and his feelings are an overgrown slew of vines, constricting his inner being.

And now you’re here, across from him. And he’s here, alone with you. And Ara is not here like she should be and his mother isn’t here to form a buffer and his father is away doing Mother knows what and Cassian and Azriel aren’t here to tell him how horrible this idea is, or how if he’d only fuck you it would get these feelings out of his system, at least, the former of the two would say.

Rhysand is in a dangerous situation right now.

He forces his body to relax, slumping back in his seat with the vanity only the prince of Night can convey. Masking his face into something a little more open—a little more nice—he stalls, cutting into the meat on his own plate. Blood spurts as he takes his knife to it, and Rhysand has to force himself from imagining it to be a certain chef's blood instead. “Mother whisked her into the city for dinner.”

“So it’s only you and I?” you blush, stabbing a potato with your fork. It has been so long since you’d last seen Rhysand, and it seems the few months he’s been away have made him even more handsome than you remember, even if his skin looks a little paler from the blistering winters in the mountains and the drink he hasn’t let up on since.

“It seems so,” Rhys answers, chewing.

“And no one else,” you murmur, almost breathless as your heart begins to race in your chest at the thought of what you and him could be getting into all alone, if he hadn’t decided to run from you. 

Rhysand quirks a brow, looking down the table as if looking for someone else, and replies, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Asshole,” under your breath, and Rhys fails to bite back his smirk. Both of you fall silent as you eat, only the sounds of your hammering heart and utensils filling the void in the luxurious dining room. You’re not sure how the family doesn't feel lonely like this, eating at the table built for an army. You can’t even hear Einar shuffling about in the kitchen, no clanging of pans or low curses if he creates something his perfectionist self doesn’t deem a ‘creation of the Gods.’

You can’t help but to glance at Rhysand, drinking in the sight of him. His straight nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow as he places a spoonful of vegetables and cream sauce in his mouth. His thick lashes are dark, so dark it looks like he’s let Ara around him with some of her kohl again. They’re long as well, brushing the apples of his cheeks when he looks down at his plate, and you’re envious of them.

Too long you’ve gone without seeing him. The most dramatic male you’ve ever set your sights on, running from you after you’d finally worked up the courage after months of pining to kiss him. It was after Ara had fallen asleep and you found yourself on the balcony, gazing up at the stars, his company warm and welcoming.

It had been everything to you then, the confidence you felt, the rush of adrenaline as you caught him off guard, the feel of his lips against yours, soft still, even if they were wind-chapped from the long flight. He hadn’t reacted, you hadn’t given him the time to, yanking yourself back just as quickly as you leaned in and running off to Araphel’s room, your mind screaming at you that it had been a horrible idea.

But you couldn’t ignore the emotions spilled between the both of you, the times where his hand had brushed yours or his touch lingered too long when he’d muse your hair, stroking the shell of your ear. You couldn’t ignore the heated looks Rhys shot you every time you spoke to another male, nor the way he always found an excuse to interrupt you, guiding you away from them with a large hand on the small of your back.

And maybe it was your silly little heart for wanting him. For crushing on your best friend's older brother who exudes confidence and can have any female in the court he wants. Any female on the continent, even.

The silence is damning, though, and you wish you could be how you were the night you’d kissed him, sanguine and bright with the idea that this could be your true love's first kiss. Of course, the fleeting press of his lips was enough to solidify many things for you, but you’d been unsure about Rhysand’s feelings on the matter, and by the time you’d found the courage to talk to him about what had happened, he’d already fled back to the mountains.

You’d kissed plenty of males since then, dragging Ara for nights out at Rita’s because Rhysand and his friends always raved about it. A part of you thought that he might walk in and see you in another male's arms, tear you away like the warrior-prince he is, but sadly, it hadn’t happened. 

And you have to say that you’re more than a little confused. He’d been blatantly glaring at Einar while the chef served your food. Had he heard about the kiss you shared with the young chef when Donan hadn’t allowed Araphel permission to go out one night and you spent it with the staff the High Lord kept around the house? It was all for a silly drinking game, but the green-skinned fae’s cheeks had been bright pink after the both of you stumbled back from the pantry, lips bruised and eyes shining bright with liquor. Maybe he had overheard some of the handmaiden's gossipping about it after all these weeks? Or maybe, the darkness always knows.

Now, the both of you are here, alone, staring at each other over the delectable meals prepared by the chef you’ve tasted once before. It hadn’t been anything like the peck you’d shared with Rhysand. In that millisecond of the brushing of your lips your world had shifted, body set alight with shooting stars and setting free the wild butterflies in your stomach. 

He has that glint in his eyes, the same one he always gets when he’s watching you, the one that heats your very core. And as you chew the potatoes in your mouth, you muster that confidence into yourself once more.

You will it into the marrow of your bones, rolling your shoulders as you prepare yourself to get exactly what you want. If there is no one here to interrupt, then the stage is set.

“Whoops,” you feign, allowing a drip of cream sauce to slip off the end of your utensil on the way to your mouth. It lands on the bare skin between the plunging fabric of your dress, and you catch Rhysand tracking the movement as you reach for your napkin to dab at your skin. “Spilled a little.”

Rhysnad hums, “You should be more careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours, now would you?”

“No,” you agree, ever the dream of poised elegance. You pop a vegetable into your mouth, chewing for a moment, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress at all. But, if it’s meant to be, I can always have another one made.”

In that moment, you know you’ve got him. The stars in his violet eyes wink out as darkness settles in, pinning you to your chair. His look sends a shiver up your spine and you know that he is no longer hungry for the food plated before him.

Rhysand flares his wings a little and bites back a curse. For too long he’s been living at the Illyrian camps. There’s no one here he has to compete with for your attention, no one he needs to show off his wingspan to, though, by the way that your half-lidded eyes trace across the membranous skin of them, perhaps he’ll flare them wide when you’re beneath him.

It’s a line that he hasn’t crossed with you yet, one that he promised himself that he wouldn’t. You’re his little sister’s best friend for Mother’s sake, not just another female simpering after him because of his familial ties. You’re…much more than that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about crawling across this fucking table and licking that cream off of your chest and burying his head between your breasts.

“Meant to be,” he echoes, and you hum, tilting your head back with the motion. The exposed skin of your neck calls to him, even more so when you swipe a finger, capturing the sauce and popping it into your mouth to suck on. Your cheeks hollow exaggeratedly, and his cock strains painfully in his pants. He growls your name, a tenor of darkness that curls through your body like the icey patches of snow on the way into the city.

“What was that Rhys?” you ask, batting your eyelashes now. The meal in front of you is long forgotten, your hunger for this male insatiable. The way Rhysand makes you feel, despite only sharing a whisper of a kiss, well, you think you could be mates someday. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to stop doing that before I come over there and make you stop myself.”

You moan a little, legs falling wide under the table. “I think I might like that, though.” 

Rhysand’s nostrils flare as he drinks in the scent of your arousal, thick between your thighs.

“You’re supposed to be a Lady, darling. Who taught you to speak like that?” he purrs, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. You know that he’s only doing it to try and dispel the tension leaking from his body. You can scent it in the air, the raw, heady smell of him that threatens to send you right to your knees.

“You,” you moan in response. You can feel him creeping into your mind, watching. Waiting.

“And you always listen to your superiors, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” you hiss, squirming in your seat as those black claws of his rake gently across your mind. Your fingers curl around the arms of your chair, your spine arching at the soft caress. “Rhys, please…I need you to touch me.” 

It’s a simple request, one he’s always indulged you in.

In a moment he’s gone from his chair only to appear behind you, winnowing far faster than stalking around the edge of the table to reach your seat.

He looms over you like a touch of darkness crowding you in, and you revel in it. The hue of his eyes is a dangerous violet, set with lightning striking in the distance instead of stars. It lights you up, your breath turning faster, the beating of your heart thunderous in the silence of the dining room. 

You can see the war in his eyes when you tilt your head back, resting it on the back of your chair. You press your breasts out a little, and watch with rapt attention as his eyes flicker down the front of your dress before he rips them away, the line of his mouth tightening at your hidden tease of a smile.

In your head, late at night, you’ve touched him; a hand around his silky, long cock, mouth pressed to his desperately, too. He’s tasted your slick on his tongue, reveled in it, hardly able to hold himself back from crawling up your body and fucking you how he wanted.

But you’ve never had sex before, and as much as you want to, as much as you’ve tried, Rhysand has been holding back.

Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to cross that line with you. You’re his little sisters best friend for fucks sake, and he’s going to be High Lord someday. Sure, he’s slowly making his way through the camp girls, trying not to grunt your name when he fucks into them, because you’re never far from his mind. 

Maybe it’s because he’s scared, if his sister or father ever found out. Araphel might be happy for the both of you. It’s a thought he has less often than the opposite, if she’s upset that he’s stealing one of her only true friends, and he doesn’t want that. 

Maybe he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back.

Your name is a growl on his lips. A warning, one you don’t have it in you to heed. So you go with your next best idea, taunting.

“I guess I’ll have to drag Ara down to the city when she gets back then,” you say with a sad sigh. You pick up your fork and force your eyes from Rhysand’s burning ones. You shrug a little, spearing vegetables with your fork. “Fuck whatever male I come across there.”

Rhysand is hardly able to hold himself back from baring his teeth. He won’t allow that, ever.

You can feel the tension roiling in his body as he stands at your back, his food long forgotten. You’re not faring much better with the ache pulsing between your legs and the dinner that’s turned to mush in your mouth. 

“I’ll turn any male that touches you to mist.”

“Are you planning on doing that to yourself, too?” you quirk a brow as you glance his way, faking your disinterest despite the way that your core goes molten at his words. 

Rhysands eyes darken in response, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Your words are working, you can see it in the way that he holds himself back, body nearly shaking at every thought you’re planting in his mind. You know he’s on the verge of cracking, that he wants this just as badly as you do, so you continue.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Would you fuck me then, Rhysand?” 

“What?” His voice takes on a dark tone, the stars winking out from his eyes.

“If I told you that chef Einar was the one to do it, to bend me over his worktop and fuck me, what would you say then, Rhys?” 

“I’d say you’re a liar. And that I’ll kill him either way.”

“If I spread my legs for him just like this,” you continue, leaning back in your seat and opening your thighs wide. His fingers ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his spot, still planted behind you, trying his best to ignore the way your scent hits him like a sword to the gut. “And let his hands roam down my body just like this—” You startle at the loud sound coming from the kitchen, pots falling to the floor in succession. It makes your hands that you’re dragging down your body falter, and before you can continue, your wrists are pinned in Rhysand’s harsh grip, his breath heavy against your throat.

“You should be very, very careful about what you’re going to say next, darling,” his growl sends your bones rattling, shivers wracking your spine. You wish it weren’t the harsh wood at your back but instead his warm body, holding you tight. 

“I want you to fuck me, Rhys,” you gasp, and it sounds like a desperate mewl. “I need you to fuck me.” 

Rhysand’s mouth is a whisper against your skin, a brand of night.

“If I’m going to fuck you, darling,” he purrs and your insides melt. “Everyone is going to know it.”

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

I don't kiss and tell

Little drabbles where creator!reader gets pregnant and the archons get into a witch hunt

Wc: ~600

Sumeru’s specialty tea is delicious, the lightest taste of anise and black tea with an array of spices that you couldn't even begin to pinpoint. The youngest archon besides you is talking your ear off about the origins and constitution of the tea, the exports it has and how it is different from the teas you tasted in Liyue. 

The only thing souring the atmosphere was the bickering and yelling voices from across the table

“Your dirty citizens are libertine enough to attempt to lie besides a god!” The electro archon points her finger at the anemo archon, her nose scrunched and her teeth bared

“Mine?! I doubt anyone would dare to! At most I imagine they wanted to be close friends!”

The tsaritsa rolls her eyes and mutters something along the lines of ‘very close friends it seems’

“You doubt? You don't sound too sure about that. I'm confident nobody from my nation would dare to make advances on them” zhongli blows on his cup and sips on it

“Didn't the trip get behind schedule around sumeru? I remember Neuvillette was stressed because the welcome had to be rearranged by a week” Furina grabs a piece of cake, playing with the cherry on top.

“ah?!” Nahida gasps as she is chatting with you. She taps her chin ”I can't remember a chance they had alone so I would say it's impossible”

“And why did the trip take an extra week? I was never truly sure about that” zhongli asks her 

“Oh, I was dead set on going to Aaru village and having a quick view to the pyramids” you chuckle a bit, seeing how nahida was upset at the accusations.

“Isn't it weird that Miss Furina is here too? Even if we named it archon meeting it's meant more as a head of state so I was expecting the great judge to be seated here” Raiden points that out

“E-eh?!” She gasps as she leans away from the purple piercing gaze “He was just unable to come so he asked me” 

“Isn't that convenient?”

The tsaritsa sighs and stops tapping her fingers on the wood table. Now looking at you she says “I'm sorry if it's too impolite but can't you cut us the chase and tell us who it was?”

You look away, a tiny strained laugh slipping through your teeth “I think I prefer his safety, thanks” 

“No, thank you”

“At the very least what nation is he from?” 

The next months there was special attention paid to particular carvings or newly acquired habits

“Isn't it curious how they are suddenly so in love with grape juice? Didn't your nation have a winemaker who preferred grape juice?” The tsaritsa asks, a stiff smile painted on her face.

“And didn't they also like a seafood soup that also happened to be one of your harbinger's specialties?” venti matches her energy, already fed up with the fourth accusation 

“Don't make me send someone to kick your ass again”

“I doubt a pile of ashes could put up much of a fight” 

“Our grace has been taking longer walks lately, buer, maybe they are trying to get closer to the dendro element” 

“they told me they wanted to feel the breeze better, that might be it, Beel”

“Why do I get dragged into every discussion?!” Venti yelps from the kitchen

“Doctor baizhu told me to keep an eye on them, the pregnancy seems to have made them crave rocks

“Isn't baizhu from Liyue, lord of Geo?” 

“And also ice cubes, tsaritsa. It reminds me, wasn't one of your harbingers also in Liyue at that time to close a deal with the Tianquan?”

“Why does everyone think is someone from my nation did it?!”

“Nation of freedom…”

“The biggest wine and sparkling wine importer…”

“You used your week to go bar hopping..”

“You are a weak and unimposing leader…”

“That part sounded more personal than anything!”

[sadesluvr]

The Bride — PART THREE.

PART ONE / PART TWO

A/N: This is so late omg...September was a busy month for me but I promised I wouldn't forget y'all! Sorry for any mistakes <3

Warnings: Smut + Murder. This chapter contains the theme of domestic violence and victim guilt. Please leave a relationship if your partner hits you, it's not okay and will likely escalate to full blown abuse. Skip to the paragraph beginning "All it took was..." if you'd like to avoid this.

Word count: 3.4K

“Jude’s family have a boat. Every morning on his birthday, he takes it out for a drive – early morning when the water’s calmest. No one should be there but him. The bay is a ten-minute drive from here. I’m thinking that I surprise him, get him to drive me a few miles from the shore, then I knock him out with one of those fishing weights.” 

“What if you can’t hit hard enough?” 

“Then you’re gonna have to teach me how to shoot.” 

You’d gone to the dock separately; with the Twins clambering into their rented car whilst you jumped into a discreet bicitaxi, squashed next to a random stranger on a rickety bike. The colourful streets became a blur as you passed them, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were on a horrible, stomach-churning ride, ultimately screaming to yourself to get off. You were scared that it was all going to be over, all so suddenly and unexpectedly on a random trip to Havana. What was life going to be like without Jude? Why had you decided to trust two random British guys to help take care of your domestic dispute? 

What if everything backfired? 

You didn’t feel any better stepping off the bike and onto the brown boards of the bay, eyeing the familiar licence plate of the rows of white yachts, tourist boats, and fishermen, making the occasional glance down at the deep blue waters below. Rippling; uneasy...the literal unknown. 

Other than a few locals fishing, it was rather quiet. At least until you heard the Twins’ hurried footsteps; with Tangerine’s dress shoes clicking against the ground. Even though they were slated to be ‘professionals’, the moustached man seemed eerily panicked; finding it difficult to walk straight as he constantly fumbled with the gun under his jacket. From the 24 hours or so you��d spent with him you knew he was rather erratic but had never expected him to be so rattled by the situation.  

“Morning darl’,” Lemon said, briefly nodding his head at you. “Looks like today’s the big day. Give ‘em hell, would ya?” 

“I’ll try,” you grinned, chuckling half-heartedly as you swallowed deeply, trying to hold back last nights’ meal. “You should hide in the wine cellar. It might be a little cramped, but it beats the downstairs.” 

Lemon silently raised his brows, patting your shoulder before he scurried onto the boat, desperate not to be seen, and leaving you alone with Tangerine on the dock. He was handsome of course, but there was something rather striking about the way the blue of his eyes sparkled in the morning sunrise, casting a pinkish-golden hue on his skin. Maybe you were still partially hungover, or perhaps it was just plain old lust, but you felt your heart skip a beat as he walked up to you, staring at you intently. 

“You should probably go inside. Jude could show up any moment now.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I will in a minute,” he said, brushing you off as his jaw clenched. “You got everythin’?” 

“Don’t I always?” You snorted. “Why’re you asking? Are you worried about me?” 

“Nah, I’m just making sure you’re prepared, init?” Tangerine sniffed, briefly diverting his gaze. “This ain’t no movie, alright? I know you’re a right little spitfire n’ all, but you ain’t never seen a dead body. You haven’t gotten your hands dirty like we have.” 

It was true. All your work had been purely operative; sneaky and based on mind games – this was the real deal.  Rubbing your temples, you sighed before looking up at him. 

“I’ll get out of this, ok? I always do. I’ll use the residuals for a therapist or something.” You laughed, but Tangerine didn’t share your smile, instead rolling his eyes and swiping at his moustache. 

“Just — We’re on deck if you need anythin’ alright?” 

You nodded, taking note of the grave look Tangerine flashed you before climbing onto the boat in search of his brother. Sighing, you nervously glanced around at the bay before following them, the spare gun in the garter under your dress brushing against your leg as your lifted it; a reminder of your final option. This was real, and you weren’t going to be able to take it back. 

It was a few minutes before you heard commotion on the back of the boat, with Jude’s loafers making a slight squeaking sound as they approached the bottom deck. He recoiled slightly upon seeing you, a mimosa in either hand, wearing a big smile and his grandmother’s pearls. 

“Happy birthday,” you grinned. “Thought I’d surprise you.” 

“Fuck…” Jude said under his breath, shaking his head. He walked over and took the glass from your hands, raising his eyebrows as his way of saying thanks.  

“That’s my wife, always surprising me…” he said sarcastically before taking a sip. “Why are you here? You never get up before 7.” 

“Can’t I do something nice for you?” You scoffed. “You’re thirty now. It’s a new start.” 

“Don’t remind me…” he sighed. “You know when my father was this age he’d already had three children?” 

You snickered into your glass. 

“You’ve never expressed an interest.” 

“Just saying,” he shrugged, glancing around the deck suspiciously before taking another sip. “Maybe if you weren’t away all the time, we’d would’ve been able to start a family.” 

Shutting your eyes, you shrugged, brushing off one of the many gaslighted statements Jude had given to you over the years of your marriage. It wasn’t anything new of course, but it still agitated you; hurt you, even, but you managed to find a way to regain your composure. 

Just hang in there a little longer. 

“Start the engine already. We can talk about this after.” 

 Jude rolled his eyes and marched back up onto the top deck. Your gaze was fixated blankly on the narrow staircase, listening to the scraping sounds of equipment being moved about and eventually the boat leaving the harbour; the clanging of metal chains reading as an omen. It was all painfully metaphoric; and you wondered whether you really wanted to go through with this. 

After all, he was thirty now, and that usually meant a new beginning. He was annoyed at your presence, yes; that was a given, but you were beginning to consider that maybe, just maybe, he’d change.  Kids had never been in the picture until now, and you took that as a sign that maybe he was having an epiphany too. It was unfathomable to you that the past seven years of your life had been an entire waste, that there was no reward for what you’d endured whatsoever.  

Forget the Twins; this was about you. You knew Jude, and they didn’t. 

You could make this work. 

Eventually, Jude put the engine on pause, and you were left bobbing on the water, roughly fifteen minutes from shore. You raised a brow as he came down, a strange sense of dread wiping over you as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. Fuck the plan; if you didn’t off him, you were certain that drinking an operating a boat would do the trick. 

“If you’re serious about kids, then maybe we could start fresh?” You questioned; your voice noticeably soft as you fiddled with your necklace. 

“Yeah, right.” He snorted, barely bothering to look up. 

“I’m serious, Jude,” you continued, sitting up in your seat. “You’re thirty, I’m two years away from that…We’re not getting younger and you’re the only love I’ve known. It’s time for us to be adults now.” 

He seemed to freeze at the word ‘love’. Admittedly, it wasn’t a phrase you’d used of late, if ever. Pouting his lip, he turned to face you, eyeing you up and down before he spoke. 

“You serious?” 

“Yes.” You pleaded. You could practically feel your insides turning into yourself, but you continued anyway. “I know about your affairs, and I know that you brought one of them along on this trip. But once we leave here, I’ll forget about it, I swear. We can focus on a family.” 

Jude pursed his lips, rubbing his hand over his mouth pensively. His eyes were like saucers; glassy and round, and you could only decipher that he was feeling guilty. Guilt about the funds, guilt about his infidelity...everything. You felt a tingle in your heart, and in your loins, even. 

“I haven’t fucked you in a while…I was starting to forget what you felt like.” He mused, walking over to you and playing with your necklace, eyes moving down towards your collarbone and exposed décolletage. “Hm. If you’re serious, then we may as well start now…” 

Your brows twitched upwards. The Twins were on the boat, and you were certain that they wouldn’t enjoy such a sordid display; for separate and distinct reasons entirely. Yet, that wasn’t the only thing holding you back. 

You grinned, but it wasn’t because you were happy.  

“Not without getting a test first.” 

Jude visibly recoiled. 

“Excuse me?” 

You shrugged. 

“Don’t play dumb, Jude. It’s only fair that I ask.” 

He slumped his shoulders, a frowny pout wiping across his lips as he tried to wrap his head around the request, as if you’d spoken to him in Klingon. You paid no attention to the erratic bounce of his leg, or the subtle way his jaw ticked – none of it really scared you. Jude was simply being the same person he’d been since the beginning; a whiny manbaby. 

He hadn’t even denied being unfaifthul.  

“Besides, I haven’t been loyal, either.” You finished nonchalantly. 

His movements paused, and he broke his gaze from staring somewhere in the corner of the room. 

“You what?” 

“You had your vices and I had mine. I slept with the concierge a couple of times – we were always safe, but you never know —“  

Before you knew it, there was a sharp jab to your nose, which turned into a burning, and eventually a numbness. The pain began to throb almost immediately, and all you could do was stare wide eyed at the man opposite you – the man you’d once loved – as he resumed what he was doing, casually fixing his watch as if he hadn’t just struck you across the face. 

Panting, your fingers trembled as you braced yourself, expecting droplets of blood. Instead, you were met with a shrug. 

“Oh, come on,” he huffed. “I’m sorry, baby. I just can’t stand the thought of you with another man.” 

You didn’t respond, and he scoffed. 

“It was a mistake – I was just angry. I won’t do it again, and I never will, ok?” 

You remained silent, instead staring blankly as you turned around, with Jude barely casting so much as a glance at you as you disappeared into the bathroom. It was only a few moments before you returned, the trembling hand on your nose replaced with two hands on a gun, one cupping the barrel and the other the trigger. 

“You’re not serious --” 

All it took was two bullets to his chest, the sound of the releasing mechanism ringing out on the boat. It was loud, but knowing you were so many miles off shore you knew that it was ultimately nothing. When the smoke cleared, you were left with a slowly dying body, scarlet circles widening as they seeped through the white material of his polo shirt. His eyes were still open; and inexplicably they looked at you with more emotion then they ever had when he was alive. 

You barely had a moment to yourself when The Twins scrambled out from their hiding spot, with Lemon taking his position next to you; arms folded and a bored expression on his face, and Tangerine on your other side. 

“Are you sure this was your first time firing a gun?” 

“Lemon, this ain’t the fuckin’ time --” 

“I’m just sayin’,” the dark-skinned man said exasperatedly. “She’s bloody good at everything. You sure you ain’t some secret agent, girl?” 

“With all due respect, Lemon, let’s not get on her fuckin’ nerves,” Tangerine continued, holding a hand up as if to slow his brother down. “She’s just killed her bloody husband for God’s sake, that ain’t fuckin’ easy --” 

“She fires better than you.” 

“That ain’t true.”  

“I thought we were supposed to be liftin’ her up?” Lemon continued in disbelief before biting his lip. “I know just the thing. There was an episode of Thomas where --” 

“Finish that sentence and you’ll be on the ground with the bastard.” 

“Easy, let’s not get too hasty,” Lemon replied, eyes wide and lips stretched into a frown, his hands outstretched as if he were surrendering. “All I know is that I ain’t dealin’ with that body o’ his. I don’t like blood.” 

Tangerine merely cocked his head in disbelief. 

“It makes me queasy.” 

The moustached man sighed, shaking his head as he cast his gaze to the ground. Blood was beginning to seep into the fine cracks of the ships, decking, all the while you’d gone missing. Considering there weren’t many places for you to hide, the man correctly assumed that you were up deck, steering the boat aimlessly as they continued to bob along the water, where the cold Atlantic was hitting the warmth of the Gulf of Mexico. The recipe for a perfect storm, yet all was silent. 

“Alright,” the man sniffed, placing his shiny cufflinks in his back pocket and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll chuck him over. Bring the weights, would ya?” 

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚

“ ‘Ere ya go.” 

“What’s this?” Lemon replied as he looked down at the pamphlet in his hands. The three of you were cooped up in a shitty motel, practically en-route to leaving the country. Once Jude’s family found out that you were both missing (or that their son was gone and you remained) there was certainly about to be a manhunt. Hell, you might’ve even been a suspect. 

“Just look at it.” 

It didn’t take long for Lemon’s face to light up in recognition as he scanned past the Spanish words and into the corner of the paper to see the image of a train; several to be precise. 

“The only Caribbean country to have railways. Got you a ticket to the museum.” 

Lemon lit up. 

“Well thanks, mate but it’s late at night... I should probably get my jammies on.” 

“Just say Tangerine sent you.” 

“Why do you want me to go now?” 

Tangerine frowned. “I gotta have a word with Y/N.” 

“You can speak to her now, don’t let me stop you --” 

“Jesus Christ, don’t make me have to spell it out for you, Lemon. Her and I got somethin’ goin on, and I think we can --��� 

“You wanna sleep with her. Got it.” 

“Lemon --” 

It was almost impossible for him to deny it anymore. Tangerine considered himself a gentleman, but there was something about you that made him think otherwise, particularly the way spots of blood had begun to dry up on your dress. You were tainted, yet not in the borderline sociopathic manner he was. In a sick way, you almost complimented each other. The bride and the groom. 

You hadn’t spoken much since the incident. Granted, it was only a few hours ago, and he figured you were still in a state of shock. He wanted to breach the conversation, but he wasn’t sure how; finding it wholly unfamiliar for him to be outwardly sensitive and considerate. It just wasn’t in his nature. 

“Where’s Lemon?” you spoke suddenly, breaking your aimless gaze from the television. 

“Him? Ah, he’s out.” The man waved off. 

“So late?” you frowned. “He’s probably lonely...He could get hurt!” 

“He’s an assassin, love,” Tangerine said matter of factly. “ ‘An trust me, there’s nothing Lemon loves more than his own company.” 

“Figures,” you shrugged. “You wanna have sex?” 

Tangerine scoffed confidently. “If I shagged you, sweetheart, it wouldn’t be a one-time thing.” 

“Never said it had to be.” 

Before you knew it, your body was on his in the heat of passion, fingers running through his brown locks as his moustache tickled your upper lip. His taste, was very much like the sea; salty, yet airy, almost the very definition of the outside.  even through it all, he was sweet, with the smell of his cologne tantalising your senses even through the stench of death. God, it was so fucked up. 

“You’re perfect, love,” the man cooed through your entanglement. “That bastard didn’t deserve ya.” 

“Easy,” you teased, skilfully sliding your hands down to his belt. “I haven't even taken my clothes off yet.” 

In a rare moment, Tangerine blushed, making up for his vulnerability with a quip. 

“Lippy, are we?” he grinned, blue eyes and white teeth sparkling. “You ain’t gonna have all that chat when I’m finished with ya...” 

He dragged his large hands up the sides of your body, caressing the wides of breasts, tracing down your hips and eventually giving your ass a firm grope as you played with his erection through his pants.  For a bunch of grown adults, you were behaving like a couple of teenagers, fooling around in the backseat of a car after prom. His grunts and breath quickened as you finally undid his zipper, breaching contact as you slid your fingers into his briefs, coaxing a sharp sigh from the action. 

He was hung; perfectly so, in the sense that he wasn’t too big or small, and you were more than certain that he knew how to use it. It didn’t take you long to slide your panties down your legs, the action a sinful image that was certain to be burned into Tangerine’s mind for a while. 

When he entered you, it felt like heaven. Better than the bellboy, and certainly better than anything Jude had given you. Tangerine let out a gruff grunt, his usually kept hair falling into his face as he allowed himself to adjust to the sensation. You were warm, certainly wet, and fit perfectly around him, leaving him wondering why he hadn’t found you before.  

“Oh, darlin’...” he hummed. “Forgive me, I usually got a lot more in the tank...But I don't think I can hold back with you.” 

Your walls clenched at the statement, gripping the man as he began to thrust his hips in and out of you, finding a rhythm almost immediately. Your head dangled off of the arm of the couch as you glanced across at him; a beautiful British man you’d met 48 hours ago rutting into you with such passion that you’d never experienced in your 8eight year marriage. Sure, it could’ve been the fact that he was only the third man you’d been with, but it felt different; sweet, but sultry, firm, yet intimate. He was fucking you like an animal, but he was almost certainly the man of your dreams, the kind of man the college version of you had dreamed about marrying someday. 

Ok, Tangerine wasn’t the marrying type, but you couldn’t say you weren't bound for life. It was practically by blood.  

“Shit...” he groaned, momentarily pulling back to withdraw his hips and dagger you from another angle, hitting that oh-so sweet spot. “I ain’t ever had nothin’ better than this. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” 

You bit your lip and wined, finding words, let alone sentences, hard to conjure. You were far too overstimulated; with the man’s hands finding their way to your breasts again and his lips by your ear as he whispered sweet nothings in that thick accent of his.  

Desperately, you gripped onto his broad clothed shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you basked in the motions. Jude was gone, dead, his body right at the bottom of the ocean, unlikely to ever be seen again (You’d learnt to never say never), and which technically made you a fugitive, but also a free woman. A free woman who’d met two handsome men, one you had a suspicion you’d be seeing often. Perhaps you’d become an assassin too; join them on the run across the world, or maybe you’d lay low for a while and drop off completely. Either way, you knew one thing for a fact – The Twins were going to have your back. 

In fact, they probably weren’t going to let you out of their sight. 

But, considering one of those were on top of you; a striking blue and filled with passion, you figured you just might stay a while.  

FIN. 

Taglist: @mylatest-hyperfixation @thewizardcat @j23r23 @ohgodthebogisback @starkeyboyismine @multifandomdiva 🤍

[phfenomena]

❝’cause we were somewhere else.❞ || tom blyth x f!reader

| request- could you do paris by taylor swift with tom??

| A/N- cutest idea i’ve ever heard thank you 🙏 super short but i tried my hardest

| WARNINGS- fluffy lovey dovey shit, france (WTF IS A KILOMETER 🦅🇺🇸), running, me having writers block,

(divider by @v6que)

the air was thick with smoke and unspoken emotions as tom wrapped his arm around you waist in the crowded bar. one week in paris with your kind-of-boyfriend couldn’t hurt anybody, right? you thought so, until tonight. with the affectionate touches, the sharing drinks, and now, staring at the eiffel tower together.

the ancient architecture sparkled like clock-work, the reflection finding home in toms eyes. you couldn’t will herself to look away from him as your fingers intertwined.

“did you have fun tonight, love?” his thumb was moving back and forth across the back of your hand. you nodded, “yeah! i did. thank you for bringing me along for your press tour, it’s been really cool.”

stumble down pretend alley-ways, cheap wine; make believe it’s champagne.

the laughs erupted from your lungs uncontrollably as your feet tried to move your body in sync with toms, his hand pulling you quickly down the alley. the giggles shared between you two echoed down the alley-way and sounded like it was coming from everywhere, it felt like it too.

“you’re going too fast! i can’t keep up when i’m in heels!” you stuttered out in between sobs of laughter. “get longer legs!” tom throws over his shoulder and you resist the growing despair within you every time you see his smile, knowing the smile wasn’t yours to keep.

privacy sign on the door and on my page, and on the whole world. romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours.

the soft and hazy sun filtered through the sheer curtains, illuminating the room. illuminating him. your nails gently raked across his scalp as you studied his features, savoring the moment.

the small smile on your face widened when his eyes opened and flickered to yours. “g’morning, darling.” he shoved his face into his pillow, groaning, from the light. “good morning. you drool in your sleep, did you know that?” he side-eyes you before coming up with an answer. “i usually don’t, i just can’t help myself around you.”

i’m so in love that i might stop breathing, drew a map on your bedroom ceiling.

[attapullman]

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples. 

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out. 

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge. 

“I can make you a pink lady.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious. 

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip. 

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again. 

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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