Jealous X Taron Egerton
MasterList
Plot: “You’re mine, Y/n. I’d die for you. And watching him flirt with you like I wasn’t even standing there? It made me want to remind you exactly who you belong to.”
Smut implied.
The red carpet was blinding all flashing bulbs, shouting photographers, and the buzz of press. But through it all, Taron’s hand stayed firm in mine.
He looked unfairly handsome in his black suit, bow tie undone just slightly to give that cocky, charming edge he always wore so effortlessly. His hand fit perfectly at the small of my back, steadying me as we made our way down the carpet toward the theatre’s glowing entrance.
It was the premiere of my film. My first true leading role. The kind of night that was meant to feel like magic.
And in so many ways, it did until he showed up.
Luca Dalton.
My co-star. The on-screen love interest. And a complete and utter tosser.
We’d worked together for six months shooting the film. The chemistry had been there on screen, sure, but off-screen? He was arrogant. Fake. The kind of man who always acted like every woman in the room was his to win even when they clearly weren’t interested.
And now, here he was, grinning like a cat who'd eaten something smug, striding over with a flute of champagne in one hand and a glint in his eye I didn’t care for one bit.
“Y/n,” he said smoothly, leaning in and kissing both cheeks like we were old lovers rather than co-workers. “You look devastating tonight. Stunning. Gorgeous. It’s criminal, really.”
I smiled tightly. “Thanks, Luca. This is my boyfriend, Taron.”
Luca turned to him barely and offered a hand with a smile so fake it could’ve been carved from wax.
“Taron. Right, of course. The actor’s actor,” he drawled. “Your Rocketman was… well, brave. Raw.”
Taron raised an eyebrow. “Brave?”
“Yeah,” Luca said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Not everyone can carry an entire film with just their performance. It’s admirable, what you did.”
Taron smiled. “Cheers. And well done on this film too. You really made ‘smouldering douchebag’ look effortless.”
Luca let out a forced laugh, tapping my arm as though I was in on some private joke. “We did have some great scenes, didn’t we, Y/n? All that kissing, rolling around in bed, making the audience believe we were madly in love. That takes a lot of… commitment.”
Taron’s grip on my waist tightened. I slid a hand down to squeeze his gently, trying to defuse the tension, but his jaw was already clenched.
“Anyway,” Luca continued, glancing Taron up and down, “if you need any tips for keeping a woman like Y/n satisfied, you know where to find me.”
That was it.
Luca sauntered off with a smirk, and I turned to look at Taron, who was staring after him with murder in his eyes.
He muttered under his breath, “What a fucking prick.”
I pressed my hand to his chest. “Baby, just ignore him. He’s not worth it.”
“He’s not worth you, that’s for sure.”
The rest of the night, Taron was polite, but distant. He posed with me for photos, smiled when needed, even shook a few hands but I could feel the storm just beneath his skin. His possessiveness. His frustration.
When we finally got home, I kicked off my heels the second the door shut and turned to him.
“Alright,” I said, folding my arms, “what’s got you so wound up?”
Taron didn’t answer at first. He threw his jacket onto the back of a chair, running a hand through his hair.
Then he turned to me, eyes dark.
“I don’t like the idea of that fuckwit spending months with you. I don’t like him touching you, kissing you even if it’s for a film. Watching him paw at you on screen tonight made me want to knock his teeth in.”
I blinked. He rarely got like this. But when he did… my heart raced.
“Taron”
“I know it’s your job,” he said quickly, voice low, “and I’m proud of you. So proud. You were amazing tonight. But I’m not going to pretend it didn’t drive me fucking mad seeing him up there, acting like he had some kind of claim on you.”
I stepped closer. “He doesn’t. He never did.”
He looked at me then, properly. And beneath the storm, I saw it that flicker of insecurity, the vulnerability that came only when it was about me.
“You’re mine, Y/n. I’d die for you. And watching him flirt with you like I wasn’t even standing there? It made me want to remind you exactly who you belong to.”
The room seemed to shrink. My skin buzzed. Every nerve ending lit up.
“Taron,” I breathed, “you don’t need to remind me. There’s no one else. I could be surrounded by a hundred Lucas and still only want you.”
That did something to him unlocked something.
He moved in one swift step, his hands on my waist, lips crashing against mine with enough force to steal my breath. His mouth was hot, hungry, desperate. The kiss tasted like jealousy and relief and everything he hadn’t said.
I gasped as he picked me up, effortlessly, and carried me to the sofa, his lips never leaving mine.
“You’re mine,” he whispered against my throat, his fingers roaming possessively. “All fucking mine.”
I moaned as he kissed down the column of my neck, slowly, deliberately letting his hands slide up my thighs, teasing over the zip at the back of my dress.
“Taron”
“No interruptions,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below my ear. “Tonight, I take my time. I remind you what it means to be loved like this.”
He stripped me down piece by piece, slow and reverent. His hands were warm, his mouth worshipful. Every touch was a promise. Every kiss, a question: Still mine? Every breath I took was the answer: Always.
He made love to me like a man desperate to prove a point that he was the one who knew me best. Touched me best. Loved me best.
And when we lay tangled on the sofa afterwards, flushed and breathless, he stroked my hair back and kissed my forehead.
“Tell me again,” he whispered.
I cupped his face. “I love you. There’s no one else. There never will be.”
He closed his eyes, and I felt the tension leave his body all at once.
“Thank God,” he murmured, and pulled me closer.
We stayed like that for hours nothing but the sound of our breathing, the warmth of skin on skin, and the fierce, unshakeable certainty that no matter what, we belonged to each other.
The Los Angeles heat clung to my skin like silk warm, soft, but relentless. Even under the shadow of the massive Dolby Theatre awnings, the sun hit hard, making the sequins of my gown shimmer like a disco ball.
The red carpet was buzzing. Paparazzi shouted our names, fans screamed from behind barricades, and handlers with headsets buzzed around like stressed bees.
But as always, Taron’s hand found mine.
“You okay?” he asked, leaning in close, lips brushing my temple.
I nodded, squeezing his fingers. “Just hot. And mildly regretting not going for something breezier.”
He smirked, eyes running over the low-cut neckline of my champagne dress. “You’ll get no complaints from me.”
We moved together down the carpet posing for a few photos, doing quick interviews, the usual blur of “Who are you wearing?” and “How does it feel to bring this film to an international audience?”
I tried to focus, really, but I could feel his presence before I even saw him.
Luca.
Wearing smug like it was designer.
He sauntered up while I was finishing an interview with a press outlet from Variety. The moment the mic was lowered, he leaned in with that same too-familiar grin.
“Y/n, bella. L.A. suits you.”
I gave him a polite smile. “Hi, Luca.”
He glanced at Taron. “You again.”
Taron only gave him a nod, but there was a flicker behind his eyes something sharp. Something different from the London premiere.
Luca’s smirk widened, oblivious. “Looks like we’re sharing the spotlight once more. Guess some things are just meant to be, yeah?”
Before I could respond, Taron’s hand slipped from my back. I looked up just as he stepped forward turning fully to face me, blocking out the cameras, the lights, the world.
“Y/n.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
And then he dropped to one knee.
Right there. On the red carpet. In front of the flashing cameras, the wide-eyed press, the buzzing crowd.
And Luca.
I heard the gasp ripple through the people closest to us. Felt the rush of blood to my head. My heart stopped then started hammering.
Taron held up a small velvet box, the diamond inside catching every single ounce of California sunlight.
“I’ve loved you since the moment you told me off for stealing your chips on our first date,” he said, voice calm and strong despite the chaos around us. “You are everything to me. Every part of my life is better because you’re in it. And I want to spend the rest of that life making sure you never doubt how loved you are.”
I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes, breath caught between a sob and a laugh.
“So… will you do me the insane honour of marrying me?”
My whole body was trembling as I nodded. “Yes. Of course, yes!”
He slipped the ring on my finger hands shaking just slightly and then stood to kiss me, slow and reverent, like we were the only two people on Earth.
The crowd around us erupted. Cameras flashed. People clapped. Somewhere nearby, someone definitely yelled “That’s how you do it!”
But Taron barely pulled back. His eyes stayed on mine for a second longer before he turned his head just slightly toward Luca, who was standing stiffly, still holding a flute of champagne that now looked absolutely ridiculous in his hand.
Taron smirked. “Guess some things really aren’t meant to be, mate.”
Luca blinked. Said nothing. His smirk had vanished entirely.
Taron raised an eyebrow as if to say anything else?
Luca swallowed once, turned on his heel, and walked away.
And just like that he was done.
Taron turned back to me, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“Was that too much?” he whispered into my hair.
I laughed, heart still racing. “Not even a little.”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Good. Because I needed everyone to know you’re mine.”
I tilted my head. “And you’re mine.”
He kissed me again, and this time, I didn’t care who was watching.
Back at the hotel, I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my dress, staring at the diamond on my finger. Taron came out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp from the shower.
“You’ve been staring at that ring for five minutes.”
I looked up, grinning. “It’s gorgeous. And heavy. It has weight.”
“Well, you said yes. You’re stuck with me.”
I stood up and walked to him, hands resting on his bare chest. “I’d say you’re the one who’s stuck with me.”
“I wouldn’t want to be stuck anywhere else.”
We stood there in the soft light of the room, the city glowing below us, the night still buzzing with everything that had just happened.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I whispered. “On the carpet. In front of everyone.”
He grinned. “What better way to make it clear to Luca and the rest of the bloody world? I love you. You’re not just some actress with a co-star. You’re my fiancée.”
“God, that word,” I said with a little shiver. “Fiancée.”
He leaned in, voice low and gravelly. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
He kissed me again, hands sliding around my waist, and that was the beginning of a very different kind of evening no cameras, no red carpet. Just us.
