Hello Elle, I come baring a fic idea. I am unsure of who you are currently writing for at the moment, so anyone is fine. I’m thinking Fame au, and the character catches the reader watching edits of them. Hope you have a good day, let me know if this doesn’t make sense! :D💕
awe thanks so much! i love requests like these, i find them really helpful during times when i struggle with a bit of writers block!
model!Finnick Odair x fem!reader who is watching edits of him [925 words]
CW: fame!au, modern!au, Finnick poses in underwear, fluff
Finnick has well and truly lost you.
Not in the literal sense; you’re occupying the same couch as him, afterall.
But by the time he clues into the fact that your phone is playing the same 20 seconds of audio from some top 40 song, he’s listened to it about eight times. And based on your goofy smile and eyes full of mirth, he knows you’ve gotten stuck on a single TikTok.
He tries your name; well, not your name, but variations of epithets he often throws your way. Honey, a classic. He tries for another; sweetheart. Even goes for an ooey-gooey my love. Then he starts pulling others out of his box of treasures; babe, baby, princess, darling, angel, sweetpea, babe, hot stuff, babe.
No dice.
So, he commits the cardinal sin – he snaps his fingers at you, not unlike the way an owner might to a dog – and vows to get on his knees and atone for his sins later when you finally lift your face from the screen to look at him in bemusement.
“What?”
He laughs at you. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for, like, eight minutes.” An exaggeration. “What are you watching?”
Your goofy smile turns sardonic as you raise a brow at him. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would,” he agrees readily around a teasing smile of his own. “That's why I asked.”
Your response is haughty; your nose turns up at him and everything. “This doesn’t concern you, Finn.”
And, well, he disagrees, because it’s taking up an awful lot of his girlfriend’s attention – which he feels should be on him – and he’s sort of bored and lonely, despite being on the same couch as you as he scrolls through his own for you page.
He abandons his phone and repositions on the couch, eliciting a groan of disagreement from you as he spreads out and leans heavily into your side.
“Honey.”
“What,” you huff, smiling despite your putupon ire.
“I miss you,” he pouts.
“I’m literally right here,” you counter, stabbing him with your socked foot that’s now trapped under his weight. “You couldn’t possibly get any closer to me.”
“S’not close enough.” He says it into your arm, words muffled by the fabric of your sweater as he weasels his way closer, closer, closer-
“I know what you’re doing,” you snicker, smiling down at him fond and lovely and- shit why was Finnick ever on the opposite side of the couch as you?
“I wanna know what’s stealing all of my girlfriend’s attention away from me,” he admits, aiming for smarmy but landing somewhere closer to petulant.
The laugh that flies out of you is sharp, surprising, and – if Finnick’s being honest – a little bit hurtful, considering he just laid his feelings out on the line for you.
“What is so funny about that?” He huffs in frustration though he makes no moves to remove himself from you; laughing at him or no, he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“You’re ridiculous.” Is your only reply, returning your attention to your phone.
“That’s not a new deduction now, is it, sweetheart? Because it’s a little late in the game to be picking up on those clues.”
You give him another mean jab of your foot. “Ass.”
“What are you watching,” he asks again, annoying even to his own ears.
You pass him your phone.
The screen is various shots of Finnick posing – scantily dressed – for a number of different ads. Calvin Klein, Abercrombie, Prada, and some he can’t even remember shooting though the half-naked man on your screen is definitely him.
“You’re watching thirst edits of me?” He asks, two octaves too high as he laughs.
“Uhm, yeah?” You reply as if that was obvious, taking the phone back and opening up the comments.
“Oh god, you’re one of those.” Finnick groans as he settles back into your side, watching you heart comments that manage to earn a huff of a laugh from you.
“One of what?”
“You go through comment sections?”
“People in the comment sections are fucking funny, Finn. That’s, like, some of the best content online; the comment section.”
“Is that right?”
You turn your nose up again. “Quite.”
Finnick snorts a laugh at you but kisses your elbow placatingly. “I can’t believe you watch thirst edits of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I watch thirst edits of you?” You ask in disbelief. “It’s, like, the best part of having a supermodel partner.”
“Your supermodel partner is literally right here for your viewing pleasure, sweetheart. You only have to ask.”
You scrunch your nose up and smile at him like you’re sharing a secret. “I know…but odairsbabymama89 put a lot of effort into making this, so…”
“Unbelievable,” he scoffs.
“I have been wondering, though,” you begin, and Finnick clocks your tone immediately.
“Have you now?”
“Aren’t models supposed to, like, model fashion? Like, provide visual examples of different clothing?”
You turn your phone towards him, his attention pulled back towards an image of him in Calvin Klein briefs that leave very little to the imagination. “You spend an awful lot of time being photographed wearing, like, no clothes.”
Finnick snorts again, pulling you further into the couch with him and forcing you to readjust your hold on him. “And are you complaining?”
You laugh again, but this time it’s lighter, brighter, sweeter. “Not even a little bit.”
His face is buried under your arm and he smiles into your ribs. “Didn’t think so.”
☆ warnings: 18+ smut ! oral (f) receiving, fingering, (heavy) teasing, mostly fluff, pet names, bratty/clingy reader, some angst, boyfriend Timmy (blushing as I type)
☆ A/N: Guys. I’m literally so sorry it took me three centuries to write this chapter. Feels like I lived 20 different lives lol. But I miss Timmy baby sm so I just wanted to write. <3 Enjoy !
It’s been one week. One heaven kissed week since you’ve been basking in the glory of having your boyfriend whom was very touchy since that night, and well in love with you, all alone. Movie star he might be, there was no faking the way he was diving into your neck like sweets, as you stood in the slow moving elevator now.
It wasn’t like any way he’s held you before. It was fully immersed. Sickly devoted with warmth. Just how you liked it. In his arms.
His lips glossed over your neck quick yet smooth. Leaving words of ‘I’m not letting you go anywhere’ on your sensitive spot as you tilted to give him full access of it. His hands on your waist, palms pressing you into the nest of the elevator. Your nearly lost in a dream, in him. But you know better. You know the stakes.
Three more days. Then a few mere hours before he’s off to filming again. Long flights, and a heavy load of meetings just before hand. And you’ll miss him. His sent. Like a bunch of all your favorite things swarmed together, as he’s this close. Right now. Taking you. Giving you more than you could ever want in so little time this week.
You’d been on your way to meet with his team now, you’d asked if you could tag along previously — but your boyfriend already insisted on not making you sit through a boring meeting with his mangers. He’d ship you off to the outlet instead.
With his credit card of course.
His curls feel like soft waves in your hands as you felt his subtle chuckle into your jaw. He’s teasing and you like it. Hell, you crave it all the time. Keeping your hips stationed into his as you wanted to let out a deep sigh, let the feeling wash over you, like you could be completely happy with it all ending right there. Kissed and wrapped up in him.
But you only knew of what fatefully couldn’t be.
I want you all the time, Timmy.
Your thoughts find you before you can let yourself go. You want to push him away, before he can take any of what’s left of your right mind. You wanted him to notice. Wanted him to note that he was about to make you wish you weren’t a stars girl.
So as he’s inching for your lips, about to lay his on yours like all the answers you needed right then. Just a taste of you was what he wanted before jetting away. But, your doubtfully titling your head from his gesture. Eyes pondering away from your man who was suddenly stuck confused.
“Baby.. what’s up ?” Timothee breathes and luckily the elevator opens with your attention as well, and even as his hand lingers in yours, your still walking out with a soft bitten lip and a sigh.
Your silence only makes him hurry along after you, “what’s your deal ? Baby- -”
“Nothing.”
Your heading for his bmw. And as taken back as he was, Timothee still naturally opened the car door for you. But he wasn’t going to just move on without an answer. He knows this little routine. He knows you. It’s familiar after all. Except he can’t let himself take it as seriously as you do, not when your nose is tilted upwards and your posture is recognizably dramatic.
It got him bent at first, but when he realizes the pout in your lip, just as he snaps your seat belt in and adjusts it with care, his lips tug a soft grin.
“May I.. get a kiss ? Please ?”
“No.”
“Why ? Baby. Give me a kiss,” even with a bit more assertiveness in his voice, you didn’t want to budge. Not when you know you’ll be missing him again in less than an hour. You’d accept your fate early. So with a huff, you turn and kiss him on his eyelid instead.
Your boyfriend tries his hardest to keep a straight face. Annoyed, yet also amused. And your lips are twitching to fight a giggle as you stare at him now, arms folded and non reactive.
Timmy can’t help but lick over his lips softly and remain close to you as he hovers your passenger seat. “You wanna try that again ?” his tone drops a little, but remains softened and you could melt again. You hate when he does this. Hate the way he gets you to just want to give up any fight and merge into him. You’re being silly to him, but for you, it was serious. Even now as your inching the smallest little smile, you peck his lips softly. Not much. But not whatever that was before.
Timothee’s impression unimpressed as his eyebrows dip in offense, “c’mon princess, you can do better than that.”
Your man was waiting. Expecting. Staying there for you.
You wanted to resist some more. But really who are you to deny the sweetest kisses from the movie star whom tons of girls were desperately aching to have for themselves right now ? Maybe their yearn fueled you sometimes, and you’ll admit it, a little greedy at others. But overall, Timothee had you beat all on his own.
Going in tenderly with a hand to his soft cheek, you give him a real kiss at once.
Sweet, persistent, hungry, and blissful. Like your tiresome and sorry. You could do this all day.
Timmy’s fully immersed in it. Eyes shut with a faint grin against your lips. The second you’re done, you go back in for another. Then another. A sight of relief exiting you helplessly.
“There she goes,” he murmurs in between your soft pecks with a smile, making you hum for it as he braces the back of your neck, “that’s my girl.”
You know completely that this is exactly what he wanted. And you’re annoyed, but your also melting into his hold as your stomachs doing little cartwheels. You’re done for.
Timothee’s kissing you with full confidence, truly carrying the reality of you being his girl, like a promise. You weren’t expecting him to gently pull away with a grasps still on the bridge of your neck as his green meets your eyes finally.
With doing so, he can see it. He’s not anything under being a very astute man. The tiny bit of sadness that was dancing in your eyes right now. The one you’re trying to bury underneath being a little bit of a brat.
But as you’re leaning into him, arms draped over his shoulders not ready to let up just yet, Timmy smiles as he soaks in that exact look.
“.. it’s only a few weeks, my love.”
His tone was a little too sweet. It made you want to crawl into a cave. The feeling you wanted to hide there, along with your urge to tear up a little in all honesty. But you didn’t want to be that girl.
Timothee gently pushed a few strands of hair from your face.
“I’ll make it up to you. You know that.”
“It’s gonna feel like ages, though.. you know I struggle,”
“I know.”
He was being so kind to you right now, bending down to his knee, just beneath your level, even against the gravel beneath the car. Your thumb runs against his cheek, near one of his beauty marks that you so adore.
You really do appreciate his effort a lot. But sometimes you wished he wasn’t as big as the world needed him to be.
You would settle for the gentle hip rubs from his hands now, and his sparkly eyes that were dazing up at you like he was ready to listen to your every word with care. With the weight of it all in his hands, it was a fact he never failed to be an extraordinary boyfriend. And you could say that with pride.
“Will you text me the moment you get out of your meeting ?”
“I swear. And.. show me whatever you find while shopping ? - - I don’t want to miss any cute mirror pics..”
You giggle softly and he smirks. Your lightly playing with the soft hairs curling around his ear. “I wouldn’t want to distract Hollywood’s lucky charm in his super top secret meeting...” You teased, but really you know him wanting to keep you as far from his filming life as possible most of the time, was for good measure. Even though it lingered there in your relationship at times.
Your man only wanted to protect what was between the two of you at most. He knows how much you want to be apart of his world, but he also wanted nothing more than to keep his heart, that being you, away from all the chaos that comes with it.
You couldn’t blame him, with his stardom it was enviable how much people were putting in just to have the tiniest glimpse of the two of you. And you’d never want that to overshadow the incredible hard work he puts into what he loves doing.
So ultimately, you meant your remarks to be with the tone of how truly proud of him you’d been.
You left a soft peck on his cheek again. Timmy scoffed as he looks away with a coy blush.
“You’re a good distraction, baby. Good distraction.” He chuckles with a breathy note and you knew that for now, his word was enough. “Just spare me.. Okay ?”
You were settling into your seat again with lingering eyes on him and a faint blush, your lips that still long to be kissed, mark a sweet “Kay.” Timothee shuts your door gently with a promising look, he circles the car to get behind the wheel.
As much as you didn’t want to, you couldn’t keep your hands off you’re phone during your alone (pampering) time to show your man what you’d been eyeing throughout the day, and it was mostly his fault for asking of you to. Busy as he might be, you could imagine him trying to just peak a look at the spam of photos he knows you’ve sent. Featuring a sequence of you in things from mini dresses to evening gowns. Even shorter sundresses that rises against your thighs just right. Your hand placement where his would be.
Now, Timmy was biting down on his lip in a meeting room with the midday light hitting his phone a little to perfectly. So perfect, he didn’t even have time to push his phone back in his pocket when a photo of you: wearing Givenchy, studded and draped fabric around your cleavage was now appearing in your text messages.
The arch in your back, where your hip curves and makes a shape he would slide his hand over if he’d been with you. To touch you was a different story, but just thinking about it was enough to have his breathing slower, but heavier.
He was about to give himself up right now.
Timothee tried to hide his soft smirk while he’d been in a discussion with his managers, a slouched position in his seat. But Brian narrowed as he watched him from across the table nearby.
Timothee launched forward the moment you sent another.
For the sake of not helping him at all, it been a live photo of course. One of you with your hand slightly tousling your hair a bit and you stood in front of the mirror like an angel, wearing his Cartier bracelet and in his favorite brands. This time a pretty mini denim skirt, and you turned so of course the cuff of your ass was hidden just enough by the fabric, but not too much so, that your boyfriend had been running a hand over his parched lips now.
Leafy eyes completely doted to his phone, even though it was the last thing he should’ve been doing.
He’s a professional for heavens sake.
But when it really came down to it, you were always gonna be something else for him.
Now leaning back in his chair, whispering a faint “fuck” to himself as he scanned over the table again, and back at his screen. What’s on his mind right now was clear. A simple reminder of how he had you last night: begging.
He started typing quickly,
get everything.
He taped send to you before shutting his phone at once and slipping it into his pocket. And on the other end of course, you read the text with a grin on your face that was a bit too excited about your work of just enough thigh — it had truly got you your earnings.
Your actions might’ve been out of pocket, and a little naughty your man would say, but really all it was is that you missed him after all.
☆
One last night.
Dramatically, you might say, before it’s an eternity till you’ll be seeing your boyfriend again. Realistically, three weeks before Timmy isn’t the worlds, but yours again.
You had to get back to your life after all. You had clients, people who need you too. But it’s hard for you not to get so swept up in his world all the time to the point where having to pause it felt like dread.
You almost didn’t want to think of it. Didn’t even want to look at your suit cases lounging around the suite half packed, half rummaged through. You just wanted to be held by him now.
All the time you spent together throughout awards season, promotion, his downtime — quick little satisfactions of love and devotion from your lover. But when he goes back to filming, especially across the world. It’s like preparing for a cold winter.
You’d been sunken into the king sized bed, curled up, warm and cuddling yourself gently in nothing but your underwear and the a complete unknown hoodie Timothee had been wearing countlessly lately. He had provided you one of your own of course, even in your desired color. But you just had to inserted yourself in his. Because it smelled of him, and it made you feel a little less lonely on a night like this.
To make the quite of what was to come even a tad more bearable, the tv flickering across the hotel room was playing one of his films as well. You hadn’t even noted which one at first. You just pressed it the moment you saw your man’s pretty face appear on the catalogue, to transmit the sound of his voice throughout the silent room. Curled up in your comfort now, you watch him on screen.
To be near him any way right now, was better than when even just a mere couple of hours, you’d be back to miles and miles away from him instead.
The sun was almost gone to the next day, and the slip of his key card against the hotel door was faint. Entering in gently, like he’d been trying his best to be quiet in case you’d passed out already. It didn’t even catch you as you’d been immersed in the images of him on screen. Totally oblivious to the fact that real Timmy had been back to you after the long day. Completely no knowledge your boyfriend crept in softly, the jacket on him loose but ready to slip off, and his curls with a tint of sweat from running to meetings and fittings back to back.
When he sees your fame from the doorway, curled up into the most adorable ball. When he saw himself that it was you’d been engaged in, it made his heart skip a couple beats. He’d have to admit it, he knows how much being gone all day really made you feel. Staying back at the hotel or out and about without him he knows how much it means to you. How much you crave him.
He did also adore it.
Timmy leans against the entry frame of the suite. Arms crossed and a soft grin on his lips.
Watching you watch him.
“Miss me or just staring at me ?”
You jump a bit at the sudden interruption of the soft spoken voice you knew like your own name. Your eyes find his frame, the movie star underneath a washed out grey hoodie, and a look of fondness washes over your expression. Tired eyes but pure smile. Timmy took that look in because he knows it so well. The one that makes him feel like he’s the only man on the planet. The untethered admiration you’d given him.
Something he would think there’s no way he even deserves it at times.
“Both..” your voice soft, sleepy, and you have a little sideways smile on your face as you watch him stuff his hands in his pocket and make his way over to the bed.
“I missed you.”
Timmy has the kind of grin on his face that make his eyes shine a bit more, shaking his head endearingly at just how gone you are for him. “Yeah ? Was that what you were trying to say through those photos earlier.. that nearly got me gutted in my own meeting ?”
You held back a giggle but your blush highlighted your cheeks. Your trailed off with a sense of guilt, but also a tiny hint of reward,
“You said you wanted pics of everything..”
“And I got it. But Jesus, baby..” Timothee chuckled lowly as you’d been adjusting yourself when he came up on where you lie in bed, biting your lip to hide the smile that was a little too proud. You watch him remove the covers from your legs gently to get comfortable with you.
So he was folding during his meeting. You knew it.
“Is it so bad a girl just misses her man?..” You repeated yourself with a honeyed tone and soft but longing eyes meeting his glossy ones.
Timothee didn’t hesitate to grab the remote nearby you, directing it at the tv that was broadcasting himself, and powered it off mid monologue. He was hovering you now with a look of total affirmation.
“I’m right here.” He murmured close to your ear, tone breathy and full of devotion before leaving the sweetest kiss on your neck. You could melt right there. Wrapping your arms over his shoulders with a small giggle because it was true. All you wanted.
He is right where he should be. Right here with you.
Your feeling his lips in the perfect spots, making the perfect moves on your skin. You part your thighs just enough so he’ll be able to fit right in between them. He lets his hands drift to gripping your legs to be secured around his waist. Not letting space between your bodies, and only the pure comfort of one another. You can’t say your heart was beating at a normal rate right now. Timmy definitely noticed it with the way his lips curled into a knowing smile, and he just wrapped you around him even tighter.
It made you want to sigh out desperately, with all the worries you had of tomorrow, but the warmth of right now being too good to miss.
Your hand faces his cheek, rubbing soft circles with your thumb as his eyes trail your chest, where your heart beats a thump after the other, to your face.
“That desperate for me, mon amour ?” He teased with that damn charm. His tone silk with a faint cockiness. Like he knows your every move. And a gentle grin, with lips brushing your skin again.
You could have groaned, but your blush just overtook your entire body temperature at this point.
For fucks sake. He’s too good.
You whine with soft laughter to hide your coyness now. You nuzzle your face into the side of Timothee’s neck. His sent filing you up like a high. You wished he would just shut up. Spare the time to make your need sink in, and just make you forget what was to come.
It was what you needed, and you could hope he did too.
So, not being able to hold on another minute, with your hands tangled in his soft curls — you just kiss him. Your lips on his like a careless crash. Needy even. You taste him like you’d never gotten to before. And how it never got old. You can tell Timmy is grinning against your mouth but your too stuck in a haze to care.
But for all the annoyance in the world, he’s not kissing you back.
In fact he drags it out, replenishes, lips barely hovering yours, just to make you chase it.
You wanted to curse. You could hit him right now.
He’s biting back a chuckle. He found amusement in getting you like this. Because every time it’s enviable he’ll give you what you want. But you still fall for the trap every time. Forever for him.
“Timothee.” your huffing impatiently with a whiny tone.
“What, baby ?”
“Kiss me.”
He groans a bit like you were asking him a task.
“Mmm.. nah, I rather get revenge from earlier..”
You had to pause and search his face for a moment before the thought came back to you of earlier today, when you’d revoked your kissing privileges from him first.
You wouldn’t accept that your attempt to be a brat had backfired on you. Because in all reality.. he actually deserved it. In a way.
Instead of protesting, you just roll your eyes and let your exaggerated whine do the talking for itself. Which Timmy laughs at the way you’ve caught your own tongue.
“Yeah. How does it feel, doll ?”
“Shut up, Timmy.”
You don’t care. Truly. You just wanted what you wanted. Him. Your chest falls softy as you just squeeze him a little and rest your forehead into his chest. Eyes a bit glossy as you let your heart sink into what was actually making you cling to him so much.
“In a couple of hours, we’ll both be on a plane.. Separate ones. So just- - kiss me, please ?” Your tone was light as you mumbled it into the cloth above his chest and you can feel him breathe out deeply. The way your hands had been around him now and your legs curled into his body a little more, all made him want to hold on to you and never let up.
And that’s when he pressed his lips to the crown of your head tenderly, with care, then made his way to your lips. Soft at first, then with a deep incline that had you closing your eyes and letting the softest relief go from the back of your throat.
There it is.
You physically sink into his kisses, hands grasping his chin just to get a better feel. Timothee makes sure his hands are cupping you into him as he rolls you against his body. “ma princesse,” he quietly groaned against your lips before parting from you apologetically, and reaching for the ends of his t-shirt to pull off.
You can’t hide your smile, your full body blush, not if you even tried.
Your wrists were being lifted to his lips as he pressed gentle kisses to your palm, your fingertips, and your knuckles with ease and a doting look in his eyes. You could get lost in the way he was observing you now as he loved on the soft parts of you like this. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and gave him full access before you noticed he’d been positioning himself lower on the bed sheets, Timothee’s curls falling into his eyes heavenly. He lowered himself over your tummy. More kisses here and there.
You automatically parted your legs for your boyfriend. And he’d fit snug. Chest rising as his hands find your calves and lift your thighs over his shoulders easily. Your body jilted as he tugged you closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to him. And his soft lips were still pressed to your upper core while a faint breath danced pass your lips.
Your warm, pulsing under the thin fabric you had on. And he loved it. He also adores the fact that it’s his hoodie you’re in right this second. With green eyes scanning your own, he never lets up from pecking your skin — reaching to push the hoodie out of the way, so that his hands could find the waist band of your thong.
Eyes swelling with devotion, you let him take over completely. Lifting your hips without hesitation so his fingertips would slide the fabric down your thighs, with controlled eagerness, and over your dangling feet. Once they’re out of the way, he puts your legs secure right over his shoulders. Timothee licks his lips once. Then another. Hunger swelling through his narrowed earthy eyes, familiar to you whenever he gave you his mouth. Usually with the light dim, your glowing cheeks on display, his knees against the ground, just like right now.
The subtle sound of your man pressing a kiss to your clit made you hum, it was enough to get your hands sliding through his dark freshly shortened curls, like a forest you knew the pathway by heart. You tug tenderly. “Timmy- -” your panting soft, and your lips part agape when he takes his time to scan your expression — his lips suction around the bud, and a euphoric kind of suck that has him closing his eyes achingly slow, like he’s being transported into another world full of you.
Your jaw goes flying within seconds.
Your moaning again, his name, soft “oh’s” while your other hand catches his locks too. Timothee nestled like home into the way the fullness of your thighs dip around his ears, slender fingers piercing the skin of your ass a bit as well, he moves you against his face, and his tongue gets a boost of its own. Dipping into you once, the taste makes him groan, and it’s totally known to both of you he’s erected just nicely under his joggers by now. “Mmm..” fills up your ears as your man let his digit get coated with your wetness, pleasuring you in little patterns across your cunt.
Your squeezing his shoulders, the nearest pillow, letting your head fall against the cushions.
“Fuck.. fuck, yes…” your moans are more like whimpers and chants — to which he finds adorable, especially when you can’t quite catch your breath; he reaches up to push his hoodie from your torso a little more when it’s crowding him. You suck in your lip as your legs go stiff, like you might lose the feeling in them from the way he’s plunging into your core, but Timmy keeps your legs apart, even directing them upwards for better access to where you drip. And you let his mouth take over your lower half like he’s the king and your his open treasure — that’s when a deeper moan exits your throat, from your veins, from your heart.
“Mmm- - yes ! Fuck — Timothee !” Your eyes go from being closed in bliss to watching him devour your slickness till your a panting mess, “More, more, more..”
“This ? Is this what you want, sweet girl ?” Your boyfriend’s low breathy tone comes in as his index finger finds it’s way of sliding over your folds, pace slow and teasing that makes you tremble, he enters you without any warning and your whimpering like it’s his to take.
“Oh… yeah, I wanna cum- - make me cum, baby..”
You didn’t have to ask him twice. Timmy kept his lips where you need them, loving the floods of pre-cum you left, and one hand was pumping into your clenched entrance.
It drove him crazy you to have you shaking like this.
All for him.
As well as the way he’s known to be a triple threat, he even brings his free hand up to dance above your skin, your perfect chest, and right to your plump lips as he pushes his middle and ring fingers between them. With a moan like a million ‘thank you’s’ to the universe for a man like Timothee — you suck on his fingers like it was your birth right.
Your mind had been at a total halt for the first time today. Nothing but you, him, and the climax that was about to hit you like falling through heaven.
“That’s it- - cum on my tongue like a good girl.. show me how much you’re gonna miss me when we’re apart..”
Like that, you felt the feeling in your legs go numb, trembling like you couldn’t control the urge to let out a scream — Timothee might’ve sucked a bruise onto you by the velocity he was going, the rhythm of his tongue, and the way he flexed his jaw to completely devour you.
With curled toes and a rippled whine, the kind that had brought tears from your eyes — not only from the sensational feeling, but the reflection of his words. You really were a muse for just how much you’d miss him right this second. The muscle memory of his pleasuring mouth on you already engraved to where you gushed right now, and your boyfriend laid his tongue flat against your folds not to miss a drop.
His deep but soft moans echo throughout your core when your legs finally soften. Your tension is destroyed. Your relaxed, and to his delight, dripping with sweetness. — So, with a content exhale, he press a savory kiss to your inner thigh, then he rising and leaves a lengthy one on your knee that said, ‘mine’
Your smile has your cheeks burning nearly, and even more so with your flush. Timothee had a goofy yet cute grin on his face as he climbs on top of your body again, chest heaving but soft giggles filling the air from you as your boyfriend melts into your embrace over him. Kissing you deep and your softly moaning into each and every one, molding with him once again.
You can feel him against our core, harder than you guessed. And fuck did he feel too inviting even through the barrier of his joggers. Rubbing against you. Your breath hitched and you gripped the nape of his neck as you pulled away mid kiss to utter, “Let me take care of you, T..” your hand was already inching down his chest, even as your lips linger his — but he was tirelessly sinking into the opened of your neck. You could feel him taking a soft whiff of your sent.
“Shh, baby… I just wanna be with you- - just let me be with you for now.”
You were showcasing a fond little smile beneath your bitten lip. You could swear right now that you felt your heart beats even sink up while you held him, and his arms squeezed a little tighter around your waist.
There would be hundreds of cities you’d cross over tomorrow, and think of him, your Timmy. And there would be a million faces he’ll encounter in the next couple of weeks and still be ready for you.
But you had him now. A version of Timothee that was the most present, the most loving and completely intertwined with you.
Only a fool would waste that thinking of tomorrow.
*Sirius doing one of those videos where celebs react to google searches*
Sirius, opening the first google search: Is Sirius Black gay?
Sirius, looking into the camera: Well, I mean I have a boyfriend, his name is Remus, who is two heads taller than me and fucks me into the bed twice a day, but I dunno, really, ask historians;)
mentions: fame au, modern au, everyone is alive, mentions of ed, smoking, drinking, romance, angst, smut, fucking in the bathroom, oral & fingering (r!receiving).
author note: suprisingly this was highly requested ! very long fanfic so get something to eat!
You were a model—not a household name, not a face plastered on every billboard in Manhattan or Paris—but you walked. You moved. You made it somewhere. You’d been in a few Vogue spreads, dimly lit behind the star of the page. You’d walked Victoria’s Secret runways, wings stitched to your back like borrowed dreams. You weren’t the centerpiece, but you were there, shimmering in the glow of flashbulbs and eyes that didn't always see you.
As much as girls romanticized it—modeling was war. Polished smiles in front of the camera, but behind the scenes? It was elbows out, lips stitched shut. A competition of bone counts and measurements, where praise sounded like “you finally look thinner” and love came in the shape of hunger.
When you first started, your manager had you on diets so strict they felt like rituals—punishment masked as discipline. Celery sticks for breakfast, water for dinner, shame for dessert. There were nights when your body rebelled, when you’d throw everything up until your vision blurred and your ribs ached. You smiled anyway, because that’s what pretty girls did.
Then came the miracle.
Victoria’s Secret reached out. They wanted you—a new Angel. And God, you flew. You cried in the back of your Uber, mascara bleeding into your palms. When the official post dropped on their Instagram, your phone lit up like a Christmas tree. Follows. Blue checks. Brands. People cared.
And yet... people commented.
Under the glowing announcement, buried between the fire emojis and “she’s perfect,” came the venom.
“She’s too thick to be an Angel.”
“She doesn’t have the face for it.”
“Bet she slept her way in.”
You told yourself not to look. You did anyway. You always did.
And you tried to brush it off. You liked the positive comments. You reposted the good ones. You told yourself the hate came with the fame. That it was just noise. But even angels have soft spots under their wings.
You weren’t famous-famous. You were known. Seen. Not always remembered. But in a world that wanted you to be skin and air, you were something real. And that, maybe, was enough.
Abby Anderson was everywhere.
Her face graced the cover of every major sports magazine—ESPN, Women’s Health, Boxing Monthly—always front and center, gloves slung over her shoulder like royalty, like muscle wrapped in silk. When competition season rolled around, her image lit up city billboards like neon prayers. Times Square. L.A. Live. Hell, even Tokyo had her gritted smile above the skyline.
She wasn’t just known—she was inevitable.
Her Instagram was a force of nature. Millions of followers, all eyes on her knuckles, her callouses, her workouts, her smirks. The caption could be two words—“Try me”—and it’d break the algorithm. Her fans called themselves the Anderson Army, flooding every comment section with love, awe, thirst. Her fights sold out in minutes. Pay-per-view numbers shattered records. Even people who didn’t watch boxing knew who she was.
Abby was a beast in the ring. Some called her a bull—not because she was reckless, but because she was unstoppable. Every match she walked into, she didn’t just win, she dominated. Her fists moved like poetry written in blunt force. Her footwork was tactical, brutal, almost unfair. Opponents fell before the second round like they knew what was coming.
And she looked damn good doing it.
Viral TikToks caught her mid-punch, sweat-glossed and godly, jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. There were fan cams edited like music videos. Tweets that said, “Abby Anderson could knock me out and I’d say thank her.” Gym clips turned into thirst traps. She didn’t try to be hot—she just was.
She had the fame, the fans, the money, the muscles, the girls who lined up for a chance to be close. And her team? Top-tier. Nutritionists, trainers, publicists, stylists. Everything about her life looked like it was curated for a champion, and it was—because she earned it.
Every scar, every bruise, every early morning and broken rib—it paid off.
Abby Anderson had the world in a chokehold, and the world loved it.
Your friend was the kind of model who didn’t just walk runways—she owned them. Her name alone got invites to the most exclusive parties in the city, the kind of places where no phones were allowed but everyone knew everything that happened anyway. You were surprised when she asked you to be her plus-one.
“Please come,” she’d said, voice syrupy over the phone. “Some other friends are coming, but you're the only one who doesn’t drink. Help me make sober choices, yeah?”
You laughed softly but agreed. You couldn’t say no—not just because you cared, but because deep down, you wanted to see it. That other world. That forbidden, neon-lit underbelly of the elite.
She helped you pick out a dress, too—that dress. A black, sequined slip of a thing that clung to every curve like it had been sewn on with whispers. The neckline plunged like a dare, held up by the thinnest black straps. A small silver clasp cinched the cutout just beneath your chest, the only thing keeping the whole thing from unraveling completely. It was short—dangerously short—and it shimmered with every breath, every turn, catching the light like stars stuck to your skin. Paired with simple black heels and your hair down in soft waves, you looked like temptation bottled.
The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived.
It was hot—humid with bodies and bass, sweat and perfume clinging to the air. The kind of party where everyone was somebody. The room reeked of status, of secrecy. Celebrities you once idolized were tucked into dark corners, drinking like they were trying to forget their own names. Others were laughing too loudly, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. The scent of weed, champagne, and something chemical lingered everywhere. A haze of smoke floated near the chandeliers like a ghost.
If only the paparazzi saw this. The unfiltered version of fame.
Your friend tugged you by the wrist to a booth she had rented out—elevated just enough to overlook the dance floor like a throne. You sat down, pressing your thighs together on the cold leather couch, the sequins of your dress crackling faintly. You nursed a single drink, barely sipping it as the others around you knocked shots back like water.
Laughter. Slurred voices. Someone snorted something off a phone screen. You stayed silent, posture poised, eyes scanning. Watching.
Eventually, your friend stood, swaying just a little. “I’m heading to the dance floor with them,” she said, already halfway gone.
You nodded, a little uneasy, but you understood. This was her scene.
Now it was just you. Sitting alone in a storm of sound and sweat, the only one not drunk, not high, not tangled up in the mess. Just quiet, calm, and breathtaking in your dress like a still frame inside a film reel spinning too fast.
You lasted longer than you thought you would—sitting pretty and still, the only clear head in a room full of beautiful chaos. But it was starting to crawl under your skin. The sound, the heat, the way the air felt like it was breathing you in. Your nerves were humming too loud for comfort. So, with a quiet sigh, you got up from the booth and decided to make your way to the bar.
Eyes followed you the moment you stood. Like hounds catching a scent.
You kept your gaze low, trying not to make contact. You weren’t here to mingle with the rich tweakers and chemically confident heirs of nothing. Every time someone tried to strike up a conversation, you gave them a single word—“No.” “Sorry.” “Taken.” Short. Sharp. Enough to cut without bleeding.
Then someone touched you.
A hand, too firm, closed around your arm. You stopped cold. Turned.
His face was familiar—he might’ve been in a movie, or maybe the son of someone who was. But his pupils were so wide they swallowed the color of his eyes, and the whites were streaked red like cracks in glass. He wasn’t just high. He was gone.
“Hey…” he slurred, breath sticky. “What you doing all alone?”
You flinched at his tone, at the sway of his body. Your stomach twisted, but you managed a polite, strained smile. “I’m not alone, sir. I’m here with my friends.”
“Mm,” he grinned, like he didn’t believe you. Like he didn’t care. He tugged your arm, pulling you closer like you were some party favor to unwrap.
Your heart skipped in fear and instinct—your fingers grabbed at your arm, trying to yank free.
“You got a boyfriend?” he asked, voice low and greasy.
“I—”
Before you could answer, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. Solid. Protective. Warm.
“Fuck off,” a deep voice growled behind you. “She’s with me.”
The guy froze. His hand dropped like he’d touched fire.
You turned your head—and there she was.
Abby Anderson.
She stood tall, her shadow swallowing the guy whole. Muscles carved into her like she’d been sculpted, not born. Her jaw clenched just enough to say try me. The air shifted. The guy muttered something, barely audible, then backed off into the crowd like a kicked dog.
You exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.
“Thank you so much,” you said, voice still shaky with adrenaline.
“No problem,” Abby replied, eyes steady on yours.
Then she looked you up and down—slowly, deliberately. Her gaze lingered at your dress, lips twitching in approval. “You want a drink?” she asked.
You nodded. “Yeah... I was on my way to the bar.”
“Perfect,” she said, her hand brushing your lower back. “Let’s go.”
The dance floor was a different world entirely—smoke in the air, lights strobing in pulses of red and gold, bodies packed so tight you could feel the music in your bones. It wasn’t dancing, not really. It was moving, grinding, existing too close and not close enough all at once.
Abby held your hand as she led you through the crowd like she knew exactly where to go. Her grip was firm, grounding. She stopped in the center, surrounded by heat and rhythm, and turned to face you with a look that was half playful, half something deeper.
You bit your lip. “So this is the part where you pretend to dance?”
Abby chuckled, hands already settling on your waist. “Nah. This is the part where I let you lead and pretend I’m doing something.”
The bass thumped through the floor, into your heels, your spine. You started slow, swaying your hips to the beat, your hands brushing up Abby’s chest to hook behind her neck. She followed your rhythm effortlessly, bodies pressed just enough to tease, but not quite enough to satisfy.
She was warm, solid, her scent sharp and clean beneath the smoke and sweat. Her gaze didn’t leave yours—not for a second. Not even when your thighs brushed, not even when your hips tilted forward in a soft, suggestive grind.
You felt her breath catch. Yours did too.
You tilted your head up, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Still pretending?” you whispered.
“No,” she breathed. “Not anymore.”
Her hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Every motion was slow and deliberate, like she was trying to memorize how you moved, how your body fit into hers.
Your hands were in her hair now, fingers threading through the strands as your mouth hovered near hers, your noses touching, foreheads brushing.
And then—
She kissed you.
Right there on the dance floor, under a flickering red light, while the whole room spun and bodies crashed around you. Her lips crashed into yours with a heat that left no room for second thoughts. It was messy and perfect, her mouth tasting like whiskey and victory. Her hand slid up your back, cradling the base of your neck like you were something precious, and the kiss deepened—tongues brushing, teeth grazing, everything hungry and real.
You kissed her like you were tired of pretending. Like the night belonged to you both and everyone else was just noise.
By the time you pulled away, breathless and dazed, her forehead was still pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded, lips slick from yours.
“Still wanna call it one dance?” you asked, voice husky.
She smirked, lips brushing yours again. “Nah. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Come with me,” she murmured, her voice like gravel and silk.
She took your hand again—firmer this time—and pulled you through the crowd. Past the dancers. Past the bar. You barely noticed where you were going, but when she pushed open the heavy black door and the cool tile of the upscale bathroom greeted your heels, it hit you—
This wasn’t gonna be a quiet conversation.
The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. The room was dim, bathed in golden light from crystal fixtures on the walls. Too pretty a place for what was about to happen.
You turned around to face her, but Abby was already close again, crowding into your space in the most delicious way. Her hands found your hips, then slid around to your lower back, pulling you against her like she needed you there.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” she whispered, leaning down, lips brushing over your jaw. “Walking around like that in that little black dress…”
Your breath caught as her mouth ghosted along your skin—cheek to jaw to neck.
“I didn’t know I’d catch a boxer’s attention,” you teased, voice barely steady.
Abby’s teeth scraped lightly against your throat, just enough to make your knees wobble.
“You caught a lot more than that,” she growled. “You think I was just gonna let you sit there alone, looking like that? Not a chance.”
Her lips met yours again, but this time it was rougher—needy. Her hands explored your back, your sides, fingers grazing bare skin as she pushed you gently until your back hit the cool tile wall. The contrast made you gasp, and she took full advantage, deepening the kiss like she owned your mouth, like she’d waited too long already.
Your hands were in her hair again, tugging gently, nails dragging along her scalp. She groaned into your mouth, one hand sliding down to your thigh—lifting it so it rested against her hip.
You moaned softly as the pressure between you built, your bodies locked together in this stolen moment of heat and hunger and want.
“Say the word,” she breathed against your lips, her hand hovering, waiting.
“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”
That was all she needed.
Her lips brushed yours—not a kiss yet, just the idea of one. Soft enough to make your breath catch. Her nose nudged yours, foreheads touching. You could smell her—warm and clean beneath the sweat and cologne, with a faint trace of whiskey still on her breath.
Her hand slid up your thigh, knuckles grazing the hem of your dress. “This is driving me insane,” she whispered. “You in this little thing, walking around like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
You grinned, high on the rush. “Maybe I do.”
Abby groaned, a low sound in the back of her throat that lit you up from the inside out. Her mouth met yours in a kiss that melted all the air between you. Her lips were soft but firm, her hand gripping your waist, dragging you into her as if she couldn’t bear even an inch of space left untouched.
You whimpered into her mouth when she pressed you harder into the wall, thigh slipping between yours, nudging upward with steady pressure.
“You’re already warm,” she whispered against your lips, voice thick and ragged. “And fuck—you’re shaking.”
You were. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation, trembling like your body already knew what was coming.
Her hands moved with purpose—sliding up your sides, over your ribs, finding the zipper of your dress and pausing. “Can I?” she asked, voice low.
You nodded.
The zipper purred down, slow and deliberate, as cool air kissed the skin of your back. Your dress slipped from your shoulders like it was made to fall. Abby let it, guiding it down your arms until it pooled around your feet.
The way she looked at you then—
Like she was starving. Like you were everything.
Her hands roamed up your thighs, trailing goosebumps in their wake. Her palms were rough, used to wrapping around gloves and landing punches, but they touched you like silk. Her fingers splayed across your stomach, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as she leaned in and kissed the base of your throat—slow, reverent.
“You’re unreal,” she murmured against your skin.
You tilted your head back, a soft moan escaping you as her lips traveled down your collarbone, every kiss a promise, every pause a test of restraint. She took her time, building you up with touches and kisses so gentle you felt like you were going to come apart before she even got there.
She dropped to her knees, lips ghosting over your stomach now, her hands gripping your thighs again. You looked down at her—this powerhouse of a woman, a boxer with bruised knuckles and fire in her eyes—kneeling for you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Abby…”
“I got you,” she whispered. “I want to take care of you.”
And the way she said that?
It didn’t sound like a pick-up line.
It sounded like a promise.
Her mouth pressed a kiss to your hipbone. Then another. Then lower.
You threaded your fingers into her hair, back arching as you felt her breath where you needed her most, every nerve ending screaming awake, your whole body aching for her.
When her mouth finally met your skin, hot and slow and deliberate, you gasped—and that was when you stopped thinking altogether.
You were hers. In this moment. In this heat.
Your breath hitched, when you felt her mouth on your heat, exploring you.
She picked up on every whine you made in certain spots and attacked them with her tongue.
"Fuck you're so sweet," she mumbled against you which made up moan.
She was slow, at first. torturously soft licks and kisses on your clit that made your knees buckle. Then deeper—pressing and sucking in a rhythm that felt otherworldly. You gripped her hair, fingers tangling in her golden strands, moaning shamelessly as she devoured you like it was the only thing she needed to survive.
She worked you open like a prizefighter dissecting her opponent—calculated, relentless, skilled. She knew exactly when to add pressure, when to ease up, when to slide her two thick fingers inside you and curl them just right, making you yell out her name in pleasure.
She sucked on your clit as she continued to finger you. The sound of your arousal filled the bathroom as she fingered you. "Fuck Abby," you moaned out.
The sound of your voice moaning out her name only made her more determined to make you cum. Her fingers got faster and your moans only got louder.
You heard loud knocks on the bathroom door and a few voices, but that didnt stop Abby as you grew closer to your climax.
Abby pulled her mouth away and stood, her fingers still inside of you as she kept a steady pace. Her thumb rubbing your abused and swollen clit making you tremble. She used her other hand to grab your throat, gripping it with just enough pressure. "Are you gonna cum?," she whispered.
"Yes...fuck yes. I'm so close," you whined.
"Be a good girl and cum all over my fingers," she commands.
After a few more pumps of her fingers inside of your cunt. You came and hard. Abby kissed you muffling your moans as she slowed her pace, helping you calm down from your high.
The silence after the storm was thick and golden.
Your chest was rising and falling fast, dress wrinkled and hanging low on your hips, hair a wild halo around your flushed face.
You both stayed like that for a few heartbeats—no words, just the sound of your breathing and the muted thump of the party outside, miles away from the moment you were in.
Then, slowly, Abby's big hands gently slid up your sides.
“You good?” she asked, voice hoarse and low, her thumb brushing along your jaw.
You nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” you murmured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Very good.”
She let out a soft laugh, something cocky and proud warming her expression. “Yeah? Scale of one to ten?”
You leaned back against the wall, eyes twinkling. “Ten. Maybe eleven.”
“Damn right,” she said, grinning now, stepping behind you to pull the straps of your dress back over your shoulders.
Her fingers moved deftly, pulling the zipper up in a slow, smooth line that sent a fresh shiver down your spine.
Then you turned around to face her and—
“Oh my God,” you giggled, pressing a hand to your mouth.
“What?” Abby blinked, instantly alert. “Did I mess up the zipper?”
“No,” you said, biting your lip to stop from laughing. “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth. Like… everywhere. You look like you fought a tube of MAC and lost.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
You nodded, laughing now, reaching up to wipe her face gently with your thumb. “You look ridiculous. Hot, but ridiculous.”
Abby grinned, totally unfazed. “Badge of honor.”
Then—bam bam bam—a sudden knock on the bathroom door, followed by the obnoxious giggle of some drunk stranger.
“Yo, hurry up in there! We gotta piss!”
Abby rolled her eyes and looked at you with a smirk. “And just like that… the moment’s gone.”
You both burst out laughing, quietly, like a shared secret. She reached for the door handle, pausing just before she opened it.
“You wanna get outta here?” she asked. “We can go somewhere quieter. Talk. Or… not talk.”
You tilted your head, smiling soft, still feeling the fire she left behind glowing low in your belly.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”
The bathroom door swung open and the two of you stepped out, back into the chaos.
The music hit first—thick, heavy, vibrating through your chest. Then came the blur of heat, perfume, weed, strobe lights flickering off mirrored walls. People pressed in from every side, some dancing, some spilling drinks, all of them moving like they were floating through honey.
But you weren’t really paying attention to any of it—your focus was still wrapped around Abby, your skin still buzzing where she touched you.
Then—
“Baaaaabe!” your friend slurred, suddenly appearing from the crowd like a glittering, unhinged fairy. Her dress was sliding off one shoulder and her mascara had migrated halfway down her cheek, but she was grinning ear to ear, holding a bottle of something pink and dangerous.
She threw her arms around you in a sloppy hug. “We’re leaaavinggg,” she declared, then looked up at you with wide eyes. “I want Whataburger. Like now.”
You blinked. “You’re hungry?”
“I’m starviiing,” she drawled, stumbling a little in her platforms. “I want fries. And a honey butter chicken biscuit. And you’re drivinggg.”
Of course. You should’ve known. Mom friend mode: activated.
You turned back to Abby, who stood there watching you with that low smirk that made your knees weak. Her hair was tousled now, lips wiped clean, but her eyes still held that same heat from the bathroom. That want.
You hesitated. “I’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, keeping your voice low. “I gotta take care of her. But I’ll—um—I’ll add you on Instagram. And we can text. Set something up. Soon.”
Abby nodded, the smirk shifting into something softer. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be waiting. Don’t leave me on read.”
You smiled, heart fluttering a little. “I won’t.”
And even though it wasn’t a kiss goodbye, there was something electric in the way your eyes lingered on each other just a second too long, like the universe wasn’t done with this yet.
Then your friend yanked on your hand. “WHATABURGER, BITCH.”
You laughed, throwing one last look over your shoulder at Abby before diving into the crowd, one arm wrapped around your intoxicated bestie, guiding her like a lighthouse through a sea of chaos.
Your phone buzzed in your purse.
A follow request from Abby Anderson.
Your friend was still tearing up her Whataburger like it was a competition and she was winning gold. Honey butter chicken biscuit? Gone. Fries? Vanishing. Drink? Half-empty and clutched in her glittered claws like she was fighting dehydration and heartbreak.
You? You were in another world, sipping your diet coke and staring at your phone like it had just whispered something sinful.
[1 notification]
abbytheanderson sent you a follow request.
You blinked. Already? You hadn’t even left the damn parking lot. She was good.
You tapped accept, and no lie—your stomach flipped like it was performing stunts. Not even thirty seconds later, another buzz.
abbytheanderson 🥊: hey beautiful
You bit down on a smile, typing back before your brain could overthink it.
you: hey you :)
Buzz.
abbytheanderson 🥊: couldn’t let you disappear like that. you left me wanting more.
You swore your pulse skipped. This woman had a black belt in flirting.
you: good thing you found me then
abbytheanderson 🥊: definitely. hey, random—but you free this weekend?
Your heart sped up. You took a quick sip of your drink to cool down your face, fingers dancing over the keyboard.
you: yeah, i think so. why?
abbytheanderson 🥊: there’s a film showcase downtown. some sports doc screening, bunch of celebs. got an invite +1, and i figured it might be more fun with you.
A movie showcase. That was not casual. That was dress up, flashbulbs, maybe a red carpet territory. Your stomach turned into champagne bubbles.
you: you want me to be your date?
abbytheanderson 🥊: unless you’ve got another famous boxer in your dms rn 👀
You laughed into your drink.
you: nope. just the hottest one.
abbytheanderson 🥊: damn right. i’ll pick you up saturday. wear something that’ll make me stare the whole night.
You locked your phone with a sigh, brain short-circuiting. Your bestie looked up from her fries with ketchup on her cheek.
“Why do you look like you just got proposed to?”
You smiled into your straw. “I’ve got a date.”
Your best friend stood behind you, clutching a makeup brush like it was a wand. "Sit still or I’m gonna make your winged liner look like a lightning bolt."
You giggled, sipping your iced coffee while she dabbed a warm highlight onto your cheekbones. “If Abby sees me and combusts, I blame you.”
She winked. “That’s the goal.”
The dress was hanging up on the door like it needed its own spotlight.
It was the dress—like Aphrodite and red carpet royalty had a baby and named her “divine.” A shimmering champagne gold that sparkled under even the faintest light, clinging to your curves like it was sculpted just for your body. The fabric was sheer but layered in all the right places, ruched along the hips and gathered at the waist in a delicate knot that accentuated everything. Strapless and sensual, the neckline cupped your chest softly and dipped into a subtle sweetheart shape, drawing the eye upward—no necklace needed, just collarbones and confidence.
The choker was a sheer mesh ribbon, soft and romantic, tied in the back like a little secret. And in your hand? A small velvet clutch that looked like luxury.
"Okay," your friend said, stepping back and crossing her arms like a proud stylist. "You look like you're about to walk into a movie and walk out with the star."
You turned to the mirror and exhaled. You looked… expensive. Golden. Ethereal.
And somewhere out there, Abby Anderson was probably trying to tie a tie and not think about your lips.
“Okay,” you said, smoothing your dress down, trying not to ruin your makeup by grinning too hard. “Let’s go melt her brain.”
The car door clicked shut behind you, heels clicking on the pavement like your own entrance music. The showcase was already buzzing—paparazzi lights flashing in bursts, guests in tailored designer looks pouring into the venue like liquid silk and velvet. Your driver looped back around, and your friend gave you a quick squeeze on the hand.
“You got this. Go make that boxer wish she had a mouthguard.”
You grinned, rolling your eyes and walking toward the entrance, that golden dress shimmering with every step like you were dipped in honey and starfire. The fabric clung just enough to whisper with movement, catching the camera flashes even when they weren’t aimed at you. Heads turned. People stared. And somewhere near the doors—
She saw you.
Abby was standing near the carpet, talking to some guy in a sports jacket, but the second her eyes landed on you? Conversation dead. Her jaw? Slightly dropped. Like someone had just uppercut her with Cupid’s fist.
She looked… good. Too good. A tailored black suit, no tie, but the first two buttons of her shirt open to show a bit of her collarbone and that stupidly strong chest. Her hair slicked back like she stepped off a Vogue Homme cover, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a drink she no longer remembered existed.
You saw her lips move—"Holy shit."
You floated up to her like you were gliding, heels clicking like punctuation to her stunned silence.
“Hey,” you said, giving her a smile that would’ve won wars. “I clean up alright, huh?”
“‘Alright’?” Abby shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving you, and damn if there wasn’t a glint of something primal in them. “You look like a damn goddess.”
You blushed, biting your lip just a little. “Not bad for a plus-one?”
“I’m upgrading your title. You’re the main event now.”
She reached out, offering you her arm like some old Hollywood gentleman, but the smirk on her face was all Abby—cocky, smooth, a little dangerous.
You took it.
The two of you walked the carpet together, and the cameras noticed. Photographers subtly turned toward the tall boxer and the glowing mystery girl on her arm. Whispers floated like perfume: “Is that Abby Anderson’s date?” “Who is she?” “She looks like a star.”
Inside, the lights were dimmer, the ambiance expensive and dramatic—velvet seats, champagne trays, and a giant screen waiting for the showcase to begin. Abby guided you to your seats, but not without sneaking glances at you like you were illegal and she wanted to get arrested.
“So,” she murmured, leaning close once you were seated. “What are the odds I get you to be my plus-one again? I was thinking… a real date. One with dessert and less paparazzi.”
You looked at her, still glowing from the lights, the crowd, the adrenaline.
“I’d say the odds are pretty high,” you whispered back.
She grinned, and you swore your stomach did a little backflip.
The movie hadn’t even started, but you already felt like you were living in one.
The afterparty was on the rooftop of the venue—elevators opening to golden lights strung like constellations, sleek white lounges, and a panoramic view of the city glittering below like a spilled jewelry box. The music was mellow, expensive-sounding. People sipped cocktails like they were made of stardust and name-dropped producers like prayers.
Abby got swept into a circle of suits and sharp smiles, people clapping her on the back, toasting to her latest win, asking questions with ulterior motives. She smiled through it, charming without trying, but you could feel her eyes flick to you every few minutes.
You wandered off to the ledge, the wind teasing your hair, your dress still glowing faintly under the rooftop lights. You leaned your elbows on the glass railing, the city stretching out like a promise, the hum of nightlife pulsing below you like a heartbeat.
Your drink was cold in your hand, but your skin still buzzed from earlier—her arm on yours, the way she looked at you like you were art in motion.
“Hey.”
Her voice came soft behind you, lower now, free of the public version of herself. You turned and found her there, hands in her pockets, her suit jacket open just enough to make your pulse trip.
“You done charming the VIPs?” you teased.
She gave a low chuckle, stepping up beside you. “They were boring as hell. I missed this view.”
You raised a brow. “The skyline?”
“No,” she said without hesitation, her eyes dragging down your profile like a caress. “You.”
That earned her a quiet laugh from you, heat rushing up your neck. “You’re really laying it on tonight, huh?”
“I’m just saying what I’m thinking.” Her shoulder brushed yours. “So… what do you do when you’re not breaking hearts in golden dresses?”
You hesitated for a second, still looking out at the city. “I model. Victoria’s Secret.”
That made her blink. “Wait—seriously?”
You nodded, a little sheepish. “I mean… I’m not like, one of those Angels. I’m usually backup. Fill-ins. Commercial stuff. They don’t exactly put me on billboards in Times Square.”
Abby looked at you for a long moment, her head tilted. “That’s wild.”
“What is?”
“That there are people out there who didn’t put you on a billboard. I’d hang a photo of you in every damn room of my house.”
You turned to her with a laugh, playful and warm. “Wow, romantic and a little bit stalker-y. Impressive.”
She grinned, closing the small space between you. “Tell me where the line is, and I’ll try not to cross it.”
You looked at her. Really looked. The city lights caught in her eyes, and something about her felt safe even in the middle of all this chaos. You smiled, heart softening.
“There’s no line,” you murmured.
Abby’s smile shifted, gentler now. She looked at you like you were something to be unwrapped slowly. “Then I’ll keep standing right here.”
You turned toward her fully now, leaning your hip against the railing, one hand cradling your glass while the other played with the condensation on the side. The wind tugged gently at the fabric of your dress, making it shimmer even more in the light. Abby was looking at you like you were unreal, but she blinked when you spoke, brought back to the present.
“So…” you tilted your head, curiosity playing in your voice. “Why boxing?”
That made her smile, and not the kind she gave the higher-ups—this one was smaller, more personal, like a story lived too long in her chest.
She shrugged a little. “I used to watch it on TV with my dad. Every Saturday night. He was always busy at the hospital, but when there was a fight on, we were synced. Like… we got each other.”
You nodded softly, listening.
“I started wrestling in school—figured it was the closest I could get. Got recruited, did alright. But it never felt like mine, y’know? Then I tried boxing. First time I landed a punch clean, everything clicked. I was like—this is it. This is the fire.”
You bit your lip, something warm blooming in your chest. There was a sparkle in her eyes now, not from the city lights, but from the weight of meaning behind her words. Passion always looked good on people—but on Abby? It was devastating.
“That’s hot,” you said, softly but truthfully. “Like, actually hot. You knowing who you are like that.”
She huffed a little laugh, rubbing the back of her neck, suddenly sheepish. “You’re the first person I’ve told that to in a while.”
You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Well… you picked the right person. I’m an excellent secret-keeper. They don’t let just anyone model underwear, you know.”
That made her grin wide, her eyes roaming your face like she was trying to memorize it. “You really gonna keep talking like that and not expect me to kiss you again?”
Your breath caught a little, heartbeat fluttering as the tension curled tighter between you like a string pulled taut.
“I mean,” you whispered, leaning in just an inch, “I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”
She didn’t rush. Abby leaned forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. You leaned in, too, until your lips met in a soft, barely-there kiss. Not like the heated one from the club. This one was warm and lingering, like a question you already knew the answer to.
When you finally pulled back, both of you smiling, you rested your head lightly against her shoulder, looking back out at the glittering skyline.
“So…” you murmured, “You planning on knocking anyone out tonight, champ?”
She smirked. “Only if they try to take you from me.”
The car ride back was quiet in a good way. Abby drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing your thigh like she just had to remind herself you were really there. The city outside the window melted by in a blur of neon and soft shadows, and the gentle beat of the music wrapped around you like a lullaby.
By the time you reached your apartment, the air had cooled down to a soft breeze, lifting the hem of your dress and brushing over your skin like a whisper. Abby parked and got out before you could even reach for the door handle. She walked you to your door like a proper date, her hands in her pockets, her steps slow—like she didn’t want the night to end just yet.
You turned to face her at your door, heels clicking softly against the concrete. “Thank you for tonight,” you said, your voice warm and low, your smile a little sleepy but no less sincere.
Abby looked down at you with that easy grin of hers, one side of her mouth curling higher than the other. “No problem, angel,” she murmured. The nickname settled on your skin like velvet, making your cheeks heat in the soft moonlight.
You turned to unlock your door, keys jingling—but something stopped you. A quiet little nudge in your chest. You turned back around, heart kicking up a notch. She looked surprised at first when you stepped toward her, but she didn’t ask questions.
You leaned in and kissed her.
This one was slower. Softer. There wasn’t any club music thudding behind you this time, no crowd, no chaos. Just the two of you and the buzz of the porch light. Her lips tasted like the mint gum she always chewed, yours like sweet gloss and maybe a little bit of stardust.
When you finally pulled away, her eyes fluttered open like she’d been floating somewhere far off.
She smirked and licked her lips, clearly feeling the gloss residue.
You laughed quietly, hand brushing her chest as you stepped back toward the door. “I put on just lip gloss this time… so it’s not hard to take off.”
She grinned, something a little cocky flickering behind her lashes. “You planned that?”
You winked. “Maybe.”
“Smart girl,” she murmured, biting her bottom lip before taking a slow step back. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
You nodded, your fingers resting on the doorframe, reluctant to let the night end. “Okay. Drive safe.”
“Always do,” she said, and then—one last look, one last smirk—she turned and walked back toward her car, the night gently folding around her.
You leaned against the door with a quiet exhale, smiling to yourself like a fool.
an : i don't want it to be too long...so part 2 coming soon!
actor!satoru gojo x singer!fem!reader
[welcome to the introduction!]
welcome to Tokyo, Japan: the hotspot for pop culture! you, a singer and songwriter, wrapped up your tour for your last album six months ago. things got... messy, and you needed a break. but now you're back and ready to finish your next album! what will be the inspiration for this one?
CONTENT WARNING: fame au, fem!reader, explicit language, suggestive content, alcohol/drugs, jokes about su!c!de & other sensitive subjects. Tokyo is like the Hollywood of this au! most big media events happen there (film awards, galas, parties, etc.). face claim is obviously sabrina carpenter but it's mainly for her song lyrics, descriptions of reader will be vague and only if necessary :)
Summary- It was a tradition to ‘arrest’ someone at your concert for being too hot before a certain song. Your actor boyfriend was at the show today…
category- fluff
warnings- slightly suggestive, not proofread
word count: 1298
masterlist; celebrity masterlist; short n’ sweet au masterlist
---------------------------
You were currently on tour for your new album Short n’ Sweet. You were a couple of months into the tour and your boyfriend still hasn’t attended, which had caused much ruckus on the media that both of you ignored. The media had been speculating that the two of you broke up or are on a break when truthfully the two of you were very happy but you have been busy and on the road with tour while he was currently filming a movie that no one knew about.
Although today marked the first show of the Short n’ Sweet tour that your boyfriend would be attending. He was getting a break from work and was over the moon to go to every single show you had while he was available. He had been very upset every time he realized he wouldn’t be attending one of your shows, he hated seeing clips online but never being there in person. I mean he was your boyfriend after all, he should be there to cheer on his very talented girlfriend! He just hadn’t been able to, the both of you having a very tight schedule. His filming stops before your tour was over and he had a week long break, he told you he would be there for every single show.
Speaking of your tour, every show you had many different traditions. One of them, one of the crowd’s favorites as well was the skit right before you sung your song Juno.
The whole point of the skit was to pick someone random out of the crowd and give them or ‘arrest them’ as you call it with your fuzzy pink handcuffs, just like you sing about in the song. Sometimes the chosen one would be a fan, a non-famous friend, or a fellow celebrity who had been in the audience that night.
But tonight you would be doing something that would get a rise out of the media, the fans in the crowd, and the fans at home. For tonights show you would be bringing your actor boyfriend down to the very front where he would be the one getting ‘arrested’ with the fuzzy pink handcuffs.
You had just finished singing your song ‘Dumb & Poetic’ and it was now time to move on to your most anticipated part of tonight, Juno. You walk further up the stage, closer to the fans. “Hi guys” You say happily into your microphone, your eyes skimming through the entirety of the crowd. “how are you doing so far?” you ask them, in response you receive a lot of cheers form the audience.
Once the cheers had calmed down it was now time to move onto the skit. “Okay guys so I just have to say…While Ive been up here preforming, I couldn’t help but keep looking in a certain direction” You tease, but there was a trail of honesty behind your words. Throughout the whole night you knew where Timmy was and your eyes couldn’t help but trail over there.
“Everyone here is just so hot, but there was one person who I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of” You say, looking out into the crowd, your gaze trailing across the entire sold out arena.
You turn your body to the right, where Timothee was standing with body guards next to him and a digital camera in hand. Another spotlight is turned on and moved towards him, now encasing him in the light while cop like lights and sirens blare throughout the stadium for the ‘arrested’ affect.
The crowd goes insane, there were screams echoing through the whole stadium and you were sure people a block away could here them screaming. A small smile creeps onto your face, you were just happy to finally be able to see your boyfriend here. The two of you make eye contact and Timothee has one of the biggest smiles you have ever seen grace his face.
“Oh my gosh, you! I couldn’t get you out of my head the entire show, whats your name?” I ask, going along with the bit. Even though it served no real purpose I hold my mic in his direction. Timothee takes a picture of you on his digital camera and doesn’t even try to fight the smile on his face. One of his hands come up and cup around his mouth slightly “Timothee” he responds to you loudly.
Bringing your hand up towards your face you fan at yourself with a flustered expression. While you do so you glance around the crowd and end your eyes at your boyfriend who was staring at you with love and a playful glint in his eyes. “well Hi Timothee, girls you have to come see this!” you exclaim flustered. Two of your backup dancers come forward and end up behind you. Once they were behind you they continue your act and act flustered and shocked as you are. They nod their heads to you in agreement.
Timothee smirks up at you and slightly nods, he raises his hand and waves at you. Your flustered expression breaks slightly and turns into one of love for a split second before returning to its ma no sk. “Well Timothee can I just say I think I’ve fallen in love”
The crowd cheers again and the two of you aren’t even fighting your smiles. At your words the boys smile grows and he bites the inside of his cheek “Im also in love with you” Timothee responds to you, acting as if he was shocked that the both of you felt the same way for each other.
you let out a little giggle and bite your nail for a moment. “You’re making so flustered” you gasp “and when I’m flustered my skirt tends to fall” when you utter the world ‘fall’ just like practiced and just like every other show, they unclip your skirt in the back, making it fall to your feet.
When your skirt does so you let out a gasp and bring your hand to your mouth. “oh” you exclaim, stepping out of your skirt. The music instrumental of your song begins to play and the dancer to your right grabs your dropped skirt while the other hands you the handcuffs.
You bring the handcuffs into your hands and walk over to the edge of the stage. “these are for you handsome” you declare happily. Leaning over and handing them to him.
Timothee then walks forward and takes the handcuffs into his, his hand holding yours for a moment. “thank you beautiful” he response, lifting up his digital camera and taking another photo when the two of you pull apart.
The crowd cheers and you give him a wink, then walking into your position so you could start the song. “this ones for you Timothee” You state, still playing into the act of you guys not knowing each other.
When you get to your position you sit down onto a chair and thats when your song begins. “Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing. Oh yeah, you just get it” you sing the opening line of the song, looking directly into the eyes of your boyfriend, Timothee Chalamet.
You then get to a part where no one but you knew you would be changing the lyrics, not even Timothee. You crouch down and continue to dance to your song “Oh, I hear you knockin’ Timmy, come on up”
Timmy blushes furiously with the camera to his face and the pink handcuffs in hands. He didn’t know that you were going to do that, but he sure as hell was glad you did.
and let’s just say the two of you would definitely be using those ‘fuzzy pink handcuffs’ tonight.
