#Vanity Fair Stage | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

capslocked · 7 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 7

[prompt: praise kink]

male reader x shen xiaoting

7k words

Well - from a glance, Xiaoting is flawless.

Every photographer makes the same movement as soon as she steps foot onto the stage - almost as if she's commanding them - but it's not a fair competition and she knows it.

The tiny black dress wrapped around her waist, hugging every meticulous angle in its stretch, isn't exactly the most practical of options, but then again nor was the sleeveless cut or the low-backend, nor the slit in the skirt that shows however much leg you're curious to see, nor the five-inch Louboutins with little ribbons at the ankles, crystals in their mesh like a real-life glass slipper - so, truly, anything about this outfit.

But in this industry, red carpets are about one thing: image.

(Something Xiaoting wields in excess.)

She pauses the subtle sashay of her hips mid-way across the stage, and pivots around, straightening out the waves in her hair, done-up and perfect-in-pink, over her shoulders. She lets the flash of every camera illuminate the swell of her lips in full - reflect and shimmer in the sequence of diamonds dangling under her ears. But it's all in that little smirk, the tilt of her chin. Everything working together to sell the moment; how breathtakingly beautiful she is, how proud, confident and seemingly indifferent to all the commotion happening around her - to every person calling her name and pleading for her to look in this specific direction.

You can watch how deliberate she holds her posture. See it. Understand it. Watch how she tips her head. The genuine kind of smile that could drive anyone to absolute ruin.

Maybe the more obvious: how the cameras love her - love the flash, the shine and glitter and sparkle of the fabric, love the turn of a heel onto where her legs are poised, her profile a perfect angle for every shot and more and more and more.

There's not even the slightest suggestion of just how overwhelmed she is.

"You're not supposed to be back here," is the very first thing you hear, as soon as Xiaoting catches your reflection in the vanity mirror.

You hold up a press pass with a headshot that loosely looks like you. Like in a really dark, kind of out-of-focus photo sort of way. Xiaoting simply lets out a slightly disapproving sigh.

"Someone's probably looking for that, you know."

"What's the worst thing that could happen? Someone doesn't get to ask you what your favorite color is, or what you had for breakfast? God forbid we need to know your TMI."

She slips the crystal bracelet off the end of her narrow wrist and places it gently next to the red carpet gear strewn across the surface in front of her. A necklace. The earrings, similar in their shimmer. A matching headband, an evening clutch in white. It's all sitting, not necessarily disorganized, but it's in the mess that Xiaoting is all the while searching for things; lip gloss and makeup, small hair clips.

"You could get us both in trouble, for starters."

When she looks up at you, briefly, there's an attempt at a scolding expression - a short-lived one, how it quickly gives way to a grin, a laugh, all the things she can't help when it's you in particular.

"I'll make sure it finds its way back where I found it," and with a hand over her shoulder, "or at least somewhere close enough. If anyone asks."

Xiaoting bounces an impossibly sweet smile off the mirror at you when her eyes find yours again. And while she starts unclipping pins from her hair, lifting and tousling and adjusting the curls into a more familiar shape, you're almost entranced in the way her shoulders loosen and her eyelashes flutter. In this light, she's even more devastating: an illusion of something both fragile, and immensely resilient.

"At the very least," she says, "I won't hold my breath for anyone else to find their way into my dressing room anytime soon."

She gets a hold of a simple clip, pulls a stray strand of pink off her cheek, and tucks it behind her ear. The gesture is fluid, elegant even, and so singular.

She really is, gorgeous.

The fact that you have to occasionally remind her of that is a different maddening issue entirely. You've always wondered - and always will continue to wonder, really - why it is the prettiest girls seem to have the hardest time understanding they're beautiful. It makes you crazy, makes your head hurt.

There's an entire world worth of things for her to fixate her attention on: her job, her fans and career; a hundred more names and faces to learn - people who would probably agree to hang the stars in the sky for her, given the chance, the mere opportunity. But instead she can only bring herself to stare into a mirror and compare notes and point out all these things she doesn't feel ready for.

This interview, or her performance, or the next.

"They're talking about me. Those 'insiders'," she explains, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the voices in the hallway. "Said, my styling this past year has been too 'soft.' Too 'girly.' No one's buying it," and with a pout: "now, or then, apparently"

"Always works for me," you tell her, in a way that implies it's absolutely none of their business at the end of the day; what colors Xiaoting shows up in, how she wears her makeup and dresses, her shoes or perfume.

She floats her fingers up to the dip of her collarbone, weaving them into your hand. The contented look on her face, now a near permanent fixture in the space she keeps between the two of you, suggests that of all her accessories - gifts and borrowed things she wears in a perpetual game of dress-up - you're the one she would prefer most.

"Well," she says, fixing you a mischievous twist of her brow, "you'd say that if I was up there wearing nothing at all."

"Oh, not a doubt in my mind."

(As usual, the both of you laugh far too much.

As usual, neither of you manage to care.

Your lives have always been about soft edges. A little nonsense here and there, so long as it means having more of her.)

She brings your knuckles to her lips, careful and reserved, and holds the tips of her fingers gently to your neck. "How much more do you have tonight?"

"The rest of the hour is probably asking too much." You help Xiaoting onto her feet, arms wrapping her middle, and with a kiss dropped into her hair, you tell her, "should probably report in, let someone know I haven't gotten myself expelled."

"Thought you said you were a terrible liar."

"Oh, I am," you say. "That's just how much trouble I've already been making for myself tonight."

Xiaoting watches you kiss her shoulder, her neck, all in amusement, eyes never breaking contact as your lips brush and linger against the delicate shape of her wrist. A shiver in her exhale - almost a laugh, an 'I'm listening,' in a form of its own - and you find her body shifting into a natural and familiar hold; the outline of her mouth so unbelievably tempting when it parts so naturally - that when it comes down to a choice: Xiaoting against you, you and her in her private room, the hustle and bustle, and rush-hustle of the building and people and machines outside your door -

It really doesn't take too much convincing.

"Fifteen minutes. They'll start wondering," you tell her, already dipping forward to capture her in your arms. She falls right back, perfectly content as though she doesn't belong anywhere else. "We'd have to be really quick."

"You're bad," Xiaoting hums, winding further into your arms, smiling between the warm, warm kisses you're trailing along the collar of her dress, where the zipper is resting and ready to be drawn down.

The moment is candid: you pressing your lips into the bare skin of her shoulder, following it up with something that's part laugh, and part the kind of sigh people make after too long without sleep. You're already struggling against the curve of her waist - the swell of her hips, all her curves - while your nose nuzzles in deeper, a delicate exploration into the bend of her neck, against her shoulder, the hint of perfume.

"Only one of us can be perfect, sweetheart." The damn truth, even if she hears it all the time and from everyone else. "You're gonna have to settle.”

You watch her expression melt into that self-composed, self-confident mien when you say it - in a quiet, contented kind of way; an ethereal sort of assurance. As though she was never meant to be touched by anyone, much less held by you, but somehow decided to allow it nonetheless. That look in her eye, it makes your heart twist. Every damn time.

"What about an accident," she muses, "something keeping you longer. Twenty maybe?"

"Oh," you chuckle. "Those happen in the hallway and parking lot. Where everyone can see. Never behind the scenes, for a totally unlikely and unrelated reason."

"Technicalities."

She turns to face you, fully, eyes lit and shimmery under the room's lighting; pink hair, all shades of glitter and silk and the smoothest, warmest skin. Your touch grazes up her sides, palms smoothing over the fine print, the sequins in the fabric, her hands all the while busy weaving, needily, around your waist, underneath the line of your shirt, finding and tracing along the ridges in your hips and spine.

Xiaoting wants you - plain and simple as that. The look on her face says as much.

And if you don't touch her now, kiss and feel her against you - all of it at once - she'll make sure you regret ever prioritizing anything over her. Over the two of you, and how perfectly and neatly you fit together, even if that means you're both absent for press calls, or a segment, or an interview she can't be late to. She'll blame you and it'll be okay.

"Fourteen minutes now," you inform her. "If it’s something you're counting."

"Give or take a few," Xiaoting smiles. Her words slip against your cheek, hot and honey-coated. It's tempting. Her teeth find your jawline and the gentle nip against your skin is hard to ignore. "Did you lock the door?"

"Believe it or not, that was the first thing I did."

And with her hips in your palms, you steal a kiss, because you can - because she's kissing you right back - her forearms wrapping over your shoulders, holding you tight around your neck, and, ahh - Xiaoting's mouth - how eagerly, so desperately, she parts your lips and slips her tongue over your teeth, humming, mumbling happily into a second and third and fourth kiss. Then, once the heat of the moment sweeps in, melting into something slower, sweeter, lingering, a little deeper, it's another.

And another after that.

She leans into you, the rise and fall, slow-down-then-start-again, of her chest and of her breathing and of the tiny, stifled noises she’s kissing into your lips. Only you're pinching the fabric around her waist, slowly lifting the hem of her skirt further up her thighs and reminding her that there's a promise for slow later, that she can take all the time in the world to map and remember the planes and edges of your body; trace the curves of every little sensitive spot and learn again how she fits into your hands, in the time and space that's left to the two of you alone.

"Thirteen-"

"Minutes," she echoes breathily against your ear and over the sound of her fingers in your belt. "I know. Got it."

Xiaoting's hasty. She has to be; reaching and fumbling to pop open your pants while the heat of her mouth finds you first, her tongue sliding smooth across your throat, chin, the warmth and the taste, then along the corner of your mouth - your tongue chasing hers and turning it into a mess that's as intimate and satisfying as it is clumsy; breath catching in both your mouths, hands intertwining, needing the contact with just as much fervent abandon.

Off, off, off, she's murmuring into you, thumbs perched dangerously on your waist, dipping into the fabric, tracing the rim, taking a tease down a little farther with each lazy caress, and, in the very back of your mind, there's a small voice in agreement that insists you are most definitely in no hurry at all.

It grows louder when the small shape of Xiaoting's palm is all the way down the rise of your pants, all over where you're beginning to grow hard - straining and twitching and almost painfully, impatiently interested. You hold her closer and clutch harder because the need is like a burn - one that's seared itself comfortably, wonderfully between your hips, where you feel each brush and curve and fond stroke of her touch.

Her eyes lift to meet yours, gleaming and knowing and laughing, no doubt aware that you're both going to be wrecked no matter which of these games she wins.

"Nothing we can't solve here and now." She tells you.

"True."

"I'll get my mouth on you later, make it all better."

"Later?" Your voice, completely a mess and breaking just enough, forces its way between a kiss that feels anything but. You're pleading for her, into her lips. "Oh, is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"A promise," Xiaoting gasps. "Or a threat. Depends how fast you're ready for me."

"Hush." And you hold her mouth open with yours, devour and drink the sounds falling from her tongue, each one that starts off shallow then trails deeper and deeper and deeper, until her hands have settled over you, and her fingers are finally pushing below the hem, and working the length of your cock, up and down and along it all.

"Hey,” she says, far too inviting, “aren't you supposed to be, like, tearing off this dress by now?"

Xiaoting smirks up at you. With a slight motion of her hand, the other having come to wrap fully around your shaft, the two fingers twisting along your tip, spreading the beading moisture into a long stroke.

"Very gentlemanly of you, wanting to keep it all nice and put together-" and with a wiggle of her brows, "-unsuspicious."

You clench your teeth through a gasp - a jolt at the sudden brush of her fingertips over the base, further down. Xiaoting has that mischief to her - she always has - a certain inclination to press and test the boundaries until they're unrecognizable, to poke and prod where she shouldn't, only the slightest bit concerned.

"Trust me, I would. Only this is a dress I can't afford to ruin, sweetheart." You're leaning her against the vanity, freeing one of her hands to press around behind her, against the cold, cluttered countertop, feeling how the sharp breath in her lungs goes soft and hot immediately, wanting.

"In that case," she tells you, a knowing tilt in her mouth, "you'll just have to ruin me in it."

That's a little closer to your budget given how fast your arm slips under her hip, pulling her up onto the vanity and angling her into you. Her skirt ruffles and follows, the material all too eager to keep you and the lithe frame of her body nice and snug together. There's that sharp gasp in her chest again, at the hand you're running up her thighs; an approval to your arrangement in the sound of her laughter, to your kiss, and all the fever-filled strokes jerking your cock that she's busying herself with again.

You can feel an urge you both share and want to make real and tangible, to peel down and past and over those tiny black panties; feel the heat rising, the wetness there, and all the eager, eager noises of her pleasure.

"Ten minutes." Your teeth are grazing into her lip, her mouth, while she whimpers so pretty into your throat. "Does that put any ideas in your head?"

"Nearly everything." Xiaoting lets your pants fall and uses the back of her heel to skid them down around your feet. "But maybe, especially your cock right here, if you’re going to slide it so slowly over me-" she sucks on her next breath, holding her hand where her panties are; smoothing against you with her hips rocking forward.

You feel her head drop, slightly, when she whispers into a heated kiss, "right between, the most tender way, where I'm aching the most."

"I bet you'd look beautiful with it," you say, all kinds of things, leaning and mumbling into her neck, all that exposed skin. "My cum on you. Sitting so good right here, in such a tight little-"

She stops your teasing with her kiss, pushing forward to the point where her ass is bumping right against your hips, your hand, your cock; coaxing you in closer.

And then, a particularly stern warning, probably warranted, sneaks out through the bite of her lip; just barely restrained: "I swear to god if you make a mess anywhere - don’t, if you know what's best for you.”

"That's a pretty roundabout way of asking me to cum inside you, Xiaoting. Wording matters."

"Telling." Her smile is all kinds of sly; all for you to witness and tuck safely in your pocket later. "Not asking."

"We’ll see what we can do with nine minutes," you tell her, and your cock is snug against the lace of her underwear - right where she's so fucking wet - you can already hear it in the little, jerking huffs in her voice and on her breath and how your hands are touching her through the fabric. How between hot, clumsy kisses, she's lifting and drawing her body as close as possible and curling into you.

(God.)

"Easy," she mouths, all hot and hazy as she drags the lacy band of elastic aside. It's your turn to inhale and jerk and gasp, but there's hardly anything there to catch you, just her whisper that says, "there you go, honey, fill me up real slow. Right to the very, very top," her voice arching high when you've begun to nudge your cock into her, opening her up and up and up with a slow, steady thrust. "Just - like - that."

And in the seconds, maybe minutes (you’re trying not to lose track), that follow, you are holding your breath against the heat blossoming through her cheek. Against Xiaoting, flushed and whimpering, hands buried in her dress and her hips starting to roll back on your cock. It's a tiny adjustment; nowhere to go but deeper, further - grinding together however you can manage.

It's one thing to love each other quietly, discretely and with all that discretion.

It's another entirely, in times like these, to give in to a raw-edge impulse that hits suddenly and leaves just as fast. Your hips snap in and in and in, Xiaoting's chest rising and rising, her head turned and pressed into the shoulder of your shirt, her hand already caught in a fistful of sleeve. And you - the friction is so soft and so good, a slick, easy glide of your cock - full - all the way to the very last inch.

Just her seedy, whimpering whine fills the back of your neck and your ear, and her arms and her legs locked in around you, like a coil ready to burst, that ache coming to a head.

The ends of her hair are soft and sweet where you gather a fistful of pink around your wrist, hold - pull, like a taut string. Xiaoting gasps a fluttering note as her chin tips up, the smooth canvas of her throat begging to be kissed and roughed up in just the right places. Reddening like the insides of her thighs, the heat there, where they're pinched around your waist - delicate little marks of where you're fucking her open and bare and deep and so well.

You could drink up each and every noise - all the keening and humming, the ruffled, strung-out sounds; how you're both breathing into a shared mess of gasping and panting, of Xiaoting whimpering into your throat, clinging on like she'll die otherwise. "Faster," she pleads all desperate and urgent. "More. Fuck this pussy like it deserves, don't you want it? So wet, can't you feeling how I'm aching?"

You can. Hot and wet and absolute.

You can feel the shudder-wreck, the absolute throe - there's not an ounce left between you; nothing but her slick, warm cunt clutching and hugging your cock, letting it stretch her apart and fill her again and again, the little ridge between your hips slipping over her clit on a forward, upward stroke and grinding there, with a shaky hand cradling her lower back for support while you drive back into the thrust.

"Ting, fucking christ - Ting, your tight little pussy is incredible." You groan into her skin. "Taking me, fucking, taking every, last, inch-"

"I can feel you fucking throbbing," Xiaoting tells you, all teasing and exasperated as she lets your name turn into a series of vibrating hums against your lips. "You're going to make me fucking lose it, the way you're hitting me inside."

See, you fit together, inside-and-outside so perfect; that when you begin to really fuck Xiaoting, when she's making it clear, over, and over, yes, harder, give it to me, and the table she's sitting on is giving away each-and-every one of her whimpers, you lose yourself in the rhythm and pace and the fact that Xiaoting's creaming cunt is working itself hot and messy and pulsating around you; so fucking tight, tight, - slick all around - almost drawing you in, then resisting and tensing every-time your cock finds just the deepest angle.

It's something to push, something that makes you greedy and drive her ass into the cabinet even more; make sure you're slipping along her walls just enough, and doing so with every few inches or less that you're managing to drive, working over a pressure so sensitive it might be making her see stars, every time a thumb digs a little deeper into her hip bone.

"All the way, baby," she's saying, whispering, making you want to fuck the words out of her in broken pieces. "So. Close. Just a little-"

She's gone, her back arched - bending into an incredible sight. And there's the most beautiful look on her face, even under the frantic-urgent rush. Your hands are all over her: pressing into the divots above her hips; petting the expanse between her tits, then down again, feeling out her ribcage, her belly, in between her thighs and parting them wider - like if she were any more spread open, she'd be coming right off the table.

Then, the thumb tangled into the sleeve of her dress, the rough pad of the other rubbing circles over her swollen clit - here you'll figure she'll cum; she's never shy about it - but it's more a question of how many times. How it always builds up and comes apart.

You're obsessed, really, with the details: her eyelids fluttering, the sounds of her skin sliding down onto the cabinets, her lips that can never get themselves closed.

"Oh, Ting," you're panting, licking all over her parted mouth, "do you need-"

Her nails begin to cut half-crescents into the small of your back, where she's been gripping at you; a moan falls straight out from her tongue, straight into your own, the closest she'll ever come to asking for anything: but it's easy.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby, I'll give you whatever you need-"

You slide your fingers higher up her folds, pushing onto her hot cunt right over the spot where your cock is disappearing inside her.

"I know that's what you need to be fucked silly, right? Need some extra friction so I can have the entire inside of this fucking cunt dripping-"

Xiaoting makes a noise that tells you, good guess. And you're playing her closer and closer to her orgasm, watching her teeth sink into her own lip, knowing that she's the one on a timer - which makes it all the easier, because you know exactly what to say next, because you've played this game enough - when you've already been fucking her and fingering her through one or two and her noises are telling you her body needs just one more, and then, the words usually roll right out, not the slightest bit contrived:

"That's it, sweetheart, you look so fucking good. So, so pretty cumming on my cock, baby. You're fucking gorgeous, you know that? I can't get enough of you."

Her mouth falls open, eyes screwing tight with it - the praise, the way you can talk her right into it every fucking time - the way it all but kills her: even when she's getting pumped full of pre-cum and sleeved around your cock like a glove, you know that sometimes the words are the only thing she's chasing, and her jaw starts to trembling just like the rest of her. This full body tension, head to toe of perfection you're whispering in her ear. She's pressing her heels harder than before against the back of your legs, digging, her whole chest shaking for a gasp of air she doesn't seem to ever be able to fully catch.

"But god, I wish you were looking at me," you're begging, sincere, with a deep sort of pining, when you get the the sharp twist of her neck, like it takes everything in her, then, like it's a miracle - those lidded, still-water eyes focused right on you. "I want to make you fall apart, just looking at me, sweetheart."

(Your poor heart. An obsession. So in love with her.)

The kiss you steal from her lips is deeper, your tongues playing a familiar song, the push, pull - how easy and perfect she fits.

When she cums, it always starts quiet, not like what she's just started doing: the kind of cries and moans that begin to make it past her teeth, desperate and panting, her fingers crushing down in place where they're pressed to your skin. Those whimpers that start quiet, get loud, fast, and then Xiaoting's arching right up from the table and clenching her entire body. With you inside her, she's so wrapped up in how good it is, the pleasure spiking past her pussy and into her veins.

"Shh," you soothe her, lovingly brushing her hair to the side when her breath shudders hard; the mess you made, sliding a palm against her cheek when the first few tears gather, the way they always do when Xiaoting's overwhelmed and torn down in such a good, beautiful way.

You could kiss her, when you feel the curve of her trembling lips. You do, again-again; slip and wet and parted and sliding when Xiaoting lets you hold the base of her chin between your forefinger and thumb, and bring your mouths together like that.

You could hold the moment longer. Keep kissing her and not moving - except Xiaoting has that meek, "Fuck me," mumbled into your open mouth, her half-wits returning and giving her the very start of a wicked grin - all sloppy with orgasm. "However you want, whatever will make you cum fast-"

"Turn around for me. I'm going to show you how pretty you are, looking just like that-"

"Y-Yeah- '' Xiaoting is trying, her joints trembling as she moves her body. She's so good, listening, rolling onto the surface of the table with her ass up, palms spread out and supporting her into this perfect line. Xiaoting's defining the curve: where her lower back and tight little ass begins and ends, right up into her shoulders and spine. Her hair has fallen across one side, and now you can finally see how much she's blushing in the mirror, the messes that her eye makeup has smudged into, how good she's been, and now how sweet and pliable and worked open her muscles are.

The view alone could have you blowing your load before you can even do it properly inside her.

But, god - the fact that her dress was hanging down on one shoulder, then on none, exposing her naked skin entirely; the fact that you can't resist grabbing a hand around a waist-full of her body and dragging her back closer, slotting your thighs under hers and her ass up against you, cock sliding into her still-clenching cunt without the help of your hands, just finding it where it belonged. You give it to her like she's meant to take. Fast. Hard. Deep. Making sure each-time your cock is in its base-deep place and sliding right back out, pulling slick, creamy strands out from her fucked-out pussy. Bathing you in her want, her need, pooling along the base of your cock; seeping everywhere.

There's just so much of it. The sounds echoing off the empty walls, so distinct, unmistakable, so full and thick. The way your whole body seems to tighten and tense along with hers - everything tight, you can see it, your eyes sweeping from Xiaoting's thighs to the reflection of how she just takes you. Shaking each time, the lines of her body wobble forward when your hips land a heavy thrust and slide along every bit velvety-wet inside her: no room for your cum when she's this overflowing, you figure, wondering how full of it she could even get.

"Fuck," the word just slides off you. "Fucking god, you're the best fuck," you praise her. Like heaven.

Because Your hand is in her hair again, wrapped up in and smoothing over the tangles; feeling her like silk. But now you're grabbing too - holding her steady, a fistful between the roots; you want her back arched, canted just that one angle higher that you know would push her past all limits.

“Oh my god,” she gasps out, once your get her knee planted up on the counter - once she's spread herself even further for the weight of your body. "That's it - holy shit, please-more-"

There are little whispers too - stuff that makes your cock twitch a few times, pulsing in warning - not even fully aware that she's cumming down all over your waist, praises like the hottest of filth, please and yes and I need it and fuck and fucking christ, keep going and don't stop don't stop please baby I'll do anything anything-

Xiaoting's voice reaches the same high pitch she does when her clit is getting hit, not sure what part of her body you're touching or just the overwhelming sensation, but god she doesn't know which way to turn her neck and face. She just ends up taking it all in, breathing in the gravity of the moment - her reflection, yours, the feeling - a tremor building up, her eyes flickering back-forth when she realizes they've started to close, forcing herself to look at the both of you.

You fuck your cock through each inch of her quivering cunt, each one hotter, tighter, wetter than the last - until you're spilling cum - cumming deep and fast inside her -

Reaching so far she can feel the thick pool of it getting fucked further into her with every shallow snap of your hips; her ass flushing back up against your stomach. Filling her to the brim - enough to feel it drip and seep and slide.

And she doesn't stop, the way she has her hips rolling down your length and staying there, your cock rooted into her deepest spot. If there's one more thing she gets off on it's being filled, milking the remnants, emptying you, and - because she's almost fucking teasing you, you feel it when she's clenching the remaining dredges right out of your body; out and leaking hot along your over-sensitised skin. The sharp sting of it has your hands tight on her waist, her ass spilling through the gaps of your fingers - deciding what you'll do.

"Three minutes," she says, panting, "is enough-"

You squeeze through the sculpted round of her ass. Spank it. Knead it.

"You want me to fuck another one into you - can you take that? You'd be such a good girl if you can take a fucking like that."

"I mean it," Xiaoting rasps, hips still lifted and angled toward you, as she meets you in the mirror; her eyes looking past your reflection, still coming down, wrecked and fucked raw, but making the message clear. "I'll make it easy for you."

And with that's she got her hand on your still-hard cock; not nearly enough softness in her voice for the rough grip and the sloppy pumping - fucking filth out of her still, if there was ever any hope of getting it out the way she's pulling and using and moving the slick all over you, spilling it onto the floor. "Think I can make you cum again, right here and now."

The thing about Xiaoting is:

She makes bad decisions, but always with the best intentions. That's why you always know what she'll say.

Because it's almost always the same answer: a pair of crossed wrists and a coy-eagerness that's enough of an invitation for you to make use of what she's given.

And this is the exact way you find yourself dragging the fabric of her dress down her shoulder, her middle, her breasts falling back down from their bounce when you unwind it, then twisting the end tightly into itself before shoving it into the soft valley of her mouth.

I love your tits, you know that?" you tell her, mouth open and hot against her shoulder blade. “So fucking pretty all over, Ting, your entire body's amazing and it does things to me-if I could, I would keep my cum inside this tiny little pussy, over and over, keep filling it. Make your tummy swell for me, sweet baby, and never let a single drop-"

"Do it-" she moans out, words garbled by the fabric. Her eyes are wide and full of the darkest innocence, like anything could happen; anything you wished. "Do it, your fucking cock, want to feel you-"

You spank her again, and she keens.

The mirror is showing you how her chest reddens under the rush of your hands kneading at her, almost violent, before sliding down the back-insides of her thigh, pushing, "But, what you look like with my cock buried inside you, stretched out and still so fucking tiny around me."

It's not new. It's what makes Xiaoting give you the dirtiest, sexiest little hum around the cloth wedged inside her mouth.

Then her cunt clenches down on your cock, and you're groaning, "christ," watching the way her face tugs at the stretch, watching, when her back is pushed out again - the angle. You're lining up, sucking in the full and naked and glistening display of her body before letting your hips fuck into hers again. It feels even better than the first time: tightening like a vise around the thickness of you, your cum pouring back inside her, then with her eyes fixed to yours in the mirror, you get to watch her lips straining; a drooling, whimpering mess.

Then. You're slamming her waist into the table. Rough, reckless. Desperate to reach another edge, rough enough that she can barely look up from her bowed elbows, elegant features twisted into something a little more awful, a little more pretty - just there, and - and -

A third time. Four. More.

Xiaoting's whimpering, just so spent she has nothing else left, your cock filling her up so full and hot with your spill; she's sloppy and flushed and you're pressing her up into the cool surface of the mirror, with her legs giving in when she collapses over her heels and nearly tumbles over; her own body weighing nothing.

If she asked, "carry me," in any way, you'd be on her like clockwork; you'd get her turned around into a loose-limbed pile, a leg thrown over each of her waist; she'd already have her cheek nestled against your jaw, halfway asleep, a warm bundle pressed up and waiting to get tucked into bed and swept into all of the things that would make her purr and melt; blankets and warm-clothes and showers and tending.

You'd always make a show out of sweeping her off her feet. Because the thing is, Xiaoting deserves it.

And you let her know that:

"You're always the sweetest, aren't you? Taking a fucking like that," you tell her, burying the dying gasps of a laugh right into the sweat-sticky back of her neck. You can feel her throat vibrating out a small sound, her brain almost definitely not able to formulate words, maybe only just registering the tones of your voice. "You are just so breathtakingly gorgeous, babe, the prettiest baby. The fucking world must be upside down, because no one tells you nearly often enough."

And -

Xiaoting - really, above all else, is fucking gorgeous. Because her tired laugh echoes a small part of itself straight down your spine, filling all the dips between each of your vertebrae. Genuine smile and all.

It has your skin crawling back to life, warming up.

There's a murmured 'thank you' said somewhere into the back of her hand, between her pinky finger and her ring, a small, stifled breath that pulls on her tired voice; it's a sleepy sound, like honey, and maybe that's why you choose to tell her one more time.

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's been a good fifteen-plus-extra minutes. You can live with that.

"Told you we'd be late," you say, smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

Which means this is the second time she says: "Nothing there we can’t solve with a little..."

"Carelessness?"

"Misdirection. Pretty convenient for some of us," Xiaoting murmurs with the lingering sweetness of your kiss on her lips. "Who have that charming talent with words."

She looks up, wincing and dabbing at the dried tracks on her cheeks where her eyelashes have swept away all the makeup and tears, like a soft brush sweeping away the layer of snow, she lets her head rest there in your palm and the other soothes, warm, on the back of her neck - her shoulders a little slack when you feel her whole body relax.

"Love you," Xiaoting says, after a heavy breath; a shaky exhale, just under her tongue; "even when we're a little crazy."

Your cheeks warm as they squish themselves around her grin.

"Love you. Now hold still," you say - taking it slow, kissing the damp pink curls right behind her ear. Then, for the most part, it's back to business. Back to normal.

Makeup wipes and wet washcloths. Clearing and setting the furniture upright. Hastily undoing the locks, so that to anyone who's passing by and smelling the raw, irrefutable evidence of sex and sin, they can turn away and think twice - no one's fault except the wicked thoughts swirling and forming in the back of their thoughts.

(No matter how many times you do, it's no different with Xiaoting; her smile turns the wheels in your head - still spinning. You can't help it when she laughs with her eyes still half-mast - fucked-out; a headiness, her tone like velvet.)

And the 'yes, we do,' on her breath when she hums again, is the beginning of an I-told-you-so, when you tell her, "c’mon, we've got places to be."

#xiaoting smut #kep1er smut #kepler smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

1K notes · View notes

lenbryant · 2 years

Text

This Vanity Fair archived story is RIDDLED with dumb typos, but it’s about one of my favorite musicals.

#grease #musicals #stage #movies #vanity fair #hollywood

1 note · View note

umadosedepascal · 4 months

Text

O U C H | Pedro Pascal x f!reader | PART VII

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You are at the Golden Globes and meet Pedro over there, he didn’t win unfortunately but still, he is a winner in bed.

wc: 4.1k

rating/warnings: [Smut][Semi public sex] [unprotected PIV][oral sex m/f][Pedro injured] [sex on bathtub] [elevator][Pedro a little dom] [spanking ass] [Hold neck] [Curse words ][nipple play] [making out inside the car][Pedro speaks spanish]

a/n: My fellow followers, we are fast. I know. Pedro does help us imagine these kind of situation EASILY! just because he is HOT, even wearing an arm sling (poor baby). And yes, he is our slut winner always! More to come for the Emmys! 😘 please consider reposting, let’s spread it fucking hard! 🤘🏻

This Sunday was certainly one of the busiest since the year began, you arrived early at the salon to do hair, makeup and nails, it took you a long time to choose the best dress and perfect shoes for the Golden Globes.

Despite being a little cold in Los Angeles, you got a long dress with a naked back and slit in your left leg, perfect shoes, jewelry and hair, you were finally ready for the event.

The traffic of Los Angeles is always chaotic and today it would be no different, otherwise it is worse, there are so many cars, photographers and people. The driver goes near the entrance of the Bervely Hilton hotel, and as soon as you enter you already meet some friends and acquaintances. Your assistant is always pulling you, saying that you have little time as you walked towards the red carpet.

You give some interviews and as soon as you finish your interview with Vanity Fair, you turn around and see Pedro telling a reporter that he is injured because he fell, he hasn't seen you yet.

Pedro goes out in line for the red carpet photos, You are six people behind him, but even from afar you can see how beautiful he looks, black shirt with white details, black pants and equally black boots, you give a giggle when you see that he matched the arm sling with the clothes.

It's your turn to pose for the paparazzi, you position yourself behind the wall, look to your left and see that he is still taking pictures, talking, and even about the countless flashes, you feel his gaze on you.

You smile at the photographers and get close to Pedro, he opens a smile when he sees you, saying your name and extending his hand, pulling you close to him. He immediately puts his hand on your back, feeling your naked skin, his index finger makes small circles on your back while he talks to the man in front of you, you can barely understand what they talk about, it's so much noise and your mind focused only on the feeling of his finger playing with your skin.

Pedro's conversation ends, he pulls you by giving you a kiss on the cheek quickly while saying "See you later" giving a wink, he goes inside with his agent.

Your table is opposite to Pedro's, but you can still see him from where you are. During the awards your eyes meet each other, even from a distance.

He always smiling despite being hurt, he talks excitedly to everyone, with each winner who passes he gets up and greets.

You are so anxious to see him take the stage and receive the prize he deserves.

You already in your third Moet glass, and they finally announce the nominees for best drama actor, when they announce Pedro's name, you can't contain yourself, you get up and cheer for him, as if you were alone in your room in front of him, pleasuring him in the best way, whether about acting or how he fucks you until he leaves you breathless.

Unfortunately he does not win the category, so an idea comes to your mind, you are convinced that you will give him the best night ever.

Even after the defeat, Pedro doesn't stop smiling, you take your phone and send him a message "You are much bigger than any prize dear, let me show you that later?"

It takes a few minutes for him to see message, you look towards his table and giggle when you see him getting in the way holding his phone with only one hand, he puts the phone on his lap and types, a few seconds later his answer arrives, you feel your hands sweaty, a twink in your stomach when reading "I confess that I'm not happy about it, but now I'm very curious about how you will convince me that I'm worthy for you"

You bite your lip as you read and look at him, even a few meters away, you feel that brown sea on his eyes burning you, you just blink and raise your glass in a silent toast.

A few more awards are delivered, speeches are made, and you almost feel bad for not paying so much attention, almost. Your thoughts are in Pedro, hoping that everything ends soon for you to leave, and from what you look towards him, Pedro is not very different from you, his fingers hitting the table, playing with the glass between his fingers.

Finally the last prize is announced and delivered, everyone gets up, celebrating, lamenting. You dodge the invitations to the after party, claiming to have to wake up early for work, you go towards Pedro's table, he is taking some pictures with other people, you stand still finishing your last glass of champagne waiting anxiously to get his attention.

As soon as the last photo is taken, Pedro turns to you, that smile that only he has, stretching out his hand he says excitedly "Shall we go to the after party?" Your smile weakens at the time, you feel a twinge of disappointment, but you try miserably to disguise it, agreeing with your head, he laughs loudly and says "I got you! Come on, let's go to the car, I told you we're leaving" Pedro holds your hand and goes towards the exit, we stop a few times to greet some acquaintances, but Pedro always uses the same excuse -my arm is killing me, I forgot my medicine at home, sorry, next time I will-

Pulling you by the free hand, he always looks at me in the corner, bites his lip trying to hold a smile.

Pedro opens the car door to me and says softly with a shy smile "Can we go to your house tonight?".

You open your eyes and try to remember if everything is tidy and clean at your apartment, after all you remember isn’t that bad. "You got it! I have frozen pizza and beers" he laughs waving his head and raises his eyebrow, you get in the car and Pedro sits next to you, he puts his hand on your thigh and gently smoothes up and down, You look at his face and see him staring at you, eyes so expressive. His hand goes up until he finds the lace of your panties, he releases a cough while looking at the driver who is focused on traffic. You open your legs a little giving him more access to your pussy, you feel his middle finger go up and down pressing your clit, you look at him scared and say softly while you pretend to fix your earring "Are you crazy? El conductor lo verá"

He laughs and points with his head to the button next to you near the window "Press" he says, I press and then a black glass part rises between us and the driver.

Pedro raises his hand to your face, pulling you for a kiss, his lips taste like some strong drink, he sucks your tongue, bites your lower lip and whispers in your ear

"You can't even imagine how much I was waiting to put my hand under this dress." You open your legs, putting one on top of his, giving yourself to whatever he wants.

Pedro plays with the fabric of the dress, until you feel his fingers rub your clit over your panties. You close your eyes feeling him press his finger while his mouth says dirty things in your ear, you let out an involuntary moan, Pedro looks at you and tells you to be quiet, you smile and disguise.

You notice something in his hand that is bandaged, you bend to see and his nails have some kind of sticker, he laughs as you stretch his fingers and read _OUCH_

“What is this Pedro?!” You ask laughing, he answers between laughs "did you like it?"

We both laughed, you say yes, that you loved it, you take your hand out of his and slide on his head, your fingers wrapping in his curls, doing a massage, Pedro moans softly enjoying the massage. You watch his face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open while delighting in the massage, until you stop the movements opens his eyes staring at me. He is no longer smiling, neither you are, the atmosphere has changed, the car seems to heat up, you bring your lips closer to theirs while your other hand squeezes his thigh, going up to his groin, the tip of your nail circling the bulge that begins to harden. Pedro doesn't move, he just accepts your touches, you raise your hand until you find his belt, you open it and pull the zipper down, the only movement he makes with his body and raise his hips to give you access. You slide your hand in and feel his hot cock, you squeeze it and he moans throwing his head back. You raise your hand to the waistband of his boxers and run your index finger through the wet head with pre cum, he lets out a low swear word, when he sees you take his finger on your lips and suck it.

The car stop and you see that you are in front of your place.

Pedro stretches his hand over his thigh, adjusting the pants that shows his cock completely hard, you help him fix his belt and he gets out of the car. He extend his hand to you, you hold it firmly and leave, you take the keychain inside your bag, but it is so difficult to find the right one, because your brain freezes when you feel Pedro so close to your back, his hand playing with your hair, his fingers going up your back to the shoulders where he gently slide his nails, you hum

"This way we won't even get past the elevator Jose" he lets out a low giggle whispering a sorry.

As soon as you enter the hall, you press the elevator button and you feel that it is the twelve longest seconds of your life, the two of you looking closely at the elevator display, the tension is palpable, you look without blinking at the decreasing numbers _19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10_ you count down mentally and when the ten arrives, you feel Pedro hold your nape tightly, pulling you until you back hits his chest, he runs his nose through your shoulder until he reaches your jaw, where he licks and bites gently

"If that fucking elevator takes five more seconds to open, I swear to God I'll fuck you on that table over there, after all I haven't won my trophy yet" he says that and turns your neck to the side, making you see the little table where the flowers in the hall are.

The elevator warns you that it is on the ground floor scares you, your heart accelerates, you look at Pedro who is still so close to your face and just nod your head towards the elevator door.

As soon as you enter, you press number 24, when the doors close, you ask Pedro to hold your bag, he holds and stares at you, you lean your back against the elevator wall and squat a little and putting your hand under your dress - thank God the side slit helped me - you take off your panties and when tou get up you find his eyes looking at you and looking for cameras in the elevator, you giggle and approach to get your bag while knead your panties in your hand and put them in his front pocket.

Pedro doesn't say anything, the growl that comes out of his throat speaks more than a thousand words.

The elevator warns tou that you are on the right floor, but you still need to look for the key inside the bag.

“Key, right?” He says while you search my bag

_God, I had them in my hand a few minutes ago_

Pedro pushes you against the wall, at the same time he slides his fingers on your lips making you open them, he puts two fingers in your mouth and makes you suck it, he takes out his fingers and holds your chin, making you raise your face more towards him, giving you a quick kiss, he slides his fingers wet with your saliva inside the slit of your dress, his fingers rubbing your clit, sticking two fingers in your pussy.

You let out a low moan and then kiss, your left hand on his chin smoothing his beard while the other still looks for a key inside the bag.

His fingers in and out of you, you suck his lip and move away, interrupting the kiss you raise my hand, shaking the key between your fingers

“Found it!”

He laughs and takes his fingers out of you, and takes it to his lips, sucking. You open the door, Pedro pulls you towards your room, which he is already familiar with, he sits on your bed, takes your panties out of his pocket and extends it to his side and says:

“You did this, can you take off my clothes as well?”

Without thinking, you approach him, you knee down and start with the boots and socks, never breaking eye contact.

You are between his legs and drag your hands until you find his belt, unbuckle and slowly open a button, stop and look at him, as if asking for permission

"Yeah babe, like this" he says with a smile on his face, you open the other button and open the zipper. You hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and pull his pants so slowly that you can feel the anxiety in the air.

You throw his pants to the side and see how hard he is, you slide your hands over his underwear, his cock is pulsating and hot, kneeling in front of him, you bring your face closer to his cock and run your tongue over his underwear following the entire length, feeling the moisture in the fabric.

Pedro sighs and looks up, murmuring something you don't even understand, you just feel his left hand grabbing your hair, letting out a growl he tells you to get up and sit on his lap. You get up and when you put your hand on the zipper of the dress to take it off, Pedro interrupts me

"Deja el vestido puesto!"

You put one leg on each side of his hip, Pedro moans low when he feels your wet pussy in contact with his thigh, you feel his hand squeezing your nape again, you smile at him while your hands play with the details of the shirt he wears.

"You are so wet babe" without answering you just kiss, your lips touch each other first softly, you feel tickled when the mustache he rubs against your skin, his hand loosens the grip on your hair and slowly goes down your back, the kiss goes wide, you bite his lower lip, pulling between his teeth and licking when releasing,

Pedro never moves his hand away from your body, you feel his thigh press your pussy, you rub yourself feeling the few hairs on his leg in contact with your swollen clit and in need of touch, Pedro lowers his hand to your hip, pulling you down while raising his thigh, you release a moan in his mouth, so what he says is enough for your body to know that he is in complete abstinence "Ride on my thigh... enjoy rubbing against me" Pedro lies on the bed, wearing only his shirt and underwear, you put your hands on his chest and you start rubbing slowly. Pedro doesn't take his eyes off yours, his hand is still on your hip encouraging me to speed up the movements, leading me.

You throw your head back, feeling a heat take over your body, you feel the orgasm rise in your stomach, your clit pulsating, feeling his thigh slide easily in your excitement.

"Come on babe give me, I want to feel you" Pedro begs and squeezes your breast over the dress, you rub harder feeling your orgasm wet his whole thigh "Oh my god Pedro please"

"Yeah babe like that ride me like that" you moan his name, you murmur things that you don't even know what they mean, as soon as you feel your body calm down you open your eyes and there they are, those brown eyes burning me, eqting you alive. You get out of his thigh, dragging you down until you get on your knees on the floor, Pedro runs two fingers on his wet thigh and moans while licking his fingers, as if you were his favorite dessert.

He leans on his left elbow and stares at you you run your nails through his legs, reaching the waistband of his boxers, and before pulling you look him in the eyes and say softly

"Let me demonstrate how important you are my dear"

You slowly pull his undies, his cock jumps hitting his tummy, drops of pre cum flooding his cock head.

You hold his cock by the base and make slow movements from the bottom up, watching the fat drops of pre cum accumulate, wetting your fingers. Without taking your eyes off his eyes you put his cock in your mouth and make circles with the tip of your tongue, cleaning his excitement, you put it in your mouth until you feel the tip of his cock hit your throat, extending your hands and stroke his tummy inside his fancy shirt.

"Help me get this out" you let go of his cock and get up, carefully opening the velcro of his arm sling, you help him take off his shirt throwing it to the side where his clothes turn to a pile. Pedro pulls you making you ride on his lap, you feel his cock hit against your clit, you put your hand between your bodies and holding his cock by the base you fit into your pussy and sit, feeling every inch of it inside you.you both moan loudly, you stand still and help put the arm sling again

"I want you to be safe babe" he laughs and squeezes your ass and moves his hips up entering deeper into you, you push him to lie down and lean over him, gluing your lips to his you bounce on his cock for a while.

"Take off that dress" he says. You get up and pull the side zipper of your dress, Pedro calls you with his fingers and asks you to lie on the bed, he kneels between your legs and stroke your thighs, your belly, circling your nipples.

"I won tonite anyways" he says as he holds his cock by the base and rubs it against your clit.

Pedro slides his cock inside you slowly, taking advantage of every inch, while smoothing the side of your thigh threatening to snap you stretch your hands and scratch his thick thighs.

You feel his nails scratch your thigh and soon the burning of the slap "Come on babe take me all" you push your hips against his, the only sound in the room is your breaths with low moans.

Pedro slides his hand down your neck, squeezing and down until he finds your nipples, he squeezes and rotates between his fingers, making you squeeze his cock with your pussy "fuck Pedro, please I need more" he stop moving, he just keeps looking at me raising an eyebrow while squeezing your nipple between his fingers

"Do you need more? "And giggles

You slide your foot on his tummy pushing him away, you kneel on the bed getting face to face with him, you lick and bite every piece of skin you find, you jerking him off, feeling your fingers get wet with pre cum and your excitement

"On all fours my little bitch" he orders with a slap on your ass, you turn around getting your face pressed against the mattress, you feel Pedro's hand stroke your ass, and then the sound of a slap echoes through the room next to your moan, another slap and you hear him squat, then his lips are in your pussy, his tongue entering you like a cock, he moans against your pussy, making you feel the vibrations of his hoarse voice.

Before getting up you feel his saliva dripping through your pussy, another slap on your ass and you feel his cock hitting your clitoris, rubbing you hard, he moans and curses not being able to have both hands free, Pedro sticks his whole cock into your pussy, taking a loud moan from both of you.

"Fuck Pedro don't fucking stop please" he trust hard, you feel another orgasm forming, his skin hitting against you, his hand passing through your back, scratching your skin.

"Touch your clit, give me one more babe one fucking more" you put your hand in the middle of your legs and it doesn't take many movements to cum on his cock, you feel yourself explode, making you scream the name of Pedro.

"Fuck babe I'm going to fill your pussy" Pedro speed up the movements, his left hand squeezing your hip hard, you feel hot jets of cum flooding your pussy, Pedro moaning your name while slapping your ass a few more times

"Your pussy is milking me you fucking bitch" Pedro throws himself next to you on the bed, breathing with difficulty, he looks at you and laughs and now you realize that he didn't even take off his glasses, the disheveled hair gives an extremely unique look. Him.

"Fuck the awards" he says laughing, panting, you kiss him and say softly

"More awards to come Pedrito, relax" he smiles stretching his hand and slapping you in the ass

"I will win them all! Let's go to the shower"

Pedro stares at you as you undo the velcro of his arm sling “What?" He just smiles saying that out of nowhere, the bathtub is almost full, you enter and feel your feet thank the hot water, you sit down and call him, he approaches and sits behind you, pulling you to have your back glued to his chest, you put your head between his neck and shoulder, stretching your right hand while you play with his hair.

You feel his left hand playing with your nipples, slowly going down yourbelly until you find my clit.

"Hmmm I'm still not happy I need more awards" he says this and puts his leg under yours, making it almost impossible for you to close your legs, the middle and index finger draw circles through your clit, in and out his finger inside you. You tilt your head more looking for his lips, kissing him while you release moans every time you feel him put two fingers inside your pussy.

"I want you to hold my cock with that beautiful hand and put it in that tight little pussy and ride me "

Every word he said was a thrust of his fingers inside you, you turn around and sit on his lap, holding his cock with your right hand, Pedro doesn't wait a second and is already pushing myou down to bury himself inside you. Pedro sucks and bites your nipples, climbs his tongue until he finds your lips, his hand holding your ass tigh, guiding how he wants me to roll.

"Fuck, you're so hot, that pussy squeezes me so hard"

Your moan is loud, your nails scratch his shoulders, your lips meet the skin of his neck where you slide your tongue whispering in his ear how you love to feel his cock all inside you.

Pedro holds the back of your neck making you look into his eyes "Cum on my cock, squeeze me" you grind more feeling your clit rubbing on his lower belly, the orgasm growing inside you, your hands hold his shoulders tightly

"Fuck I'm going to cum"

His hand grabs my neck, squeezing hard as he orders "Now" your moans are weak due to the force he holds your neck, you feel your body tremble

"I'm going to fill your fucking pussy with cum, kiss me please" your kiss is desperate, your moans are loud, Pedro’s hand runs through your body desperate to touch every inch of your skin.

"Fuck, that was much better than any award" he speaks in the midst of laughter you kiss his shoulder and bury your face on his neck

"Always so good... Hmmm pizza and beers?" He laughs loudly and gives you a slow kiss.

"Fuck yeah pizza and beers!"

———————————

Thanks for being here and read our delusional fics, likes are appreciate, comments even more. If you want to ask anything, blast it!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x f!reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal imagine #pedrohub #dieter bravo #joel miller x reader #dieter bravo x reader #dave york x reader #javier pena x you #javier gutierrez

345 notes · View notes

astroa3h · 4 months

Text

venus through the houses (negative traits) 🦢

Venus, often celebrated for its qualities of love, beauty, and harmony, also has a shadow side that can manifest in various ways, depending on the house it resides in. Imagine Venus not just as the planet of love but also as a complex character with its virtues and vices, navigating through the neighborhoods of the zodiac.

✨1st House: The Mask of Vanity✨

When Venus sits in the 1st House, it's like wearing a mask of charm and attractiveness. However, this placement can lead to an obsession with personal appearance and a compulsion to be liked, often at the expense of genuine self-expression. People with this placement might struggle with superficiality, using their charm as a shield to hide their true selves.

✨2nd House: The Hoarder of Pleasures✨

In the 2nd House, Venus's dark side turns to materialism. Here, the love for beauty and comfort can morph into an unquenchable thirst for possessions and luxury, leading to greed or excessive indulgence in sensory pleasures, making it hard to understand the true value of things beyond their price tags.

✨3rd House: The Sweet Talker✨

Venus in the 3rd House can weave words like a spell, but this gift might be used manipulatively. The desire for social harmony can become a fear of confrontation, leading to dishonesty or saying what others want to hear instead of the truth. Relationships may suffer from a lack of depth due to an avoidance of uncomfortable discussions.

✨4th House: The Homebound Heart✨

In the 4th House, Venus's shadow shows in the form of clinging to comfort and familiarity, leading to resistance against change and growth. Emotional security might be sought in possessions or the home environment, creating a bubble that's hard to leave for the fear of losing stability.

✨5th House: The Drama Lover✨

Venus in the 5th House loves romance and creativity but can get caught up in the drama of love, treating relationships like a stage for personal amusement. This can lead to superficial connections or a chase for eternal honeymoon phases, avoiding the reality of deeper, more mature partnerships.

✨6th House: The People Pleaser✨

Here, Venus's need for approval manifests in the workplace or daily routines, leading to over-accommodating behaviors. A desire to be liked by peers and superiors can result in neglecting one's own needs or values, causing burnout or resentment in the long run.

✨7th House: The Co-dependent✨

In the 7th House, Venus's dark side is in its fear of being alone, leading to co-dependency in relationships. There's a risk of losing one's identity in the quest for harmony and partnership, with a tendency to compromise too much or stay in unsatisfying relationships for the sake of peace.

✨8th House: The Obsessor✨

Venus in the 8th House can bring intense relationships, but with a potential for possessiveness or jealousy. The desire for deep connections may turn into an obsession, where love is confused with control, leading to toxic dynamics that are hard to escape.

✨9th House: The Eternal Optimist✨

While optimism is generally positive, Venus in the 9th House can lead to unrealistic expectations, especially in love and beliefs. There's a tendency to idolize partners or philosophies without acknowledging their flaws, which can lead to disappointment when reality checks in.

✨10th House: The Status Seeker✨

In the 10th House, Venus's influence can focus too much on social status and success, valuing relationships based on how they enhance personal reputation or career. Genuine connections might be sacrificed for the sake of ambition, leading to a sense of emptiness despite outward achievements.

✨11th House: The Fair-weather Friend✨

Venus in the 11th House may love to be surrounded by friends, but there's a risk of superficiality, where connections are maintained only when they are beneficial or enjoyable. This placement can struggle with commitment to deeper, less convenient friendships.

✨12th House: The Secret Lover✨

Lastly, in the 12th House, Venus hides in the realm of secrets and sacrifices. Love may be expressed through suffering or martyrdom, leading to unrequited loves or relationships that exist more in fantasy than reality. There's a danger of losing oneself in illusions, avoiding the practical side of love.

xox astro ash ❤️‍🔥

Get your own astrology reading @ astroash.net

TikTok - astroa3h

245 notes · View notes

youaintnothinbuta · 1 month

Note

A story where Elvis is protective of you. Maybe something happens to the reader, a guy is hurting her or something and Elvis handles it. Ends with smut 😇

“Looks like Presley’s got himself a little plaything.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: while Elvis is on stage, you get approached and harassed, one of them attempting to get you to come onto him. Elvis finishes his set in perfect time, coming out to find you, only to see what was happening and giving the guy a good punch to the stomach for messing with you. In his dressing room, you can’t help but feel slightly turned on, and so, you and him have a little dressing room quickie.

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 1,500

Warnings: mild angst, arguments/verbal insults, unwanted attention, mild harassment, F slur used, physical fighting, SMUT, 18+, unprotected sex, probably typos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elvis had taken you along with him and his band to a gig at a fair in Louisville. You got to sit in the audience seats during soundcheck when there was no audience, but of course, moved backstage, away from the fans during the show. Before going on stage, Elvis had given you his jacket to wear, partly because you were his girlfriend and he liked seeing you in his clothes, partly because last time he wore a jacket it gone torn off of him by the front row.

Towards the end of his set, you started feeling quite warm, and wandered out the back of the building to get some fresh air.

“Well I’ll be,” You heard an unfamiliar voice. You turned to look, three guys and a couple girls close behind them, looking at you. You glanced away, not particularly interested in whatever they had to say. One of them notices the jacket slung over your shoulders. With a cocky grin, he spoke, “looks like Presley’s got himself a little plaything.”

His companions snickered, egging him on with jeers and taunts. “Yeah, bet you’re just another one of his floozies, ain’t ya? Bet he passes you around like one of his guitars.”

You felt your cheeks burn with indignation, but before you could retort, another one of the group chimed in, “Sweetheart, a faggot like him can’t love you. Come here, don’t be shy now,” he approached you.

He continued as he crept up onto you, “let me, darlin’, come on.”

He reached out to try and touch you, but you slapped his hand away, “don’t you dare touch me!”

Your heart raced with shock and revulsion, but the group only laughed, their lewd behavior escalating, “Let me tell ya, he’s nothing but a glorified hillbilly with a pompadour.”

Just as this guy took a step out of your personal space, the door you had originally come out of swung open, and Elvis stormed out, his presence commanding attention. “Leave her alone,” he demanded, his voice ringing out with authority.

“Woah, don’t get your panties in a twist, fairy.”

Elvis closed the distance between himself and the groups seemed ringleader, “I ain’t gonna warn ya again,” he growled, his voice low.

He faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity in Elvis’ gaze. Sensing an opportunity, Elvis seized the moment, grabbing the guy by the collar and delivering a well-placed punch to his gut.

As your intimidator doubled over in pain, Elvis turned to you, his expression softening. “Come on, darlin’,” he said gently, leading you back inside. You made your way to his dressing room. He gently took the jacket off your shoulders and picked you up, propping you down on the vanity bench, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He leant close to you, his hands either side of you, peppering apologetic kisses all over your skin.

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left.” You argued. He shook his head ‘no’ against your shoulder, resting it against you. The smell of his cologne mixed with his sweat from performing met your senses, sending a chill over you. You reached for his hand, moving it to your thigh, mumbling his name.

“Sweetheart,” he spoke softly, his thumb caressing your soft skin. You tugged on his fingertips, pulling them closer to your body, hoping he might take the hint this time. He looked up at you, his eyebrow slightly raised, asking you, do you really want me to?

You nodded, waiting for his kiss. Elvis gazed into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours as he whispered, “Are you sure, darlin’? Here?”

Your heart pounded with anticipation as you reached up to cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. Elvis responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours. The taste of him mixed with the lingering scent of him spun your head in circles. And the way he protected you like that, you were ashamed to think about how much you enjoyed seeing him hurt that guy.

Elvis pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, pressing his hips against yours. You gasped slightly, feeling his erection against you. He brought his kiss back to your lips, smiling through the kiss as you began grinding and writhing against him.

“We gotta be quick,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against your lips as he began to explore the depths of your desire. With practiced ease, he pulled your panties to the side, dipping his finger inside you to test your readiness. Your response was immediate, your knees falling open further in invitation as you arched into his touch, a silent plea for more.

Your hands found their way to the bulge in his pants, fingers dancing over the fabric as you stroked him, coaxing a low groan of pleasure from his lips. Encouraged by your touch, he pressed his thumb to your clit, setting your senses ablaze.

You fiddled with the buttons of his pants, struggling to get them undone. A soft chuckle escaped his lips at your evident distress, and with a gentle touch, he took his hands away, swiftly dropping his pants. You blushed at the sight of him, his cock gently bouncing as he throbbed. With a tender kiss, he brought his lips to yours once more, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as your hand worked to guide his tip to your entrance. Slowly, he pressed himself into you, the tight angle of your position on the countertop causing you to shudder with a mix of pleasure and discomfort.

“Easy, darlin’, there you go,” he spoke, his voice soothing as you leaned back, moving your hands behind you to hold yourself up.

He began to thrust, slow and shallow movements at first. He set a rhythm that was gentle yet deliberate, and despite your initial discomfort, found yourself easing into pleasure as you adjusted to him.

Elvis brought his thumb to his lips, wetting it with his saliva before delicately pressing it against your swollen clit, drawing small, teasing circles that sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. As he increased the pace of his thrusts, the sensation intensified, eliciting hushed whines from your voice. Your eyes squeezed shut, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you fought to contain the rising tide of pleasure you felt. You clamped your lips together, desperate to stifle the sounds of pleasure that threatened to spill from your throat, not wanting to draw anyone else in the building’s attention to what you were doing.

“Come,” Elvis growled, his voice low and commanding, “Come on my cock.”

His fingers worked tirelessly on your clit, switching between gentle circles, clockwise and anti-clockwise motions, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your body. Your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably, your grip on his shirt tightening as you struggled to maintain your composure amidst the overwhelming wave of sensation crashing over you.

He used his other hand to lift your leg up, giving him deeper access. Elvis used his free hand to lift one of your legs, granting him deeper access as he continued to pound into you with an unrelenting rhythm. His movements became increasingly erratic and sloppy, a telltale sign that he was on the brink of his own climax, his primal groans of pleasure mingling with your own as you both teetered on the edge of release.

With a muffled cry, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as waves of pleasure washed over you, consuming you whole. As you reached the peak of your orgasm, your body trembled with the sheer intensity of it all. With each convulsive spasm, you felt your arousal coating his cock, slick and slippery with the evidence of your release.

With a deeper, harder thrust, Elvis leaned his body over yours, his muscles straining with the effort to maintain control as he sought to pleasure you. He was careful not to crush you with his weight, his movements calculated and precise as he continued to thrust into you with a primitive urgency. In a moment of pure abandon, he released himself fully, his body shuddering with the force of his climax as he spilled his orgasm deep inside you. You felt the pulsing of his cock as his hot, sticky cum shot into you, filling you to the brim.

You clung to him desperately, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you reveled in the afterglow. In that moment, as you held each other, you let out an exasperated giggle, “I love you.”

“I love you more.” He replied, kissing your forehead. Slowly pulling himself out of you, the both of you redressed yourselves, taking another moment to breathe.

“Come on, let’s go home,” he muttered, holding the back of your head in his large hand as he kissed your forehead. You nodded, leaning into his body.

142 notes · View notes

ingravinoveritas · 2 months

Text

I recently had this link shared with me by one of my lovely friends here in the fandom, and found it so compelling that I wanted to share it with all of you.

This is a recent article from Vanity Fair about Cary Grant and Randolph Scott, both iconic actors from the era we now call "Old Hollywood," and it details their extremely interesting--both by the standards of the era and today--relationship. It's a long read, but more than worth it.

For those who may not know, Cary Grant was an English-born American actor and iconic leading man, and Randolph Scott was an American actor most known for appearing in Westerns. Both men were married to women/had children at varying points in their lives, but by some accounts (and especially what is chronicled in this article), they were the loves of each other's lives, even though being openly queer was next to impossible at the time, and would've been looked at as a career-ending (and maybe even life-ending) move.

There also seem to be quite a few parallels between Cary and Randolph 90 years ago and Michael and David today. The two men actually lived together for a number of years, during which the press of the day chose to portray them as "just two fun-loving bachelors waiting to find the right gal," all while Grant in particular starred in films with queer-flavored undertones that were both bold and downright dangerous in the era of the Hays Code. They continued living together when Grant was first married to his first wife, Virginia Cherrill (and after they divorced), and fun fact: While Grant was married, Scott moved right next door...so they were, in fact, neighbors.

Here are a few other excerpts that very much reminded me of Michael and David, for your consideration. (FYI that "Archie Leach" was Cary Grant's birth name before he changed it to his stage name.) This first one calls to mind the Radio Times calling Michael and David a "handsome couple" on the night of the NTAs in 2021:

This next one of course made me think of Michael and David talking on David's podcast (skip to the 1:25 mark) in 2019 about hating photo shoots and how Michael flat-out refused to answer questions at one point and only got through it because of David:

And this last one features a quote from a close friend about Grant and Scott that nearly made my heart skip an entire beat. For reasons that will soon be very, very obvious:

(I mean...)

What is also remarkable about this article (though not necessarily in a good way) is the mention of how little has changed since Grant and Scott's time. How even today, any actor who comes out as any flavor of queer is immediately looked at differently, and how the fear of both professional and personal repercussions keeps people in the closet for so many reasons.

These were the parts of the article that stood out to me the most, but as always I would love to hear from my followers with your thoughts and takes on the parallels above or anything else that you find interesting...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #vanity fair #cary grant #randolph scott #old hollywood #this is somehow heartbreaking and beautiful all at once #also 'Our souls did touch' makes me think of Michael and David every time they look at each other #the parallels are paralleling #but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #queer history #thoughts #discourse

121 notes · View notes

asoulwithadream · 8 months

Text

EXCLUSIVE FALL PREVIEWS

Mates. LADS. BRETHEREN.

I think I'm going to die now. AAAAAAAAAAAAH—

BUT OF COURSE WHAT WOULD BE THE SENSE OF MY EXISTENCE IF I DIDN'T SHARE MY OWN PERSONAL THOUGHTS ON THESE BEAUTIFUL THINGS BEFORE THE MEDICINE KICKS IN.

The Crew — I think this is where they see LUCIUS!!!! I'm so very convinced this is where they meet Lucius. As we can see, they're all in the same clothing as the Vanity Fair first looks, where Black Pete is visibly overjoyed. But can't you see that he is missing from this shot? Probably snogging Lucius' face off or hugging him or doing something as such.

Lucius probably popped around the corner in the Vanity Fair one, and now they're sharing an intimate moment (keeping it PG) on deck while the rest of the happy crew watches on (as visible from Roach's, Oluwande's, and Wee John's faces). Of course, Buttons has no interest in human adoration, and instead looks on towards his own lover, the sea.

Stede is looking quite perplexed, or maybe contemplatively—perhaps as a result of Lucius telling Stede what happened to him. He doesn't look directly all that happy, does he?

(OMG OMG OMG WHY DO THEY ALL LOOK SO HAPPY EXCEPT STEDE BUT OLU YOU DEAREST MAN AND THEY'RE LOOKING SNAZZY AND I LOVE THEIR SOCKS I'M AHHAHASIJDHKAE)

Stede — That's the floor of the Revenge guys. I know it well since the last time Stede was pushed onto it. (Solidarity for the harm that the foot touch caused in these trying times) He is wearing what looks to be ye olde fencing gloves, and this means that was just handling a sword. (Though, he could have been using the cannons; we all know Stede would probably confuse fencing gloves for heavy artillery)

There are a few scenarios I can find at the top of my head: he's either training with Izzy (though would that explain his terrified expression? maybe)—we also see the lack of the red ribbon, which I think he removed when he teams up with Izzy, for whatever reason—or he's been duelling with someone else, someone who is extremely better at swordsmanship, someone we know to have been excellent at both maiming and receiving stab wounds. Has he been fighting with Edward?

I think it's the former, but who knows? The best part of theorising is being wrong, after all. I guess we can just gang up and say "calm down mr wavey blade" to whoever is behind this. Plus, do I see traced of some fuzz on his chin? Confirmed baby steard, guys???

(He's such an ICON I WANT TO BREATHE HIS HAIR AND SEE IT BEHIND MY EYELIDS. In the wise words of Rhys Darby, "I wish I had his hair". BUT LIKE HONESTLY WHAT'S GOING ON HERE WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE'S SEEN A GHOST)

Frenchie and Ed — This has me on actual alarm bells mode. I can't tell whether or not this is Blackbeard or post-Blackbeard era—he's not wearing any dark chunky make-up, and has his hair up in his classic, beautiful half-up half-down, and we finally get a more close-up and clear shot of his earring, which we first spotted from the Vanity Fair first looks?

A detail I spotted for Frenchie's new goth uniform, which he is still wearing in this shot (further confusing me on the timeline of this image)—I think that his jacket is the very same from the "The Best Revenge Is Dressing Well" episode, which is so incredibly sweet and a beautiful little detail to connect back to season 1. I'd like to think he customised it himself, since we know Frenchie can "sew like the wind."

That's also still the Revenge, in fact the very spot where Lucius was about to get his finger cut off in "The Art of F**kery". But what intent Ed has with this confrontation with Frenchie, who seemingly looks like perhaps he wasn't even doing anything wrong, escapes the depth of my theoretical mind. What contributes even less to this is that Ed is smiling? Rather maniacal, might I add.

(WHAT. THE. FUCK. help me why is this happening. I LIKE AM SO ANGRY AND SO HAPPY AT THE SAME TIME THAT I CAN'T FIGURE ANYTHING OUT FROM THIS PICTURE. NOT EVEN WHAT STAGE OF GRIEF ED IS IN. HELP ME)

Edward — That chair looks like it's from Stede's room, from one of the desk-like tables in the corner next to his bed, and perhaps even the only chair which Ed kept in the room after his rather ill-tasted renovations. What's he doing there without his make-up on? Perhaps this is still during the early stages of new Blackbeard, and he's just in the transit period between washing and re-application.

BUT, if we look at the background, does that look like the Revenge? Not really... There is what seems like a fireplace or some sort of stone plate in the background, with a painting on it with a man on the left side of the composition, who seemingly looks to have lighter coloured hair. So what I may be thinking, is that Edward is visiting MARY ALLAMBY! The painting in the background may be the one from Stede and Mary's wedding, and Mary might have kept it as memorabilia in ode of her now good friend. (Stede is on the left in that painting). Plus, where else would Stede get his furniture and taste for his bedroom than his own former house, which Mary currently lives at?

Even though I think David Jenkins said that Mary wouldn't be present in the season, do I believe him? No. I think I have the right for me to be delusional without external interference at this point.

(Please let me be right please let me be right I NEED A MARY / ED INTERACTION AT SOME POINT TO HEAL MY HEART. I need Mary to realise that fucking Blackbeard is the Ed that Stede was talking about, I NEED ED TO THINK THAT STEDE DIED, FOR EVEN A MOMENT. I think my brain has stopped receiving oxygen.)

Send hopes and prayers

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 speculation #ofmd s2 theories #ofmd fall previews #ofmd teaser #ofmd vanity fair #edward teach #ed teach #blackbeard #stede bonnet #crew of the revenge #lucius spriggs #mary allamby bonnet #rhys darby #taika waititi #david jenkins #i need desperate help and assistance in these trying times #how am i supposed to live laugh love in these conditions

152 notes · View notes

benoits-neckerchieves · 2 months

Text

Apparently Daniel Craig is trying to get funding to make a movie of that version of Othello he did on stage in 2016 and it just made me think about those cute rehearsal pics where i always think he looks like he’s at school idk why (probably the little notepads and sitting on benches listening to someone talk)

Photos: Vanity Fair / Charlie Gray

#he looks good tho #daniel craig #othello #new york theater #rehearsal #theatre kids #behind the scenes #stage play #movie news #charlie gray #stage production #upcoming movies #james bond

68 notes · View notes

probably-writing-x · 1 year

Text

Curtains Closed - Part 2

Summary:

Warnings: I dont thinkkkkkk there's any?

Author’s Note: I love writing this concept and I loveee writing requests so please let me know if you'd like more parts of this or if you have any other ideas <3 Love you all x

———

You were sure that your reflection would start morphing if you stared at it anymore, or at least the small part that was visible in your compact mirror. Your makeup was still flawless, your hair still not even a fraction out of place, your outfit still hugging your body in the exact way it had done when you’d left. But now, sat in the car just before you had to leave, you wanted nothing more than to go home and change it all.

You should be high on life. You’d just won Best Actress for your role - a role you’d poured your heart and soul into. The film was a success, your name was in the headlines, everyone adored you. But as you were sat waiting to go into the after party, you couldn’t think of anything worse than having to celebrate your success alone.

“Are you ready to go honey?” Your assistant asks from beside you, offering you a smile.

She came with you everywhere, and she’d taken the plus one seat at the Oscars now that Drew wouldn’t be using it.

Drew. You hadn’t spoken to him since that day at your apartment, not even crossed paths once. You’d heard he’d been doing okay, and his film with Emily came out last week.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” You smile, taking a deep breath and stepping out of the car.

Vanity Fair was plastered along one wall of the red carpet, cameras lining up along the other side with their flashing lights, a sprinkling of celebrities across the carpet already.

You’re instantly whisked onto the carpet, told to stand in front of the sign and smile. You’d changed out of your lavish Oscar’s dress for one of the same colour, this one simpler, a silk dress that fell around your chest and hugged into your waist, dropping down to your ankles with an extremely low cut back.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Over here!” Strangers’ voices call out to you from all different directions, all accompanied by the flash of their cameras.

You know how to pose by now, looking over your shoulder, moving your dress in the right way, look left, look right, go back to the front, change pose. It was all relatively routine to you at this point.

“(Y/N)! Over here! Look this way!” Another few voices shout and you try to keep your smile just as wide, knowing all of them wanted to capture the perfect shots of the lead actress of the year.

Your assistant comes back over to you and leads you over to the interviews, a row of filming cameras and people with microphones all waiting to hear from you.

“So, congratulations (Y/N), all of us here are so happy for you. How does it feel to officially be an Academy Award Winner?”

You take in a deep breath and smile, “You know, it’s just beyond words. I am so so grateful, I just feel like I’m living in a dream!”

The interviewer smiles and proceeds with their next question, “So who are you going to be celebrating with tonight?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “Um, you know, I’m here with my assistant who is literally with me through everything, so I’m very happy to be sharing this with her. And then I’ll be celebrating with my family and my close friends as soon as I can.”

“That’s great, (Y/N), thank you! Have a lovely night.”

You move onto the next couple of interviews and they all ask you similar questions, about the film, about how amazing it was to win, about who you’d be celebrating with. The latter always brought the same sickness to your stomach. When Drew first saw you act, he told you he knew there’d be a moment when the world saw you in the way he did - and he told you he’d be there to cheer you on from the front row. But you were on the stage tonight, and his seat was re-named.

“I think Madelyn has just arrived,” Your assistant comments, “I’m going to head in but it might be nice for you two to get some photos together.”

“Sure, I’ll see you in there!” You encourage and she disappears.

You glance around at the carpet and catch sight of Madelyn just arriving. She’s wearing a black floor length dress accented with thin feathers and she looks as elegant as ever. Her face brightens up as soon as she sees you.

“Oh my god (Y/N)!” She squeals, extending her arms to envelop you in a hug, “Oh my god I am just so so so so so proud of you.”

“Thank you!” You respond, squeezing her a little tighter, “I’m so glad you’re here, I needed to see you tonight.”

“Girl, I gotchu, don’t worry,” She squeezes your arm, “I will warn you though, in about ten seconds I think you’re about to see somebody you really don’t want to see…”

Her words trail off into the ringing in your ears as you see who had just stepped out of the car behind her. His tall frame fitted into an all black suit, with just a small white trim along the button line of the shirts. His hair is buzzcut short, his eyes as piercing as ever when they are so harshly focused on you. And they are. As soon as his eyes fall to you, it is impossible for them to leave. The whole world around you seems to stop completely, all the sound drown out, everything else a blur but him and his face and his eyes and… him.

“Are you going to be okay?”

"Yes, yeah, of course," You cough a little, "Why wouldn't I be?"

And then you see. On the other side of the car, Emily stepping out. Her hair is fixed perfectly in a messy up-do, a short dress accenting her long legs and the perfect curves of her body. Perfect.

All of the reality comes tumbling back to you, washing over you in rushes of excess noise and bright lights and people shouting. You feel like you could sink into the carpet beneath you.

"(Y/N)," Drew says, now walking the short distance over to you, "Um, hi."

"Hi," Your breath catches in your throat, "How ar-"

"Hey honey, let's get some photos done," Emily cuts in, hurrying over and linking her arm with Drew's, "Oh, hey, (Y/N), didn't even know you'd be here."

You fight back any hatred from your words, "Yeah, yeah, sort of comes with the win I guess."

You can feel Madelyn smiling from beside you. Drew is still yet to take his eyes away from you, his lips slightly parted as if on the cusp of saying something.

Emily moves her hand and links her fingers with his, pulling both his and your attention to the point where their hands intertwine, "Come on babe, they need to get my good angle."

There's never a good way to describe the feeling, is there? How your heart feels like it tears in two and completely stops, all at the same second, all with no warning. How your hands feel like they lose all feeling but your body suddenly feels hyperaware of everything. How your brain loses all focus and your eyes cease to work but you can still note down every detail of exactly what is happening in front of you. How your worst nightmare is playing out right there, but you can't bring yourself to look away.

Drew doesn't say anything, simply nodding and following behind her as she drags the pair of them to stand in front of the cameras. You watch the photographers start snapping the shots and feel the tears start to bubble in your eyes, threatening to spill and expose how you felt for the headlines - fanning a fire you had tried to put out.

"Oh no you don't," Madelyn squeezes your hand, "You're not crying for him tonight, today is your day."

She grips your hand tighter and the pair of you walk in towards the party, forcing against every instinct in you to not look back at the sight of your worst nightmare playing out in front of you.

~~~

It's a little later into the party and you've done everything in your power to try and not think about Drew and Emily. Luckily, you'd been busy all night with people wanting to congratulate you on your win, thanking them and laughing when they say they want to be with you in your next project. It is at least an hour later when you see him again.

You're at the bar, waiting for the bartender to bring you your order, taking a minute to breathe amongst a lot of posing.

"Excuse me mate, can I grab a beer and a glass of water, please."

You'd know the tone anywhere. The same voice that made you weak at your knees, made your heart race.

He leans over the bar waiting for his drinks, glancing right until his eyes fall on you, "Hey."

"Hi," You respond, just as the bartender comes back with your drink.

Drew looks at you and then down to the glass in your hands like he can't manage to keep eye contact for too long.

"I should go," You say quickly before all of the air feels knocked from your lungs.

Drew stretches out a hand and wraps his fingers around your forearm, "Please don't."

There's a pleading in his eyes that laces his words, echoing in the slight furrow to his brows. When he sees you don't resist his touch, he relaxes, but his hand doesn't move just yet.

"I didn't get a chance to say it earlier but congratulations, really, I-" He stops himself, "I know how much you deserve it, and I just wanted you to know that I'm... I'm proud of you."

You let out a shaky breath, but draw your shoulders back and try to inject some confidence back into yourself, "Thank you, I appreciate that. You always did tell me it would happen eventually."

Drew lets out a raspy laugh, dropping his hand from your arm to drag it over his short hair, "Yeah, well, I believed in you," He stops, "Still do."

There's an ache in your heart to reach out for him. To tell him about the new coffee shop in New York that you've fallen in love with and how you want to go to Italy for the summer, how you wished you were reading more recently and how you aren't sure whether to take a new TV role. You went to tell him all the big and all the small, all the bad and all the good and everything in between. You want him to know you like he did last year.

In the silence, he glances down and looks at your drink, "They didn't give you ice."

"Oh, yeah, no, it's fine," You shrug, "I don't mind."

He frowns a little and takes it from you, "Sorry, do you mind putting some ice in this?"

You hover beside him at the bar, scanning your eyes down the lines of his side profile. As much as he didn't know it all, he did know you. He always would.

"Here," He gives you back your drink, "You never were good at sending food back."

You stop yourself from smiling too much, biting the inside of your cheek.

"I wanted to say to you too," He chews at the inside of his lip like he does when he is nervous, "Me and Emily-"

You put up a hand to stop him, "I don't think you need to tell me, Drew. If you're happy, that's great. But it took a lot for me to get over you, and I don't know if I can do all of that again so-"

"We're not together."

The words stop you in your tracks.

"We're not dating, we never were, we never will be," He states, clearly like he wants to make it certain that you hear him, "The producers said it would be a good idea to spark some rumours to promote the film, I didn't want to do it but..."

"You're not dating?"

"No, god no," He shakes his head aggressively, "After you and I split up she mentioned something about there being something between us, but I told her that I was waiting for you, and she understood. We're just friends, and I don't want it to be anything more."

You fight back another smile, feeling a little bit more like your boyfriend was stood in front of you - the boy who knew you.

"I told you I'd wait for you, (Y/N)," He shrugs his shoulders like its the easiest thing he's ever said, "I meant it."

296 notes · View notes

eretzyisrael · 7 days

Text

by Matt Margolis

Jerry Seinfeld is by no means the most political or controversial actor/comedian out there, but when he took the stage at Duke University's commencement ceremony, it ultimately caused a chorus of "boos" and pro-Palestinian chants, as well as a walkout by students.

Seinfeld, who is Jewish, is the parent of two Duke students and an active supporter of the university. He has been vocal in his support for Israel following the Hamas terrorist attacks on Israel on October 7. His wife also funded a pro-Israel protest at UCLA last week. When Seinfeld was announced as this year's commencement speaker, some students expressed opposition to his appearance over his support of Israel, and warned that there would be a display of opposition at the commencement ceremony.

The 70-year-old comedian also made headlines recently for blaming "the extreme left" for ruining comedy.

"Nothing really affects comedy. People always need it. They need it so badly and they don’t get it. Used to be you would go home at the end of the day, most people would go, "Oh, ‘Cheers’ is on. Oh, ‘M.A.S.H.’ Is on. Oh, ‘Mary Tyler Moore’ is on. Oh, ‘All in the Family’ is on. You just expected there’ll be some funny stuff we can watch on TV tonight. Well, guess what? Where is it?" Seinfeld said last month. "This is the result of the extreme left and PC crap and people worrying so much about offending other people. When you write a script and it goes into four or five different hands, committees, groups: ‘Here’s our thought about this joke.’ Well, that’s the end of your comedy,” he said. "They move the gates, like in skiing. Culture, the gates are moving. Your job is to be agile and clever enough that wherever they put the gates, I’m gonna make the gate."

Vanity Fair has more.

Seinfeld’s introduction by school president Vincent Price was “drowned out” by chants of “free free Palestine.” The rallying cries appeared to come from both the soon-to-be-graduates seated on Brooks Field as well as folks in the surrounding rows at Wallace Wade Stadium. Another video shows be-gowned students standing, unfurling Palestinian flags, and leaving the stadium as Seinfeld prepared to speak. According to The Daily Beast, the livestream of the graduation ceremony cut away from the protest as it occurred. Seinfeld, who also received an honorary doctorate from the school, didn’t allude to the protest in his speech, which focused on general life advice for the graduates. WRAL reports that the still-working standup announced three keys to life: Work hard, pay attention, and fall in love. (All activities, one should note, that seemed to eternally elude his namesake character.)

“Whatever you’re doing, I don’t care if it’s your job, your hobby, a relationship, getting a reservation at M Sushi, make an effort,” Seinfeld said in his speech, which made no mention of the protesting students. “Just pure, stupid, no-real-idea-what-I’m-doing-here effort. Effort always yields a positive value, even if the outcome of the effort is absolute failure of the desired result. This is a rule of life. Just swing the bat and pray is not a bad approach to a lot of things.”

According to a report from the New York Times, the graduates who walked out chanted “Disclose, divest, we will not stop, we will not rest” from the parking lot.

#jerry seinfeld #commencement address #protesters #duke university #comedy

47 notes · View notes

mymanreedus · 9 days

Text

I did get very excited when Daryl dropped the words “the walking dead,” when he’s hoping to put a stop to the human-on-human violence. Saying the title of the show in the series finale is a massive responsibility! Did you get a kick out of that line?

I didn't want to say it, I'll be honest with you. I didn't want to say it, and they kind of talked me into saying it. But, if you remember way back when Rick says it, he was like, "We are not the walking dead," and he made such a big thing of it that I was like, "Well, I can't make a big thing of it now because that's what Andy did way back then." So I kind of just incorporated it into the dialogue, and I didn't want to shout it from the rooftops, because that's what he did. So I had to figure out a way to just make it part of the sentence without making it a poster.

Even as Daryl has stepped into more of a leadership role, I still wouldn’t classify him as a big speech guy, so how did you approach him needing to be that person in the finale?

I think the speeches are different. Rick would give speeches on, like, a stage, which means the group would build a stage for him to give a speech on. I always thought Daryl was the type that if he wanted to get everyone's attention in a big crowd, he would stand on a car. I don't need anybody to build me a box to stand on. So it was those types of speeches that I didn't want to give. If I had to yell at a bunch of people, I would yell and get to the point, but I don't want you to build a stage for me; I'd feel awkward stepping on a stage.

-Norman Reedus, Vanity Fair

#the walking dead #s11e24 #daryl dixon #pamela milton #norman reedus #behind the scenes #horde #interview #rick grimes #5x10

29 notes · View notes

majaloveschris · 2 months

Note

I see a lot of people saying that they’ve switched over to thinking it’s real and I just wanted to say this: they had to bring their A game to this event, they had to sell it properly. This wasn’t a quick jog through Central Park with a few staged photos or a restaurant pap walk and video that only the fans would analyze. This was one of the biggest events of the year and they needed to show up for it. Let’s not forget all the other bits that we’ve seen over the past couple of years and make a judgement on it as a whole, not just because of a night out where they knew eyes would be watching them.

Yeah, I agree with you. As I said in my other post, and as you said it too, it wasn't just a random pap walk; this was the Vanity Fair party, the biggest afterparty in the industry. He obviously will try harder, and he obviously won't act like he did during the other outings. He knew that acting like a dick would shed a bad light on him. He tried his best, but even then, you were able to see how awkward they were together and how unnatural their every move was. They did everything for the camera and acted differently when they saw they were being recorded. It should've been expected that he would try harder, but it still wasn't convincing. You can't fake love, especially not the "you're the one; you're the love of my life" kind.

But to each their own. If people decide to switch, I respect that too. This isn't an easy situation after all.

#majaloveschris #chris and alba pr #chris and alba relationship #cevans-love #chris and alba vanity fair

39 notes · View notes

bts-hyperfixation · 7 months

Text

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 27 of 35

1307 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

By the time you make it back inside you are more than ready to pass out. The boys kept you busy all afternoon playing games in the pool, then when you tried to go for a nap Jimin decided it was time to go shopping to fill the cupboards and that you had to be the one to go with him. Which was lovely, you hadn't spent a lot of time with him lately and he demanded you hold his hand around the entire store. However now it was past 11 pm and you hadn't slept since the plane early this morning.

And yet the boys kept going. You could hear the music through the walls, and Jin's laughter was unmistakable as it echoed around the estate. You smiled to yourself as you walked up the stairs to the room you had been assigned. You hadn't had the chance to explore the rooms yet but you knew there were four, two of you in each one. They hadn't even told you who your bunkmate was but there seemed to have been some kind of competition while you were off with Namjoon.

They assured you that it had been completely fair but Namjoon had seemed less than impressed...

Personally, you weren't too fussed about who you shared with as long as the beds were comfortable.

Your room was at the end of the hall. You opened the door to yet another stunning room. The room was beautifully open, with long windows spanning an entire wall. You're sure you could see straight out to the ocean during the day, but right now all that was visible was an endless expanse of stars.

In the room is a large bathtub hidden behind a flimsy screen, a beautiful antique-looking vanity, and a king-sized bed with pillows that look fluffy enough to get lost in.

Without a second thought, you launch yourself directly into the middle of the duvet, your suspicions confirmed as you sink so far down you can barely even see out of the bedding. You wriggle the best you can to find the edge of the bed again, tipping over the side and onto the floor.

Your bags are in the corner of the room, but it gives you no indication as to who is sharing your room as Jungkook had decided you all needed matching luggage. The only reason you know which was yours was because you added a purple ribbon with your contact details onto the handle. You thought about snooping through the bags on the opposite side of the room. But that would ruin the surprise.

You use the bath screen to hide behind as you change into your pyjamas but you needn't have worried as the party seems to be continuing into the early hours. You, on the other hand, couldn't keep your eyes open for even another second.

You peel back the covers, turn the AC all the way down and drift off into a dreamless sleep.

_____________________________

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep when you feel the bed dip down next to you. You contemplate keeping your eyes shut and trying to fall back to sleep without acknowledging your roommate. However, it's quite difficult to ignore someone when they make a point of bouncing onto the bed, take their time to wriggle until they are on your side, and then pull you into their arms.

"Y/N?" Your new cuddle buddy stage whispers drunkenly. "Are you awake?"

"No," You answer groggily.

"Are you sure? You sound awake..."

You blink your eyes open slowly and find Taehyung grinning at you. He pushes his nose against yours and you can smell the whiskey on his breath. You try to free yourself from his grasp, laughing as he only holds you tighter.

"Taehyung, I'm trying to sleep." You say, ducking out of his grasp.

"You can sleep after I finally get my kiss." He pouts.

He follows your movements until he ends up on top of you, caging you in beneath him.

"Don't you want our first kiss to be sober?" You ask him, pressing your hands against his bare chest.

"No... I want our first kiss to be now."

He dips closer to you, his lips ghosting over yours, just barely there. He pauses and waits for you to tell him no or push him away.

"Are you sure?" You murmur against him.

He responds by closing the minuscule gap. His kiss is feverish, small pecks eager to taste as much of you as he can in a small space of time. He tastes smoky like the whiskey he's been drinking and it's almost as intoxicating as if you had been drinking it yourself.

You try to reach out for his shirt to pull him closer, forgetting he is shirtless. Instead of a handful of fabric, you end up rubbing your fingertips across his pecs making him moan under your touch.

"If you get to touch me like that, it feels only fair that I should get to touch you too." He grumbles.

One of his hands falls to the hem of your shirt. You arch your back to allow him to shuffle the fabric up your stomach. He leaves it to pool above your boobs and then his mouth is suddenly travelling south. You tug at his hair just before his tongue drags across your cleavage.

"How drunk are you?" You ask him seriously.

"Barely even tipsy anymore," He responds holding up his fingers in a scout promise. "You have a very sobering effect on me."

You appraise him for a moment, admiring the way he looks with your hands in his hair. He definitely seems far more sober than you had first thought, and his hands are so warm against your skin that you are finding it difficult to make him stop.

So you don't.

He feels the moment your resolve breaks and your grasp loosens. He grins cheekily and his head dips back to your chest.

He wastes no time in flicking his tongue across your nipples making your back arch for him again. He takes the opportunity to slip his arm into the gap between you and the bed. He fits wonderfully in between your legs as he presses his chest to your stomach in an effort to get closer.

All the while his mouth remains on you. He nibbles gently along your skin leaving tiny red marks in his wake. You thread your fingers back into his hair, tugging on the thick curls as his bites become more intense. He flicks his tongue against your nipples to tease, forcing your hips to buck up against him in response.

"If you do that again, I'm not going to be able to stop myself from going much further than this." He groans.

"Then maybe we should stop..." You say, although even you know you don't sound convincing.

He stops playing with your breasts and kisses his way back up to your face.

"Do you really want to stop?" he asks.

"Well, it is late... I just think maybe we should save this for another day..."

Even as you say it, you can feel your stomach flip in protest. You want nothing more than to let him continue with whatever his plan may have been, but your brain can't help but tell you to stop.

"Okay. In which case I'm just going to run to the bathroom." He says.

He kisses you one more time and then pushes himself up and off the bed. You don't miss the slightly awkward waddle he does rearranging his boxers as he walks.

By the time he returns, you are almost fast asleep. You are just awake enough to feel him kiss your forehead as he pulls you into his arms and settles in for the night.

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn’t have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you’re feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn’t have to be BTS

87 notes · View notes