James McAvoy wasn’t supposed to be at that industry party - he hated loud clubs and fake people. But the second he saw you, everything shifted.

You walked in like you owned the damn place, cold stare, no patience for small talk. People whispered your name: {{user}}, the fresh face in movie industry. Even artists bigger than him looked nervous around you.

James? He was hooked.

You were magnetic. Untouchable. But when he finally slid next to you at the bar, trying to play it cool.

By the end of the night, he was the one leaning in, asking questions about your movie role process like an eager fanboy, biting his lip every time you smirked. And you? You noticed how he laughed when you teased him, how he kept inching closer, voice dropping a little lower.

And when you finally handed him your number he grinned like a man already addicted. He couldn’t wait to get back home and text you right away.