#difference between new york and london

[mapsareforbraindeads]

i need to talk about the use of harmonies in the death note musical and how it makes and/or breaks light and L’s characters i’m about to lose it

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[pers1st]

dancing with the devil - alexia putellas x reader

pairing: alexia x singer!reader

warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol

Meeting Alexia hadn't been an accident. If anything, meeting anyone, for you, was an accident, because more often than not, people were screaming into your face, demanding pictures and autographs and spinning theories about your private life that you were pretty sure could be considered conspiracies.

You hadn't intended, however, to meet Alexia. And she hadn't intended to meet you. The first time you'd seen the Catalonian woman had been on Keira's instagram. Your lifelong best friend and childhood neighbor was the only reason you were interested in women's football - or sports in general. You'd never shared your father's passion, or joined the local team like your brother had. If it wasn't for Keira, you would have no ties to the sport whatsoever, and even this way, you grew annoyed every time the strawberry blonde and her insufferably confident girlfriend tried to explain the offside rules to you.

Still, you followed Keira's life everywhere she went, and although you hadn't been happy with her move to Barcelona, you had forgiven her the minute you'd spotted the Catalonian woman on the sidelines.

Keira had warned you, but really, she should've warned Alexia. You enjoyed the lifestyle that came with being a singer, relished in parties and one-night-stands and rebounds that Keira doomed forbidden. More often than not, she'd threatened to hang up on your FaceTime call when you'd phoned her from London to tell her about your latest hookup. But Keira, as different as the two of you were, was still your best friend, and so she listened to every word you said, or sung, and was your number one supporter. This wasn't missed by her new teammates, who started following your socials the second Keira had first shared the promo picture of your new album. That's when Alexia had followed you. Keira should've warned her then, but a few years down the line, you were glad she hadn't. Because what was supposed to be a bed for you to spend a night in when you next visited Keira and Lucy in Barcelona blossomed into your second home, and the woman who was supposed to be yet another hookup blossomed into your girlfriend.

You had spent the past year somewhere between London, New York and Barcelona, desperate to spend time with Alexia, Leah and your producers all at the same time. The fans had quickly taken notice of your and Alexia's relationship, although, to be honest, not one of you had tried to hide anything. Alexia was easy, Alexia was simple, and most importantly, Alexia was safe. She was the one to ground you whenever you struggled with your mental health, whenever you were overwhelmed with pressure, anxiety, or any emotion alike.

But a few months ago, with Alexia's return to the pitch, the World Cup and the crippling pressure to perform, at all time, that grasped your every cell, things had taken a turn for the worst.

You were on tour, and had witnessed the public abuse of Alexia and her teammates via FaceTime and instagram, trying your hardest to console the captain as best as you could from so many miles away. It hadn't been an easy task, and with the everlasting rehearsals, concerts and afterparties, you had neglected to take care of yourself.

Drinking was easy when you had the excuse of missing your girlfriend. Using was easy when you had the excuse of just living a little.

Nothing was easy now, as you stood in your girlfriend's flat in Barcelona, the woman halting across from you.

"I'm... home", she breathed, taking in her surroundings. There was no way to hide the bags packed behind you, the way you were still wearing your shoes despite the fact that Alexia had taken so much time to drill the habit of taking them off at the doorstep, the way you seemed to be ready to leave when you had just come home.

"What is going on?", she asked, dropping her bag with a soft thud. Alexia had expected you on the couch, with a mug of tea in your hands, in her sweatpants and fluffy socks, just the way you liked during the colder months. She had expected you to be nuzzled under a blanket, perhaps napping as she knew the jet lag robbed you of energy whenever you took the plane from the States to Spain.

"I'm leaving", you breathed, staring into her face blankly. You tried to remember. Tried to take in every dimple, every freckle, the color of her eyes and the baby hairs that were flying off her hairline. If you could have, you would have taken a picture. You had so many pictures of Alexia in your phone, ranging from ones to her sleeping, from her at training, from her during matches, from her at dates you took her on or standing in the crowd of your concerts. They were never going to be enough - realistically, you knew that. But, realistically, you could never forget Alexia either, no matter how much time you would spend away from her.

Alexia looked confused. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she opened her mouth and closed it again. Her lips looked like she had been picking them, the way she always did when she was stressed, but you wanted to kiss them anyways.

Her feet guided her into the kitchen, walking straight past you as she inspected the apartment. She noticed your favorite mug - one that she had given you for Christmas last year - wasn't where it usually stood next to her favorite mug. Why would you take your mug? You never took your mug when you went away from her, to concerts or recording sessions or award galas.

If she looked any closer, she might've noticed the broken handle of it laying next to the trash can. The dish had been sent to the floor when you had frantically grabbed at it, desperate to leave the flat before your girlfriend came home, and shattered into a million peace. Each one of it was tucked in a plastic bag in your suitcase, but you had forgotten the handle. Alexia didn't notice. Her eyes were back on you.

"What are you talking about?", she asked. In that moment, you were grateful more than ever that Alexia had taken the longer route to grab your favorite sushi from the one restaurant on the other side of the town, the only one you liked, because it had given you enough time to pack everything before she came home. You had almost been out the door - you had put your shoes and coat on already, leaving your favorite scarf, the pink one that she liked to wear, in the hallway.

"I'm so sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you had to tear your eyes away from her, down to your dirty sneakers, when you felt your lips wobble. If you took another glance at Alexia, you would cry.

The handle of your suitcase was cold as you gripped it tightly, bending down to pick up the bag still on the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Alexia."

It wasn't just another statement one said during a breakup without any meaning. You truly meant it. You truly were sorry. In the past months, both yours and Alexia's life had spiraled completely, and although you had been there for her as best as you could have, and lost yourself in the process. The shell of a person that was left of you was nowhere close to what Alexia deserved. You weren't sorry for leaving her, you were sorry for the person you had become, and you were sorry you couldn't be the person for Alexia anymore. You couldn't be her loving girlfriend anymore, the one that loved her endlessly, that made her laugh, that took her worries away with soft kisses and whispered nothings. You couldn't be the person to make her happy anymore. If Alexia took a closer look at you, maybe she would notice your blown pupils, the redrimmed eyes of yours, the bags beneath them. Maybe she would notice the amount of weight you lost, the leftovers of white powder beneath your nose, maybe she would've noticed how broken you were.

You didn't give her the chance, instead tearing your gaze away from her and shuffling towards the door with soft steps, desperate not to ruin her hardwood floor with the crunch of broken glass and splashes of alcohol on your dirty shoes.

You heard Alexia cry behind you, heard her pleas for you to stay, heard her questions, her yells, but you were out of the flat quicker than she could've pulled you back. The air of Barcelona hit you colder than it had before, and a part of you wished you would've worn the pink scarf, knowing it would've kept you warm and smelled of Alexia's perfume.

The black SUV was still parked right next to her driveway the way you had instructed Lois, your driver, to wait. He didn't ask a single question as you slammed the bags into the backseat, following in shortly after, tears streaming down your face. You needed to leave. You were doing the right thing. Alexia would realize it, at one point.

17th December, 2023:

Breaking news: British singer Y/N Y/L/N's summer tour cancelled after drug overdose.

notes:

there goes my first oneshot! please let me know what you think and also if you want a pt2 bc i have so much more in mind about thus story :)

[queenshelby]

Daddy Issues (Part One)

Pairing: Dominant!Cillian Murphy & Shy!Reader (& Jamie Dornan)

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Daddy Kink, 4-Somes, 3-Somes, Sugar Baby Arrangements

Summary: Through your best friend, you meet actor Cillian Murphy and come to some kind of arrangement involving intimacy in exchange for being spoiled financially.

Written with: my beautiful wife @darkshelbyfiction

Ever since school, Emma had been your best friend and now that you were both in your early twenties, and studied law at the prestigious Oxford university, nothing really changed. 

Your friendship had grown even stronger despite differences in personalities – you being introverted and reserved, she boldly exploring her newfound independence.

Emma was always full of surprises - from her unexpected move to New York City without telling anyone and then coming back six months later, to now referring to herself as Jamie Dornan's sugar baby when you were on your own while, otherwise, keeping it discreet. 

When alone with you, she would often talk about having "intimate encounters" with him and sometimes even others, keeping you amused while leaving you curious about what exactly happens behind closed doors. You were often thinking about 50 Shades of Gray, spiking your curiosity, although Emma assured you that it was nothing like that.

When talking to Emma and her sugar baby experience, it felt like one day she decided to break all boundaries – whether social or moral – as if embracing freedom beyond comprehension. Despite her brazen behavior, deep down inside, she still cared deeply about your opinion which made things interesting when discussing such topics together over coffee late into the night, sitting among the humming crowd of the cozy London Cafe.

The coffee shop filled up quickly around lunchtime, making it harder for Emma to continue sharing stories confidentially.

You eventually moved outside underneath the shade of a large tree, sipping their drinks while enjoying the cool evening air. Again, your conversation turned towards the subject of sex which was something your life was lacking.

To you only, Emma often opened up about her time spent with Jamie, the man who had become what she calls her "sugar daddy".

Their relationship was nothing serious and it was that, just after his messy and rather public divorce, he sought solace in younger women whom he could provide financial stability for. In return, they agreed upon fulfilling his needs discreetly and you knew that Emma was not the only one. 

As she shared more explicit details of their sessions, which she only did with you, the way she spoke became increasingly sensuous. She had fun, it seemed, and it was just last week that she had engaged in her first ever threesome with Jamie and another man.

"A threesome, with two men?" you asked incredulously, gripped with curiosity as she mentioned it for the first time that day. You only ever had sex with one man, and it was nothing short of boring to say the least.

"Yes. Jamie had a friend over, and it just happened. It wasn't really planned. But we had lots of fun and probably too much to drink as well" she giggled seductively, leaning forward slightly as if divulging a juicy secret. The sunlight reflected off her soft skin causing her silhouette to waver rhythmically against the foliage behind her. 

"Uhm, okay..." you began. "So who was the guy? Was he an actor too?" You queried, genuinely intrigued.

"Yes, he is an actor too, but I really shouldn't talk about this." Her tone implied reluctance to share further details.

Curiosity peaked, you probed, "But come on, tell me! Who is he? You know I won't tell!"

 She hesitated before speaking again, seemingly caught between excitement and fear. "His name is Cillian," she finally revealed, and your chin dropped.

"It's not Cillian Murphy though, is it?" you clarified, thinking of the renowned Irish actor who portrayed one of your favourite TV characters, namely Thomas Shelby. 

"Jepp," she replied simply, confirming your suspicion.

"Oh my god...Cillian Murphy? Is he actually single enough to do that kind of thing? Like wow..." you couldn't help feeling shocked. Even considering you hadn't met him personally, there was undeniable respect and admiration attached to Cillian's image as he tried to stay out of the tabloids as much as possible. 

"Well yeah, apparently he filed for divorce two weeks ago. Weird timing, right?" Emma said, looking almost surprised herself before you took up the courage to probe her with more questions.

"So, you actually had full on sex with them both? At the same time? In the same room?" 

Your head swam with visions of those three intertwined bodies, imagining the erotic chaos taking place beneath the sheets. "Wasn't it weird?" you then asked. You had so many questions.

"Yes, we had sex at the same time and it was crazy," Emma admitted, smiling mischievously. "And no, it didn't feel weird at all. It was exciting, surprisingly so."

Her frankness startled you somewhat, used to living within societal norms, yet also fascinated by how freely Emma discussed these experiences. Perhaps it was because of your conservative background that she never judged your naïveté regarding intimacy.

"I mean, Cillian Murphy is pretty fucking hot, so I do not blame you," you said, catching yourself off guard with your sudden audacity.

Emma laughed lightheartedly. "You want details don't you?" Emma teased, already aware of your insatiable curiosity. Your cheeks flushed crimson in embarrassment, partly due to her keen observation, partly due to the explicit nature of our conversation.

"Yes, of course," you stammered nervously, clearing your throat. You could barely look at Emma straight in the eye anymore, instead fixating on the ground, afraid that your face might betray you completely.

"What do you want to know about?" Emma continued, unperturbed.

"Everything. All the dirty details," you confessed honestly, unable to suppress your voyeurism any longer. "I mean, did they both, you know, at the same time, you know..." you stammered, wondering whether they simply took turns or penetrated her at the same time.

"Put their dicks in me?" Emma laughed, seeing how shy and embarrassed you were, causing you to nod.

She proceeded, "Yes, eventually. They took turns first but then both of them wanted to be with me at once. At first, I thought it was a bit awkward, but after getting comfortable, it became thrilling and liberating." 

You chin dropped, speechless. How could someone like Cillian Murphy be entangled in such debauchery? 

"You look really shocked right now," observed Emma, watching your expression carefully. "Is it because I told you or because of who it was with?" 

Though you were tempted to ask about Jamie, your mind remained fixated on Cillian. As far as you were concerned, he was practically handsome. To think he was capable of participating in these types of wild escapades was surreal. 

"A bit of both," you responded, half questioning and half affirming, hoping she wouldn't sense your growing interest.

"You know, he is single and I could get Jamie to introduce you sometime, maybe. If you want to meet him," she added nonchalantly, as if suggesting dinner plans. 

This left you stunned momentarily. You considered the possibility, envisioning yourself engaging in similar carnal acts.

"I don't think so, no... I mean, I am not like you," you protested timidly, attempting to regain composure. 

"I think you are thinking too much about moral standards which are absurd concepts, developed by society to control people and maintain certain order," Emma chuckled, referring to your prudish nature.

"Cillian is single and he was clearly intrigued by what Jamie and I have going, because it is simple. There is no hassle. No feelings. Only pure physical satisfaction. That's the arrangement between us. No strings attached. And he takes care of me financially which is really helpful seeing that I am, just like you, a student with a huge student debt," Emma went on matter-of-factly.

"That sounds nice," you commented, trying to understand why Emma would agree to being part of such arrangements without seeking a deeper connection. "But, don't you find it degrading sometimes?"

Emma gave you a sidelong glance, understanding perfectly well where your concerns stemmed from. "No, because there is absolutely nothing wrong with having sex for personal gain, especially when consent is given mutually. Despite, I actually really enjoy the sex. It's different than anything else, more intense and raw - and I feel closer to myself afterwards. There's just something powerful about it, you know? Sometimes I wonder how long this will go on, but then I remember that as long as everyone gets what they need, nobody gets hurt. This keeps everything simple and fair game, which suits me fine.”

You listened quietly, struggling to process all the information. It was difficult to imagine Emma – sweet, innocent Emma – as someone who enjoyed these kinds of arrangements. Yet somehow, hearing her describe it made it sound logical, even reasonable.

After all, money was tight for students. If consensual adults found pleasure in such arrangements, why should anyone judge them? You understood why Jamie paid for expenses in return for sexual favors – he wanted to compensate Emma for services rendered, plain and simple. Still, you marveled at how easily she glossed over potential consequences associated with such liaisons.

She always had nice, expensive things nowadays, clothes and shoes alike and she spent most nights with him, having fun and enjoying her life.

Their lifestyle seemed enviably easy and carefree compared to yours, stuck with heavy books and a mountain of debts piled high. Maybe it was worth exploring, you mused fleetingly. Still, you knew deep down inside that this wasn't the path you wanted to take. The idea felt morally corrupt, and it terrified you.

Back in reality, however, the fact still remained that you lacked the confidence needed to approach someone like Cillian Murphy let alone sleep with him. You were too scared of rejection and failure.

It was hard to believe that someone like Cillian Murphy could ever give you the attention you desired. Besides, it wasn’t as if you would suddenly become desirable just because you slept with him. Deep down, you worried that you weren't good enough. Your insecurities consumed you. However, the more you talked to Emma, the more curious you grew. How would it feel to be with such a person? What would happen during the act itself? Would they dominate you entirely? Or perhaps be gentle? So many questions filled your mind as you tried to grasp onto reality.

"Maybe dinner would be alright. I mean, nothing bad can come from meeting new people, right?" You countered cautiously, your heart racing slightly. Meeting someone like Cillian Murphy was indeed exciting, yet nerve-wracking simultaneously.

"Right. I will organise it then!" Emma said excitedly and, to you, agreeing to meet Cillian Murphy felt monumental, almost surreal.

You couldn't help feeling excited, hopeful that he would notice you among others and throughout the night, you couldn't stop reflecting upon the encounter with Emma. Her stories sparked countless fantasies that tormented your imagination, leaving you eager to experience pleasures beyond conventional boundaries. Even though it meant facing risks and challenges outside your comfort zone, the prospect of indulging in passionate encounters captivated you.

After all, hadn't dreaming been harmless until it turned into reality? Confronting your fears allowed you to grow stronger. As you sipped on another cup of coffee, lost in thought, Emma noticed your contemplation.

"So, are you really really sure?" Emma asked, seeing how nervous you were already. 

"Yes. It's just dinner, right?" you said and Emma chuckled and agreed.

"Yes, but these things can lead to more. There is no pressure though," Emma reassured you as a mischievous grin spread across her lips.

"Exactly," you nodded vigorously, although doubts crept into your head when you looked up his soon to be ex-wife and the women he had dated before, all of whom were extremely attractive. 

How could anyone possibly compete against those women? Why would he bother with somebody like me? These negative thoughts flooded your brain but nevertheless, you decided to push through these anxieties. After all, life was full of surprises and opportunities. Who knows, you may end up liking each other!

"Alright, we're doing this, then. Let's see where it leads," you confirmed firmly, looking determined despite your lingering insecurities.

Emma grinned broadly, pleased with your decision as she picked up the phone and called Jamie. 

To be continued....

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[makingqueerhistory]

A Short History of Trans Misogyny

Jules Gill-Peterson

An accessible, bold new vision for the future of intersectional trans feminism, called "one of the best books in trans studies in recent years" by Susan Stryker "A beautifully written and argued book." - Torrey Peters, author of Detransition, Baby There is no shortage of voices demanding everyone pay attention to the violence trans women suffer. But one frighteningly basic question seems never to be answered: why does it happen? If men are not inherently evil and trans women do not intrinsically invite reprisal--which would make violence unstoppable--then the psychology of that violence had to arise at a certain place and time. The trans panic had to be invented. Award-winning historian Jules Gill-Peterson takes us from the bustling port cities of New York and New Orleans to the streets of London and Paris in search of the emergence of modern trans misogyny. She connects the colonial and military districts of the British Raj, the Philippines, and Hawai'i to the lively travesti communities of Latin America, where state violence has stamped a trans label on vastly different ways of life. Weaving together the stories of historical figures in a richly detailed narrative, the book shows how trans femininity emerged under colonial governments, the sex work industry, the policing of urban public spaces, and the area between the formal and informal economy. A Short History of Trans Misogyny is the first book to explain why trans women are burdened by such a weight of injustice and hatred.

(Affiliate link above)

[summerclementine27]

Ever Since New York 💫

Summer 2038

Summary: Harry is Y/N’s family friend, in particular, her father’s best and closest friend. The two have known each other all her life, but were never close, Harry always busy with his music career and y/n always too young to hang out with the adults when he was back in London for holiday.

Inspired by: Richard and Monica from “Friends”

Ages: Harry is 44 and y/n is 21 (she was born in 2017 when Harry was 23)

Warnings: smut, age difference

- I’m not good at writing smut yet, bear with me

Wordcount: 3.9k

You've always admired Harry Styles. Not as the global superstar everyone else sees, but as the charming, intelligent man who’s been a close friend of your father for years. There's something undeniably magnetic about him, something that draws you in every time he's around.

Of course, you have known him all your life. In fact, he was there before your own grandparents at your birth, having driven your father to the hospital. However, you two didn’t always have the close knit relationship everyone – including the media – thought you did, despite what you let on to your friends when you were bragging about being family friends with THE Harry Styles. After all, it was ever so easy to show up with signed copies of his album or to get a VIP ticket to a show, no one had to know how hard it was to talk to the pop star himself.

Your parents had you young, at twenty-three, which forced them into adulthood quickly. Meanwhile, Harry was on the verge of starting his solo career, so perhaps he just didn’t understand kids very well. He was always nice to you, Y/N, but he treated you more like an acquaintance than anything else. Even when you were seventeen, outsmarting all the kids your age and listening to old music that surprised everyone, including Harry, he remained distant.

There was that one time your parents mentioned at a dinner party that you had chosen the record to spin. Harry's surprise was evident, a moment that should have felt like a victory but only solidified the distance between you. He mostly talked to you about school and his work, but only when you asked. His responses were always polite, professional, and a little distant, as if he was talking to a child, not a young woman who admired him deeply.

You remember the embarrassment vividly from the time you asked him to sign a CD for your friend's birthday. It was a last-minute gift, and while he did it graciously, it left you feeling foolish and childish, as if you were just a little girl in his eyes, not someone he could see as an equal or a friend.

It wasn't until your 19th birthday that you started feeling more. Harry had gifted you tickets to see him in New York, and the gesture left you honored and feeling special. The idea of seeing him perform in such a romantic city seemed liberating and thrilling. You could hardly believe it when you opened the envelope to find the tickets, your heart racing with excitement and a sense of being seen, truly seen, by Harry.

However, the excitement was dampened somewhat when no one else could make it to America, and you ended up going with your dad. While you loved your father dearly, traveling with him turned what could have been an exhilarating adventure into something more mundane and familiar. The trip, which had initially promised a sense of independence and glamour, now felt like a family vacation. The presence of your dad, with his protective demeanor and constant dad jokes, kind of ruined any aspect of it feeling liberating.

After the concert, which was nothing short of spectacular, the three of you had dinner at Harry's hotel. The setting was intimate, the ambiance perfect for something special. Throughout dinner, Harry kept mentioning how grown up you looked. "You really have blossomed, Y/N," he'd said more than once, his eyes lingering on you in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Your dad, ever the workaholic, left the dinner early, needing to catch a red-eye flight to make it back to the office by midday the next day. You had extended your trip to do some touristic things in New York, planning to visit galleries and museums.

With your dad gone, the atmosphere changed subtly. You stayed a couple more hours with Harry, feeling a shift in the dynamic. He seemed to be seeing you properly for the first time—not as a kid he occasionally babysat for a few hours or an angsty teenager, but as a young woman on the brink of adulthood. There was a shyness in his demeanor, a hesitation that was both endearing and exciting.

You found yourself sitting closer to him, the conversation flowing more freely. The fleeting touches, the lingering looks, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you—it all became more pronounced. These moments, though few and far between, fueled your admiration for him, making you yearn for a deeper connection

At one point, you made a comment that unintentionally shattered the delicate mood. "You know," you said with a playful smile, "I'm as old as your song 'Sign of the Times.' I was born the day after its release."

Harry chuckled, but the mention of your age seemed to remind him of the gap between you. The mood, which had been charged with a palpable tension, shifted back to something more reserved. The fleeting touches became less frequent, the lingering looks more cautious.

Despite this, the evening left an indelible mark on you. For the first time, you felt that Harry saw you as more than just his friend’s daughter. There was a connection, a spark that hinted at something more profound, something that could grow if given the chance.

Now a university graduate, you could hardly contain your excitement as you prepared to see Harry again at the summer party your dad had planned. The weather was uncharacteristically warm for London, with the sun shining brightly and a gentle breeze that made the day perfect for an outdoor gathering.

You chose your outfit carefully, wanting to make an impression. You slipped into a light, flowing sundress in a soft shade of blue that accentuated your eyes. Your hair was styled in loose waves, cascading down your shoulders, and you wore a delicate silver necklace that caught the sunlight just right. The house was decorated festively, with colorful lanterns hanging in the garden, fairy lights twinkling, and tables adorned with fresh flowers and elegant place settings.

You were standing by the door, welcoming guests, when you saw Harry's car pull up. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him step out, looking effortlessly handsome in a white linen shirt and tailored pants. As he approached, your excitement grew, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

You opened the door, and there he was, standing right in front of you with that signature smile that made your knees weak. "Y/N," he greeted warmly, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. "You look absolutely stunning."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. It's so good to see you again."

Harry stepped inside, his gaze lingering on you. "It's been too long. Congratulations on graduating, by the way. You must be thrilled."

"I am," you replied, closing the door behind him. "It's been quite a journey, but I'm excited for what's next."

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with something more than just friendliness. "Your dad's really outdone himself with this party. The place looks amazing."

You smiled, feeling a sense of pride. "He loves hosting these things. Would you like a drink?"

"Sure," he said, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "But first, do you mind showing me where the bathroom is? I could use a moment to freshen up."

Your pulse quickened at his proximity, and you gestured down the hallway. "Of course. It's just up the stairs, first door on the right."

Harry gave you a playful grin. "The bedrooms are up there too, right? Might need a quick lie-down if things get too wild."

You laughed, the suggestive undertone of his comment not lost on you. "Yes, they are. But try to behave yourself, Styles."

He winked, stepping closer so that his arm brushed yours. "No promises, Y/N."

You couldn’t believe what had just happened. Harry Styles, the man you had admired for so long, had not only complimented you but had also made a flirtatious remark that left you feeling exhilarated and... aroused. You replayed the encounter in your mind, the way his eyes had scanned your body, lingering on your neck and the curves accentuated by your dress. The way his gaze had followed you, filled with something more than just friendly interest.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, so you decided to test the waters. Spotting a group of guys chatting near the garden, you made your way over and joined their conversation, laughing and engaging in animated discussion. You kept an eye on the staircase, and sure enough, you saw Harry descending, his eyes locking onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, you noticed his gaze lingering on the group of guys you were talking to. He seemed focused, almost possessive, as he made his way over. Your heart raced with anticipation, wondering how he would react.

“Mind if I sneak you away for a moment, Y/N?” Harry asked, his voice smooth and confident as he approached the group.

You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. “Sure, Harry. Excuse me, guys,” you said to the group, who all nodded understandingly.

As you and Harry walked off together, you turned to him, curiosity piqued. “Is something wrong?” you asked, searching his face for answers.

He shook his head, a playful smile on his lips. “No, you just promised me a drink, remember?”

You raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “Was that all? You could have gotten that yourself.”

“Yes, but,” he paused, his eyes meeting yours with a mischievous glint, “it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun without your company.”

You felt a thrill run through you at his words, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that logic,” you replied, leading him toward the bar set up in the corner of the garden.

As you poured drinks, you felt the tension between you grow. Every brush of his hand against yours, every shared glance, seemed to crackle with an electric charge. You handed him his drink, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.

“Cheers,” Harry said, raising his glass to yours, his eyes never leaving your face.

“To what?” you asked, clinking your glass against his.

“To new beginnings,” he replied, his voice low and filled with meaning.

“Hm” you murmured “Does this mean you’re making new music”

Harry chuckled. “No, silly. It’s because you graduated and all that.”

“Well, maybe new music too,” he added with a wink.

You laughed. “So, are you finally going to make a rock album?”

“I wouldn’t be capable of that, plus no one would like it,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “Remember ‘Kiwi’? ‘Only Angel’? ‘Medicine’? You’ve got the rock star in you.”

“How do you know those songs?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “They must be older than you are.”

“Just as old,” you corrected him. “And I have access to the internet. You make good music.”

“Harry,” you said softly, looking up into his eyes. “I’ve always admired you, I hope you know. Not just as a musician, but as a person.”

His eyes softened, and he smiled. “That means a lot to me, Y/N. More than you know.

You felt a surge of courage, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be closer to you, but I never knew how.”

Harry’s grip on you tightened slightly, and he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “Maybe now’s the time to change that,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You thought he was talking about your recent conversations and how you’d been sharing more. “Yeah, we do talk more now, but I still get the feeling you’re holding out on me, like I’m too young to talk about certain things.”

“You’re not a little girl anymore, Y/N,” he said softly. “I see you.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you leaned into his touch. “I see you too, Harry,” you whispered.

“I know you see me,” he said, “but I’m not sure I like how.”

You looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like you see me as this intimidating, distant guy who’s uninterested,” he explained. “That might have been the case when I was in my 20s, but now I’m more invested in knowing more about you guys, about the family… my best friend’s daughter.”

The reminder of your situation made it a bit awkward. “Is that all?” you asked.

“And, of course, I couldn’t miss one of your dad’s famous parties,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Of course,” you said, a playful smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on the free food and drinks, right?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not just that, Y/N. There are always certain... attractions at these parties that I look forward to.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Oh really? And what might those be?”

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with a hint of desire. “Well, there’s usually one person who catches my eye,” he said softly, his voice like velvet.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “And who might that be?”

Harry’s gaze traveled down your body, taking in every curve before meeting your eyes again. “I think you know.”

Before you could respond, a friend of your mom’s came up and told you to dance with her because all the girls were dancing to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. You noticed Harry still looking at you as you joined the dance, but you didn’t talk to him again until later when people started to leave.

As you were fixing up the drinks station, you felt someone’s eyes on you. Turning, you found Harry leaning against the doorframe, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Having fun?” he asked, stepping into the room, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Trying to,” you replied, a little breathless from his proximity. “These parties can get a bit tedious after a while.”

“Maybe I can help with that,” he said, his voice low and suggestive.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of anticipation. “Oh? How do you plan to do that?”

Harry stepped closer, his gaze intense. “I have a few ideas. Care to join me for a walk? Maybe we can finish off our conversation.”

“Is there any more to say?”

“There is always more to say, especially with me and you.”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, with a small nod, you agreed. “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed Harry out of the kitchen, slipping into the shadows of the garden. The night air was cool and filled with the distant hum of the party, but you led him to a hidden corner where your dad had abandoned the project of fixing the old tree house when you left for university. This forgotten part of the garden was shrouded in darkness, a secluded haven where no one would think to venture.

The night air was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the warmth of the house. The garden was beautifully lit with fairy lights, casting a soft glow over the flowers and trees. You walked in silence for a few minutes, the tension between you growing with each step.

Finally, Harry stopped near a secluded bench and turned to face you. “Y/N, I want you to know something,” he began, his voice serious.

“What is it?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“I’ve always seen you as a remarkable person,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “Not just as my friend’s daughter, but as someone truly special.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. “Thank you, Harry. That means a lot to me.”

He took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. “But ever since New York, I’ve been seeing you in a different light. You’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, and it’s hard for me to ignore that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Harry…”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but I can’t pretend I don’t feel something for you.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. “I’ve felt it too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t think you saw me that way.”

“I do,” he said firmly. “And I want to explore this, if you’re willing.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how you felt. Instead, you leaned into him, your bodies close, the electricity between you palpable.

Harry’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to yours.

Your breath hitched, and you felt a surge of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. “Harry, I…”

Before you could finish, his lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The world seemed to stand still as you melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as the minutes passed. Harry’s hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Harry confessed, his forehead resting against yours.

“Me too,” you whispered, your heart racing.

He smiled, his eyes full of warmth and affection. “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

Harry took your hand and led you through the garden, sneaking past the remaining guests. The soft hum of the party faded into the background as you made your way to the front of the house. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside you.

Once you reached his car, Harry opened the passenger door for you. “Get in,” he said with a mischievous smile.

You slid into the seat and quickly pulled out your phone, sending a quick message to your mom. Left with Elizabeth; couldn’t find you. See you later! It wasn’t a complete lie, just a small omission of the truth. You figured you’d have to tell your parents eventually, but tonight wasn’t the night for that conversation.

Harry started the engine, and you felt a surge of adrenaline as he placed his hand on your thigh. The touch was electrifying, sending shivers up your spine. He drove with a purpose, the car moving swiftly through the London streets. The tension between you was palpable, each passing moment heightening your anticipation.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, his eyes glancing over at you, his hand giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. “More than okay,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Harry smiled, his focus returning to the road. His hand remained on your thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your dress. The city lights blurred as he navigated through the streets, the car’s speed adding to the thrill of the night.

The journey to Hampstead Heath felt both endless and too short. You were acutely aware of every turn, every stop, and go, the anticipation building with each passing second. Harry’s hand occasionally moved, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, driving you wild with desire.

When you finally arrived at his house, Harry parked the car and turned to you, his eyes dark with intent. “Ready?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart pounding in your chest. He leaned over and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a moment that felt like a promise of what was to come.

He got out of the car and quickly moved to your side, opening the door for you. You stepped out, your legs feeling a bit shaky from the excitement. Harry took your hand and led you to the front door, unlocking it swiftly.

Once inside, he closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his eyes filled with desire. “Come here,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms.

You felt a surge of courage as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your body pressing against his. “Harry, I’ve wanted this for so long,” you confessed, your voice trembling with emotion.

“I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Me too.”

With that, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you through the house. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matched your own.

He carried you up the stairs and into his bedroom, gently laying you down on the bed. The room was dimly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere that made your heart race even faster.

Harry stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with a gaze that was both tender and filled with desire. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

You reached for him, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “I want you, Harry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He helped you, shedding his clothes quickly before pulling you close again. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating, every touch sending waves of heat through you.

He led you to the bedroom, the journey a blur of heated kisses and wandering hands. When you reached the bed, he gently laid you down, positioning himself above you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, his voice a low growl.

“Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He kissed you again, his mouth trailing down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. His lips found your breasts, teasing your nipples until you were arching into him, desperate for more. He moved lower, his mouth worshiping your skin, until he reached the apex of your thighs.

You gasped as he spread your legs, his breath hot against your most sensitive area. His tongue flicked out, tasting you, and you cried out at the sensation. He took his time, exploring every inch of you with his mouth, driving you to the brink of madness with his skillful ministrations.

When he finally entered you, it was slow and deliberate, every inch of him filling you completely. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he moved inside you. His rhythm was perfect, each thrust sending you higher and higher until you were both lost in a haze of ecstasy.

As you came together, the world seemed to explode around you, every sensation amplified. You held each other close, riding the waves of pleasure until they finally subsided, leaving you both breathless and sated.

Harry collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You lay there, tangled together, the afterglow of your lovemaking wrapping around you like a warm blanket. In that moment, everything felt perfect, and you knew that this was just the beginning of something incredible.

————————————————————————————

hope you enjoyed reading :)

[racinggirl]

Racing Hearts - prologue

a/n: I've spent an entire evening trying to perfect this prologue. I wanted it to give away the essence and personality of both main characters, so hopefully I made that work. I have to say that I am slightly scared, because this is my first ever multi-chapter story I'm writing, but I'm trying! Hopefully you will enjoy it.

Repost, comment or any type of support is very welcomed! It keeps me motivated 🫣

Comment down below if you want to get added to the taglist

warnings: dark!lando, confident!lando, business!lando, nothing much really, just rich people stuff.

Racing Hearts Masterlist

next chapter

Olivia

The sky was filled with a range of colours, varying between bright pinks, pastel oranges and deep, dark purples contrasting against the black from the night sky. As the wind breezed past me, the few strands of hair that weren’t tucked into my messy bun flew up in front of my face. I tightened my grip on the balcony’s railing, inhaling sharply before slowly breathing out.

I can do this. I can do this.

Tonight was one of the most important evenings of the year, the annual Charity Gala in Monte Carlo, Monaco. Me and my family lived in London, but business isn’t tied to one city, or even one country.

I’ve travelled a lot, flying to New York City for an opening of one of Harrington Enterprises newest Jewellery stores, or going all the way to Dubai to accompany my mother to one of our fabric manufacturers. They were all business trips, as was the one I’m attending on my own right now.

Monaco, home of some of the most wealthy, successful and busiest people on earth. You only lived in Monaco for two reasons. A, you were born here. B, you had plenty of money and had no idea what to do with it. Seeing as the average net worth of a Monaco citizen is above ten million dollars, I’d say ninety-nine percent of the people at this gala belonged to category B. I had to make a great impression; it was my job as the PR Director at Harrington Enterprises.

I wasn’t a stranger to a high society gala; however, I had not experienced something as extravagant as this before. High ceilings, decorated with glass chandeliers that glittered in the big open room. Waiters moving effortlessly through the crowd, holding trays with glasses filled with champagne that cost more than your average rent.

My eyes roamed the big, crowded room, searching for the man that stood number two on my list; one of the reasons my parents informed me of this Charity Gala. He was a well-known fashion icon and businessman in this world. Nate Thompson.

I spotted him at the bar, talking to the women that were nearly drooling at his feet. The man was eye-candy for every woman at this event. With broad shoulders, a sharp jawline and masculinity that made multiple men run for their money, he was one of the most successful bachelors out there.

I gathered my courage and stepped towards the man, shoulders straight with a friendly yet professional smile plastered on my lips. As I approached, Nate’s eyes met mine and he gave me one of his warm, welcoming smiles.

‘’Olivia Harrington,’’ he said, extending his hand. ‘’I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’’

‘’The pleasure is mine, Mr. Thompson,’’ I replied, shaking his hand firmly. ‘’Such a wonderful place, isn’t it?’’ I slowly let go of his hand, keeping my posture straight and professional.

‘’Please, call me Nate,’’ he said with a wink. ‘’Mr Thompson makes me feel old.’’

As the night went on, we struck up a conversation about his newest fashion items. He spoke about different designs, as well as places for shop openings. As much as I loved the fashion world – shopping at Versace, Prada and Chanel never got boring – I had to hold back a yawn once every few minutes.

‘’Your father has done a tremendous job attaining the vacant buildings at Bond Street.’’ Nate did exactly what I expected him to do, and it surprised me how little effort I had to put into this conversation. ‘’A very, very astonishing job.’’ Nate continued speaking highly of my father’s deals.

Bond Street was one, if not the most expensive street in London. My father bought most of the houses a few years back, when the house market was at it’s lowest. It was no surprise Nate Thompson was looking for the best of the best when it came to opening his new store in London.

‘’He did, indeed,’’ I reached into my designer bag, fishing out a business card of my father’s company. ‘’It would be a perfect location for Thompson’s, wouldn’t it?’’

Nate didn’t hesitate once and reached out for the card I held out with my fingers. ‘’Pleasure doing business with you, Olivia, you’ll hear from my team.’’ A satisfied smile appeared on my face when Nate gave me a curt nod, me returning the favour by raising my glass ever so slightly.

One down, one to go.

‘’Impressive.’’ The dark, smooth voice scattered goosebumps all over my skin, it made my body react in ways I hadn’t felt in quite a while.

My eyes followed the voice, and I was met by a tall figure. A tailored black suit that hugged those broad shoulders. Dark curls that looked a perfect combination of messy and neat. Eyes, a colour that I couldn’t quite decipher. Green, blue, a hint of grey or even brown, but what I did know was that those eyes pierced straight through me, looking into the depths of my soul.

The low chuckle that rose from his throat snapped me out of my thoughts. I gathered myself and lifted my chin up ever so slightly.

Let’s tackle the number one on my list.

‘’Mr. Norris, what a pleasure.’’

Lando

Emerald green never had been one of my favourite colours, it stood out great with my tan, though. It was sophisticated, elegant and not too in your face. You’d think it would be a colour that I adored, well, you couldn’t be more wrong.

Orange was more my colour, it was fierce, available in many different shades, perfect for every occasion. Mix it with a dark shade, it stood out. Mix it with a light shade, it blended in. A perfect representation of my life.

As a racing driver, you needed dark, to stand out to be the best of the best, to catch people’s attention to gain yourself a spot in the spotlight. But you also wanted to blend in, to move through the field without getting noticed, yearning for the privacy that was so hard to attain.

In the world of business, it was similar, yet different. You needed dark so you could make money, be the best of the best, without having that spotlight. Because having that spotlight in the business world meant you needed that light more than ever, needing to blend in so you wouldn’t have that target on your back.

Combine the two, and you learn to be ahead of everyone, two steps ahead to get whatever you want, whenever you want.

I reached for a glass and raise it to my lips, my eyes staying glued to the business deal being made in front of my eyes.

Everybody that attended this Gala wasn’t here for the good sake of their heart. No, a Charity Gala was the perfect way to make it look like you’re donating money for those in need, when in fact it’s the perfect cover-up for a business deal. One that was being closed a few meters away from me.

Once the deal had been made, I made my way over with a few long strides. She didn’t hear me approach, causing her body to react instantly to my voice.

‘’Impressive.’’ I never expected Olivia Harrington to strike up a deal with Nate Thompson in just under 17 minutes. The man was harder to please than a newborn baby that needed its mom. However, I suppose when you’re looking for a new location for your shop, Bond Street was the place to be, a coincidence that Richard Harrington had exactly what Nate needed? I don’t think so.

I never underestimated the Harrington family; they were one step ahead most of the time. It’s a good thing I’m always two ahead.

‘’Mr. Norris, what a pleasure.’’ I took a hold of her hand, ignoring the way her soft skin felt against my own. ‘’Ms. Harrington.’’ Her hand let go of mine, and I grinned slightly at the subtle flush of her cheeks.

‘’Surely not eavesdropping, I hope?’’ Her soft yet sharp voice was a complete contrast to the previous shock on her face when she laid eyes on me.

‘’Merely observing.’’

My gaze flew over her body, the way that emerald green dress hugged her body in the right places, the tanned legs underneath that dress going down to the Louboutin’s she was wearing. I wasn’t one to back away from a bit of flirting, I absolutely loathed the fake smiles and pretended interest at any business event. They were necessary, for the most part, and I was amongst one of many that took part in the fake contest, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it.

‘’I see,’’ the smile on my face was less forced this time, but I blame it on how the woman in front of me swallowed hard, a clear indication of nervousness.

A chuckle rose in my chest. ‘’No need to be nervous, Sunshine,’’ I smirked slightly. ‘’I’m not as intimidating as they say.’’ I made sure my voice was smooth and filled with confidence, as always.

‘’Nervous? Is that another of your observations, Mr. Norris?’’

‘’It is,’’ I maintained eye contact as I took another sip of the Louis Roederer drink. At least they served some decent champagne. ‘’and I’m never wrong.’’

Another harsh bob of her throat.

I was aware of the fact I was on their list of business talks. Nate Thompson may be one of the most successful men at this event, but not nearly as successful as me. Like I said before, always be two steps ahead.

‘’Now, let’s cut straight to what brought you here. Let’s talk business, shall we?’’

TAGLIST

@smoooothoperator @tapedeck-hearts @cabbyhabs @wanderingreigns @samantha-chicago @alltoomaples @ironmaiden1313 @pinkbookloverslife @onlyzahraaaa

[itsphoenix0724]

Dancing With Shadows (Azriel x Reader)~Chapter 1

Summary: Living your life with a long-distance relationship has never bothered you before, but when you surprise Az with a plane ticket you finally get to see how it works in person.

Warnings: SMUT, phone sex, mutual masturbation?, toys

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Bad Phoenix for starting another series while still having an incomplete one. I'm sorry (I'm not)

The morning light is just starting to creep through the gap in your curtains as you roll groggily over to the other side of your mattress. The Facetime call crackles over the end of the receiver as the brightness of your phone blares 7:00 am into your still sensitive eyes. You can hear Azriel vaguely fumbling with something over the other end, followed by a curse and the line quickly muting itself. You laugh silently, opening the camera and calling a good morning. It’s around noon across the ocean, and your slow rainy Saturday seems chaotic for Az already.  

“Did I wake you?” He asks, face now lighting up your phone screen. You’re taken aback by his beauty for a second, hazel eyes boring into you through the camera. He’s wearing a tight compression top, and his black hair is slightly tousled and damp with sweat. He must’ve been working out. 

“No not at all. I heard a crash, are you okay?” you ask, voice still crackly with sleep. A delightful red color sweeps the highs of Azirel’s cheekbones. 

“I dropped a weight.” He supplies and you can see his shoulders move with a shrug. He sets you back down, now propping up the phone so you can watch him continue to lift. Your mouth almost waters, but you manage to reign yourself in. 

“I wish you would wait for Rhys or Cas.” You can’t see Azriel’s eyes while he’s reclined on the bench, but you’re sure they’re rolling at the mention of his roommates. You move about your own apartment, getting ready for the day. Changing into a comfy set of pajamas you settle in to read comfortably on your couch. 

You never minded the distance between the two of you.

Maybe that’s because it’s always been like this. You’d met Azriel on a dating app after you and your friend got wine-drunk one night and you switched the location to London. The two of you matched and it’s been the best six months of your life. He’s been kind, caring, and better than every guy you’d ever met in New York City.

Obviously, you want to be able to kiss and hold your boyfriend, hopefully, soon you can accomplish that. You bought Az a plane ticket so he’ll end up here for a week over Valentine’s Day. You just hope he’s able to make it, you did opt for a cancelable flight just in case he can’t get time off work, but he works in cyber security so he should be able to take it with him if needed.

You’ve finished your book, and Azriel is cooking dinner on his end of the line. The phone propped up against something on his counter, Cassian walks into the kitchen, clapping him on the shoulder before noticing you. 

“There she is!” Cas steals the phone focusing on his face as he greets you with a broad smile. “How are you, princess?” Azriel snatches the phone back, letting a jealous stream of curses spew out of his mouth. 

You can see him glaring at Cassian but as your laugh echoes back his eyes soften. 

“I’m good, how are you.” Cassian gives a noncommittal shrug, stealing a piece of something off the cutting board before calling his goodbyes. 

“He needs to learn to mind his business,” Azriel mutters but shines a bright smile when you laugh again. 

“You’re such a baby.” You reply, still trying to fight laughter down at his pouting. 

“I’m not a baby, I just don’t enjoy when Cassian flirts with you.” Az supplies moving about the kitchen. 

You enjoy watching him cook. 

You shamelessly ogle his back when he turns to the stove, loving the way the fabric of his shirt accentuates his broad shoulders.  He moves like smoke. Gracefully gliding around the kitchen, pulling different spices and chopping different ingredients for some kind of stirfry. 

Azriel being so good with a knife probably shouldn’t turn you on so much. 

He has to hang up the phone to eat dinner with his roommates, so you blow him a kiss as he promises to call you back when he can. This leaves you to get ready for the little surprise you have planned for him. 

You shower, styling your hair to perfection and applying some makeup before changing into the midnight blue lingerie set you picked out for him. You tie a barely-there black robe around yourself, make your bed, and light a few candles around the room to hopefully set the mood. A wicked idea flashes across your mind, so you make your way to the bathroom and slip a shoulder out of the robe snapping a picture quickly and sending it to Azriel’s contact. 

“A little surprise to unwrap later ;)” It says that the message has been read at the bottom of the screen. Dots line the bottom of your screen, and you bite your lip as you await his response, heat coiling in the pit of your stomach already. 

“What’re you trying to do to me, Sweetheart? I practically choked on my dinner” comes his response, and the previous heat turns practically boiling. A second text comes through a second later “I’ll be done in five minutes. Don’t you dare even think about touching yourself. Wait nice and pretty for me okay?” You double-check to make sure all your toys are charged, waiting patiently for Azriel’s Facetime call. 

You can practically feel yourself dripping down your thighs in anticipation.  

He calls four minutes later. Setting your phone up on your dresser you answer strutting over to the edge of the bed so he can see all of you. All you can hear is the sound of Az’s breathing and the lock on his door clicking shut. 

“Take it off,” he practically growls and you play with the tie before you pull it apart and let the black silk pool around you on the bed. “You look absolutely fucking beautiful.” His pupils blow wide as he looks at you feeling like a goddess with his attention. 

“Do you like it?” You tease, fluttering your eyelashes and sending him a sugar-sweet smile. 

“That’s a ridiculous fucking question, I want to devour you.” His voice is like midnight water, ripples feel like they’re caressing down your spine as you shiver. Even now, even over the phone, it thrums through your chest like guitar strings, reverberating and ricocheting around your rapidly beating heart. 

“Tell me what you want me to do Az,” you gasp out, waiting for him to give you some direction, eager to be obedient. Az takes a moment to admire how the blue lace clings to your skin, delicate gemstones glittering like you’d ripped the stars straight out of the sky. 

“Lay back on the bed.” He rumbles, shamefully stealing an eyeful of your ass as you turn to crawl up to your pillows. “And as much as I love this outfit, I need you to take it off. Right Now.” You strip yourself out of the lace set, tossing it onto the carpet. His eyes blow out as he admires your naked form. You hear Az settle himself on his own bed and the sound of his belt unbuckling makes your mouth water. You’ve seen his dick before, obviously, but you wish that you could wrap your mouth around him right now. 

“Are you touching yourself?” You mutter into the quiet, the sound like a bomb exploding around your buzzing anticipation.

“Not yet.” he grinds out. “I’m waiting for you.” his jeans and shirt hit the ground moments later. You eagerly drink in the dark ink you can see swirling around his collarbones.

“I wanna suck you off so bad.” Your brain goes into that empty fuzzy space that only happens when you and Az do something like this. A pained sort of noise falls out of his mouth, a mix between a whimper and a groan. 

“Are you wet for me?” He questions, quirking a dark brow. You hum your difference, shrugging a bare shoulder. “You don’t know? Why don’t you find out for me?” You skate your fingers down your body, gliding them through your center. Your fingers come away slick with your arousal, and you circle your clit once letting out a breathless moan that makes Azriel’s eyes roll.  

“I want you.” You mumble as you continue to toy with yourself and let your mind run wild. Images flash behind your eyelids, thoughts of Az between your thighs and him pounding you into the mattress so hard his hands leave bruises on your hips. 

“Get your vibrator.” He orders and you slip your hand into the drawer of your right nightstand. You find the pink bullet and flick it to the lowest setting. “Run it down your body, slowly.” Following his instructions you drag the toy down your body until you reach your center. You can hear Azriel’s labored breath as he exhibits self-restraint. He wants nothing more right now than to make you cry with pleasure instead of that toy. “Give me a show now, Sweetheart.” He kicks off his underwear, finally palming his rock-hard cock. 

You do exactly as he asks flicking the vibrator up another setting as you finally allow it to touch your clit. You throw your head back with a moan, fisting your other hand in your bed sheets. You imagine it’s his tongue or his fingers. A thousand fantasies flash in your brain as you push down a little harder, hips canting up to meet the toy, grinding yourself into it. Azriel jerks himself, his own fantasies playing on a loop. He keeps his eyes open though, refusing to take his eyes off of you for even one second. 

He doesn’t even think he’s blinked since the moment you answered his phone call. 

“Az, I wanna hear you cum. Please.” You beg, you need to hear him to get yourself there. Azriel bites back a guttural moan, he’s still having trouble wrapping his brain around the fact that you actually want to hear him be loud. He’s been quiet his whole life, not quite used to having someone who never wants him to stop talking. “Please,” you beg again and he snaps letting a whimper escape out of his lips. All of his moans slip out after that. It’s music to your ears as you turn the vibrator up another speed and slip a finger inside of you, curling your fingers so you can barely skim the spot that makes you see white. 

“I’m close,” he promises and that helps you push yourself toward a blazing crescendo right as Az explodes alongside you. You stand on shaking legs and collect your phone from the dresser before slumping back against the pillows. “You’re amazing,” He mutters into his pillow, eyelids drooping in his state of bliss. 

“I bought you a plane ticket.” you can’t control it as you blurt it out. “For over Valentine’s Day…if you want to come.” it tumbles out, suddenly insecure. 

“You what?” Azriel shoots up shock straight, looking at you with wild eyes. “Are you joking?” 

“No, I’m not joking. I’m sorry if it’s too forward–I can cancel it, I should’ve talked to you about it first.” You curse, already pulling up the airport's website to cancel the ticket. 

“Don’t cancel it.” Azriel cuts in, “Of course I want to come. I’ll be there, whatever it takes.”

[graceofagodswrath]

Ok ok ok your "Humans of Transformers franchise are space orcs" rant is out of this world.

I detest with passion when humans are reduced to pets and plot devices when instead the story could be about two alien species finding one another equally amazing/terrifying for their own respective reasons.

Here is my question: do humans and Cybertronians see how eerily similar they are? They have love of music, familial relationships, similar urban infrastructure, societal structure, financial systems, competitive entertainment, organized societies and war, colonialism, recreational intercourse, marriage...

Not to mention, why was it never addressed how similar both species look: bipedal, waists, noses, cheekbones, 5 fingers, chins, facial expressions and sense of aesthetics and beauty? Sure, humans have hair but in rather strategic places.

Veins and wires, blood and energon, metal and flesh, nanobytes and blood cells, Sparks and brain impulses, sexual organs...

Imagine Autobots arrive on Earth for the first time expecting some primitive cave-dwellers, only to encounter a less advanced mini-version of Cybertronian cities (New York, Singapore, London, Rome, Tokyo, Rio, Dubai...) and societies running on scientific, artistic and philosophical development which has no right existing on the ruthless, all-organic planet such as Earth is. Societes run by creatures who 4.000.000 (the duration of their war) years ago were hanging from the trees btw.

Autobots would be terrified.

Lemme make sure this response saves this time, cause it took me a minute to answer cause my first deleted and I had so much written I got unbelievably angry and refused to even look at the tumblr app.

But here we are.

So, this is EXACTLY what I have been thinking about for who k owe how long. It’s also the intro to this wack as fuck universe idea I’ve had in my head a while, and have kinda hinted at in my other works, but I’ve never gone into detail about.

And I still won’t.

Anyways, yes. It’s crazy that we backlit humans so much when any other sentient species is about. Transformers, TMNT, etc (I’m on a one track mind, feel free to jot down any other fandoms I can’t think of). The main theme of these stories? HUMANS SUCK. And that is severely unfair. People want to cry about how much our generation doesn’t give a shit anymore. Have you SEEN the media we feed kids???

That’s why I live Humans are Space Orcs so much. It really puts into perspective how unique and batshit our species is.

So, onto the Transformers vs humans concepts. The ONLY reason (forgoing technoism and general hate towards organics) cybertronians don’t see humanity as an imminent threat, or one in general, is because of size. WE BE SMALL AF. Can’t blame them, I get it. We do the same. Insects? Fuck them mfs.

But have you seen a botfly or tick burrow into your skin? The infection that comes form that? Have you seen ants jump a small animal as a colony and absolutely shred it? Or a spider only biting you, and the horror the venom causes (recluses and huntsman’s specifically). We have a good fucking reason for disliking these mfs.

But transformers? These are organic experiences. Worst they go through are rust infections, spark death, the works. They are not at risk the same way we are. That is why they view organics as small and inconsequential. They have no idea how hard we fight to simply stay alive.

And now the similarities. It’s understandable that they wouldn’t immediately recognize the physical, cultural, and psychological similarities between our species. Transformers are an incredibly diverse race, like any other. But specifically in physical form. Your average cybertronian holds a similar appearance to your average human. We tend to have the same features, just with different names. Eyes, noses, faceplates, ears, two arms, two legs. Sure that’s average for them too. But they are unique because of the fact that they have two forms. Vehicle mode. Their mode decides what they’re second mode looks like, which can create extreme diversity is appearance. Small, large, many limbed or not.

So the immediate similarities probably wouldn’t jump out to them in an odd way. There’s also the idea that because they’re so spread out in the universe, they’ve seen other organic races that are also similar. Pairs of every body part could be the common denominator among species.

That goes culturally too. War, love, music, government, politics, it’s all a natural form of sentient evolution. Another common denominator. It’s how it’s done that makes it unique. And the similarities between human and cybertronian culture is uncomfortably familiar.

I think that’s why cybertronians are seen being closest with humans rather than other species in the shows and comics (obviously because the audience is human and they need relation to characters but shhhh forget that for a sec). This is where the theories start.

Let’s say cybertronians begin to recognize the weird similarities between our species. The really, really weird stuff. The itty bitty details. Like:

- how we also mainstream kissing on the lips as the top tier romantic gesture.

- use verbal tone and cues for our language.

- have intensely complicated interpersonal relationships in the exact same manner.

- suffer from extreme mental health issues like depression, anxiety, PTSD (I totally headcannon that forms of adhd, autism, and ocd exist in cybertronian society, have y’all not seen my boy rodimus prime??)

- will also destroy each other in the name of our gods, until we have a common enemy.

That’s just the basics I could come up with. The only time I actually saw a moment where a transformer genuinely take a moment to realize that humans can be a threat, was in transformers prime. Episode 6 of beast wars (I think, correct me if wrong), where Miko beats the ever loving fuck out of an insecticon (I think) and upon Megatron hearing this, just goes blank Kubrick stare for a hot second. Man had an ugly realization that did not fit in with anything he had experienced his whole life.

AND THEY NEVER FUCKING ADDRESSED IT EVER AGAIN. Sick of this shit. Could’ve had the most badass character development, where the humans actually proved useful and did something (it would have fit Milo’s character so perfectly too) and scared the utter shit out of the transformers. BUT NO. They continue to be annoying as fuck.

One thing I loved about TF Prime was that it canonically turned Unicron into Earth. And humans came from the earth. Which relates humans beings and cybertronians so hard. Cousins Fr. We are the cybertronian equivalent of organics, and transformers the inorganic equivalent of humans. The individuality, the chaos, the culture, it clicks. There is so much material to really go into it.

But they never do. Don’t get me wrong, I love Transformers lord and just discovering more without humans being involved. We’re just annoying af at this point. But there is so much u tapped potential in transformers actually taking the chance to LEARN about us. But we’re just friends (pets) to these mfs.

That’s why I love TF Earthspark so far. Transformers ingrained into human culture because they’re not from Cybertron, and cybertronians having to adapt to human culture because they have no where else to go. Granted, it’s a kids show. There’s only so much they can do. But I’m excited for where it’ll lead. It really shows how much of threat and ally humans are, and how we are just as diverse as cybertronians.

I need to write another fic about cybertronians meeting humans their size from our world tho. Need to continue my old piece. Would give me so much life. Y’all help motivate me, college draining my ass.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the amazing fics I read this month:

Have Love, Will Travel | kingsofeverything | [97k] Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series. It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

everything of mine is yours | blueskiesrry | [33k] "Did you two have a good time?” Harry in his bathroom, brushing his teeth with frizzy hair and tired eyes. Harry on the couch cuddled up with Posy, cradling her in the crook of his elbow, humming a soft song. Harry laughing with his friends in a pub on a Friday night, a flower field in his eyes. Harry in his bed tucked under the covers, naked against fresh sheets like a shock of moonlight cutting through a storm. “Yeah,” he says. “We did.” or: With Harry in New York finishing up his PhD and Louis in London working as a solicitor, they try to navigate their eight year situationship including almost-daily phone calls, the occasional indulgence of casual phone sex, and endless gossip sessions as the feelings they have for each other get harder to ignore.

Sweeter Than I Ever Knew | mandylynn4 | [32k] Harry has spent his heats alone since he's presented, but his roommate, Niall, is convinced that he needs to try out The Agency - an app that lets alphas and omegas partner for heats. Unsure, he signs up and goes through 5 heats with different alphas. Some are good experiences, others are awful. But, in the end, he finds that his heats with the right alpha can be sweeter than he ever knew. TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHAPTER 2 - READ TAGS!!!

Cuddlebug | sun_flowr | [19k] When the call from the adoption agency finally calls, Harry and Louis are surprised to discover that they have been tentatively paired with a young pup named Rami, who suffers from a multitude of issues stemming from the abandonment he’s suffered. But no matter the challenges, they know they will do everything they can to care for and love this pup as if he was their own.

My Lungs Don't Breathe (don't want any kind of life without you, dear) | red_panda28 | [5.6k] Suddenly a cough bubbled up in his lungs and he froze. Laying in his palm was a single flower petal, pastel pink, and velvet soft. The first thought that struck him was well, guess I am in love with Louis. Then another realisation hit. It also meant that Louis didn’t love him back. OR Harry falls victim to the Hanahaki Disease after meeting Louis, Louis has his own secret, and Zayn is a good friend

Yesterday’s gone (it’ll be better than before) | red_panda28 | [3.5k] Leo’s frown. His attempt to call after Louis. Ed saying he was surprised to see Louis here. All those little moments fell into place the moment he spotted Harry Styles. Harry Styles, his former bandmate. Harry Styles, who he hadn’t seen face to face in over three years. Harry Styles, who was technically still Harry Tomlinson-Styles. OR Louis and Harry run into each other at the Euros, there's a mix up at the hotel and they have a past

It's written all over your... (or: the Red Carpet fic) | BlueNeptuune | [11k] The star-studded cast of Steal My Girl graced the red carpet on Saturday night ahead of the premiere screening, sparking an internet sensation like no other. The film itself received an average of 4-and-a-half stars from early reviews, launching it into the spotlight as a contender for the up-and-coming awards season, but the real news came from the carpet itself. Oscar-winner Louis Tomlinson (Kill My Mind, Back For You) made his first public appearance following the badly-hidden split from his management in early 2020, and he wasn’t exactly keen to talk about it. It was also the first time since his earliest work (Still The One is featured on our summer-vibes throwback list) that he’s attended the carpet by himself – rumours swirled that he’d split with his long-time girlfriend, but are the two things related? Tomlinson himself wasn’t spilling any tea, but it looks like one journalist in particular might have coaxed a little more out of him than anyone else...

Sweet Mondays | sweetkalachuchi | [3.5k] Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson have ended their marriage; neither of them knew the other would be at the Euros. Niall was there too. And there was only one bed.

Get Him Back | softfonds | [17k] After finding out his husband was unfaithful, Harry does one thing that makes him feel good again. But it's up in the air if that one thing will stay.

Wild at Heart | She_bear | [50k] Louis is a lost soul, sailing around a remote archipelago in the Philippines when he makes a surprising discovery. A castaway fic ___________ "Like the island itself, he was a quite bewildering and ever changing landscape of beauty. Nothing was the same now Louis was here. The placid solitude to which Harry had grown accustomed had been replaced by fun and exquisite physical pleasure. By conversation, affection and connection. And with that all his peace was lost."

Sugar, Sugar | parmahamlarrie | [25k] Meeting your soulmate was the most joyous event of one’s life… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Harry, in all of his 25 year old wisdom, was suspicious of the role fate plays in everyone's lives. He'd rather focus his time dating older men he meets off of a sugar baby website. Louis isn’t waiting with bated breath for his soulmate either. He has more important things to worry about than love. Mainly, his career as a writer, publishing under a pseudonym. He spends most of the year buried under research and manuscripts, taking as much time as he would like, much to his publishers' chagrin. After receiving many millions after the death of his Aunt Ethel when he was young, he technically never has to work again. As far as soulmates go, he figures if it happens, he will be so old that he’ll be stuck in his ways. Or he’ll have grey eyes forever, he doesn’t fucking care. He can get his needs met through a sugar baby website. Or… The Sugar baby soulmate AU

The Cottage | HoldingOnToChaos | [70k] Louis hates alphas and he has good reason to, but when his beloved omega grandmother dies, and he inherits her cottage, he meets Harry, an alpha hazelnut farmer who sneaks his way into Louis’ life. While Louis struggles with his severe touch deprivation, he forms a friendship with Harry that turns out to be exactly what he needed. -- Or Louis has severe touch deprivation and Harry has a hazelnut farm.

The Capillaries In My Eyes Are Bursting | 5secsoflarry | [14k] Two armoured palace guards stand there, speaking with the old, widowed beta. Harry watches curiously from the space in the back, ducking down a little in an attempt to hide. There have been whispers through the town of omegas being gathered and forced to the castle all week long - something about the King being ill - but Harry had thought they were only rumours….. OR Medieval times where King Louis is in a near death accident and enters a coma. The royal doctor says they have two weeks to find Louis’ true soulmate (omega) or he dies.

[lukola4evs]

So here’s my theory (subject to change)

Mom and Dad always had a soft spot for each other or “kind eyes” but could never act on it since 2019

L always referring Ross and Rachel etc.

They’ve always been friends, he ask N for advice on J etc. and even in season 1 or 2 promo (zooms she did) she was tearing up seeing her friend asks her questions.

Season 3 they dive in and get super emotionally connected.

Season 3 they fall in love as polin but also fall in love to the point where the blurred lines definitely have J/L break up.

Timeline during filming

Block 3 filming, episode 5/6 emotional mess so to speak if you catch my drift. J/L breakup nov/dec

Block 4 filming episode 7/8, flirty on set but no definite name to it.

Episode 8 riding scene (all lukola) and production could tell so that’s why we get montage cut.

But they are so bf/gf coded here

Liz (ic) gives them steps to walk away and make sure it’s real and they are distant but they do check in and they’re still in lurve with Photo Booth pic.

So N makes decision for them to walk away because Liz but also since she’s a jaded guarded Capricorn she needs to make sure it’s real for her and not just feelings from pen since it’s “such a profound experience”

L does hbs and parties his feelings away,

N and L post thirst traps for each other on ig last year. I’ll post pics later but she did one from New York and he did shirtless pics from R ig. (You don’t have to follow publicly to keep tabs)

They come back for reshoots dec ‘23 and they back at it like they meant to be but N still doesn’t let anything happen because polin 🙄

On March 2nd, 2024 N likes that zendaya posts saying about being an actor and falling in love with your costar.

Then press tour heats up. Back and forth messages hidden in promo (Ive rewatched 50 videos and the things you catch 2nd time around is crazy)

Now press tour - it was fun until Brazil and L only told N it was completely casual with A and not to worry about it.

They allowed themselves to fully soak up in each others energy because they are doing press as them. Not the characters. So they now know it’s not just an on set thing. Fucking Finally.

N ditched her side piece expecting L to do the same and he tells her he will, they love up some way or talk about feelings all Brazil, Toronto, Ireland, and part of london.

L is nervous af knowing a’s going to London premier and didn’t tell N outright. So in all london interviews he’s reaching out constantly to n (not only because he wants to now but because he’s worried whatever he and a have planned with his team is gonna be like a 💣 to N)

N ever the skeptic can since his bs (or maybe his lack of vulnerability when they were with her family) and eases back emotionally when she remembers too

London promo always throws me off part of the way. (Deliberately calling him bud - downplay what they have if he’s not gonna be serious or talking about showers to incite jealousy?)

But she can’t help when we see the 😍 either.

Pap pics drop she’s pissed next day. Post satc tt to be a bit vindictive

Lets it stay up for 24 hours.

L or someone reaches out and she makes the lukey newts fan club pr post.

Then for the first 6-7 days after it’s like they have coordinated posting. Always liking in 15 minutes or whatever.

Then in addition to this she lets the Polaroid be seen at ts to let us know it’s all good between them to the ga and shippers.

Fast forward to Wimbledon we see enough of the Polaroid to let us all on x know it’s a different one. And if we know it’s different from computer screens then so does L. Remember by now we know his notifs are on.

He’s got adhd and best believe when his love of his life is icing him out he’s gonna hyper fixate on everything he knows. Including a phone case he’s stared at for ages and constantly liking her stuff first thing when he wakes up.

Now n is icing him out, giving herself some time to do her and work.

Didn’t @ him on latest amazing thank you all posts which is usually her m.o. she tagged the pic but not in the captions is what I mean.

When they reunite after he deals with a he’s gonna have to make amends because Istg I know they are end game but I feel like he told her it was gonna be one way when it went sideways on her outta nowhere (she left after party super early even for having work next day)

Like he’s such a ppl pleaser the minute he got back with his friends he or someone decided that life isn’t his regular life and went back to friend group ways.

Posting more tomorrow. Didn’t realize this was so long.

LOVE x

[girlactionfigure]

A true story from Jerusalem:

A few weeks ago, I was walking through a Jewish neighborhood in Jerusalem.

An Arab deliveryman had parked his motorbike on a busy street. He layed out a mat on the sidewalk and began his prayers.

What happened next was shocking.

People started walking past and noticing him. They kept walking. Nobody bothered him. Not one comment, not one glare. 

This was in one of the most religious Jewish neighborhoods in Jerusalem.

This was during a war the media paint as a battle between Jews and Arabs.

And a Muslim man stops to practice his religion in public, completely confident in the knowledge that he's safe to do so.

Can you imagine a Jew in an Arab country? Would any Jew be safe to stop and put on tefillin in the middle of Turkey for example?

Jews are scared to show any signs of their religion even in cities like New York and London.

But Israel is different. Israel is one of the most tolerant countries in the world. A country where people of all religions feel safe.

SoVeryIsraeli

[officerfriendlysblogs]

Hidden Chords

Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: The story follows a long-time friendship between Harry Styles and the reader, who meet during Harry's One Direction days. As they both rise to fame, their bond remains strong despite busy schedules. Over the years, the reader secretly falls in love with Harry but keeps her feelings hidden, especially when he starts dating someone else.Heartbroken, she channels her emotions into a song, which becomes a hit. Harry later confronts her about the song, revealing that he has loved her all along.After years of missed chances, they finally confess their feelings and start a relationship, proving that their love was worth the wait.

Warnings:⚠️This story features elements of mildangst, minor jealousy, and heartbreak, yet it is also infused with excessively sweet moments, culminating in a joyful conclusion.⚠️

Word count: 1,184

You met Harry Styles when you were just two teenagers chasing dreams. He had his wild curls and charming grin, and you had a notebook filled with half-finished songs. It was 2010, and One Direction was on the rise. You were signed to a small record label, opening for big acts and waiting for your moment.

It was a chance meeting at a shared soundcheck that changed everything. He walked in with his bandmates, a gaggle of exuberant energy, and you were busy trying to fix a broken guitar string.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his green eyes twinkling.

“Do you know how to restring a guitar?” you shot back, skeptical but amused.

“Not a clue,” he said with a laugh, “but I could fetch someone who does.”

You smiled at that. And just like that, Harry Styles became your friend.

The years that followed were a whirlwind. You watched One Direction skyrocket to unimaginable heights while your own career slowly took off. Harry never let fame change him, though. He still texted you terrible jokes, shared Spotify playlists, and called late at night when he needed to vent about the pressures of being in the world’s biggest boyband.

“I don’t know how you handle it,” you told him once, lying on the floor of your London flat, phone pressed to your ear.

“Sometimes I don’t,” he admitted. “But then I think of people like you. Grounded, real. It keeps me sane.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

When the band announced their hiatus in 2015, Harry confided in you first.

“I think this is it,” he said, voice low and uncertain. “I think we’re done.”

You wanted to comfort him, to say the right thing, but all you managed was, “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” he said after a pause. “I think I’m ready to do my own thing.”

And he did. You watched him transform from boyband heartthrob to a solo artist who commanded the world’s attention. You couldn’t have been prouder, but with every milestone he reached, you felt the distance between you growing.

You stayed close, though. Somehow. Amid tours and albums and award shows, Harry always made time for you. But somewhere along the way, your feelings shifted.

It wasn’t just friendship anymore.

It hit you one night in New York. You were both there for different reasons—he was recording his debut album, and you were promoting your second. He invited you to his studio, where he played you a rough cut of “Sign of the Times.”

The song was beautiful, haunting. And so was he, sitting there with his guitar, eyes closed as he sang.

When he finished, you clapped, a little too enthusiastically to hide the way your heart was racing.

“It’s incredible,” you said.

“Thanks,” he said, looking almost shy. “Means a lot coming from you.”

You wanted to tell him everything in that moment, but fear held you back. He was Harry Styles. Your best friend. What if you ruined it?

Then came Camille.

She was stunning, of course—French, sophisticated, effortlessly cool. You found out through a tabloid, and your heart sank.

When you saw Harry next, you tried to act normal. He brought her to a party you were both attending, introducing her with a proud smile.

“This is Camille,” he said, arm draped around her shoulder.

“Hi,” you said, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

She was kind, polite, everything you knew Harry deserved. And that made it worse.

The first time you cried over Harry was after that party. You went home, locked yourself in your room, and let the tears fall.

You hated yourself for it. For being jealous. For wanting something you could never have.

So, you did the only thing you knew how to do. You wrote.

The song poured out of you in a way nothing ever had before. It was raw, painful, and honest—a confession you couldn’t give him in words.

The chorus was a plea: “How do I compete with the stars in your sky, when I’m just the shadow in your light?”

When your producer heard it, he insisted it go on your next album. You hesitated, terrified of what Harry would think, but eventually agreed.

The album came out, and the song—aptly titled “Shadow”—became a hit. Fans speculated endlessly about who it was about, but you never confirmed anything.

Harry called you after hearing it.

“‘Shadow,’” he said. “It’s beautiful. Heartbreaking, but beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice tight.

“You okay?” he asked, sensing something in your tone.

“Yeah,” you lied.

Months passed. Harry and Camille broke up, but you didn’t let yourself hope. Instead, you threw yourself into work, trying to forget the way his smile made you feel, the way his voice lingered in your mind.

It wasn’t until a late night in Los Angeles that everything came to a head.

You were there for a show, and Harry was in town for a film premiere. He invited you to dinner, just the two of you, like old times.

Over glasses of wine, you talked about everything and nothing, laughing until your sides hurt.

Then, out of nowhere, he brought up “Shadow.”

“Was it about someone specific?” he asked, his tone careful.

You froze, the truth threatening to spill out.

“Why do you ask?” you countered, stalling.

“Because…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Because I feel like I know who it’s about.”

Your heart stopped. “Harry—”

“Is it me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked away, the weight of his gaze too much to bear.

“I…” You swallowed hard. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” he said.

When you finally met his eyes, you saw something there—something that looked a lot like hope.

“I wrote it because I didn’t know how else to deal,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have.”

Harry reached across the table, his hand brushing yours.

“You could never ruin it,” he said softly. “But you should’ve told me.”

“Why?” you asked, tears brimming in your eyes. “So you could tell me you don’t feel the same?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “So I could tell you I do.”

The world seemed to stop in that moment.

“You… what?”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he confessed. “But I didn’t think you felt the same. And then Camille happened, and I thought maybe I’d missed my chance.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, a mix of relief and disbelief.

“Harry…”

He stood, pulling you into his arms. You melted against him, all the unspoken words finally finding their place.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “We’re here now.”

And as he pressed his lips to yours, everything else faded away.

From that moment on, your relationship changed. It wasn’t easy—balancing two demanding careers never is—but you made it work.

Because love, you realized, was worth the wait.

[sheluvv-gambino]

“Huh, you sound British.”

pairings : e-42 miles morales x black fem!reader

summary : Being a new student is already hard, just imagine being British in high school within Brooklyn.

warnings : I put a slash between the difference of American and British words so no one is confused since I’m not actually American myself.

part 2

Switching from an English secondary school to an American high school was not something that you could say you were actually excited for.

But yet here you are sitting in your mothers car listening to ‘Bonfire’ by Childish Gambino, trying not stress over being in a totally new environment.

“Okay, we’ve arrived.” Your mum/mom said rubbing the back of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna go now, I love you.” You sigh.

“I love you too but get your arse out this car so your not late please!”

You laugh whilst unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car walking towards the entrance.

Once you enter your immediately overwhelmed with the amount of loud new accents filtering the air. I mean sure you had been in New York for a few days before being introduced to the school but that doesn’t mean you were used to the variety of accents.

Making your way towards the principals office you ended up lost and having to scout the help of one your new peers.

Looking to your left you spot a fairly handsome guy with two cainrows/cornrows going down his neck, sharp jaw, and very plumed lips.

Damn, guess NYC ain’t that bad after all.

Tapping his shoulder you timidly ask “Sorry to disturb you but do you think your could show me to the principals office.”

He looked you up and down for a good thirty seconds before his focus finally set on your face.

“Huh, you sound British.”

“I mean I am from London.” You deadpan.

“Sure I’ll take you, c’mon.”

He takes off swiftly leaving you trailing behind him.

Once you finally reach the principals office

he stops and looks you dead in the eye tilting his head which ultimately makes you cast your gaze down to the floor.

“I’m Miles but I never caught your name.”

You look up and end up locking eyes.

“I’m Y/N” You smile downward.

“We’ll Y/N ion know much about British people but I hope we can get to know each other a bit more…”

And with that he walked away leaving you at the door of the principal.

Now all you have to is KNOCK.

————————

Getting halfway through the day was particularly easy except from the bombardment of questions from people you don’t even know.

Asking things about Britain like you were the Queen (R.I.P Queen Lizzy) It was like they had never heard of Google before.

Fortunately a group of girls adopted you into their circle and you were currently sitting with them at lunch.

“So how’s your day been except y’know all the weird questions?” One girl asks with a chuckle.

“We’ll it’s been a bit annoying relearning the stuff I’ve already done which by the way don’t you think it’s a bit weird that you guys do algebra for like a whole year. In England once we finish a topic we move onto the next.” You ramble with a sigh.

“Eh I mean I guess but it’s not anything new for us. Anyways since being here, have you caught your eye on anyone yet?” Another girl answers and questions.

“We’ll there was this one guy but I haven’t spotted him again since he dropped me off at the Principal’s.”

Some girls squeal in excitement at a new potential crush to gossip about.

“He was quite fit actually and he had these two braids going down. He gave a really good conversation on the way their actually.” You finish off going back to your food nonchalantly.

There must be a shift in the air because the table of girls stopped talking until someone pipes up.

“Your not talking ‘bout Miles Morales are you?!” She squeaks with widened eyes.

“We’ll yeah he said his name was Miles but he didn’t give his surname/lastname.”You start to nod.

“No way! Girls have been trying to get with him ever since we got to the school but he’s always cold and quiet around people who aren’t his friends. Girl you are so lucky.” She blurts out.

“We’ll I’m sure he was just being nice, I mean I am new.” You defend.

And with that Miles Morales walks past your table trailing behind his friends he gives a smirk and waves towards you.

Yeah, I guess you are lucky…very lucky!

[zarnzarn]

I GOT A DREAMLING BINGO CARD!!!!!! This one is E4: Uniform fetish. It is explicit.

@dreamlingbingo

//

"And who might you be searching for?" The waitress says politely, which is when Dream realizes his mistake. It's been at least twelve years since he last saw his lover, time travelling differently at the bottom of the deep sea. He'd come to London as fast as he could, only to be met with hostility and shouting from Hob's old friends for what must have looked like a second abandonment to them, and a complete lack of address as to where his lover had shifted to.

Dream had gone back to the library and tracked Hob down, trying not to snap at Lucienne, and then quickly transported himself to New York.

But his mistake. Was not slowing down enough to read what Hob was calling himself.

"A brunette man, around his thirties," He tries anyway. "Tall, favours brown clothing, warm eyes-"

"Whoa, slow down, loverboy," The waitress says, putting her hands up. "We don't have any men working here."

Dream's brow creases. "What?"

"Yeah, dude, I don't know what to tell you," She shrugs, looking around. "What's his name?"

"I was told he works here," He snaps. He has perhaps spent a tad too long amongst the creatures made to kill at the first movement down in the lonely abyss. "I'm sure of it."

"I-" The waitress sighs, rubbing at her forehead, then suddenly straightens up, eyes wide. "Hang on. Hang the fuck on- REBECCA! REBECCA, COME OUT HERE, THERE'S A GOTH TWINK WHO'S ASKING FOR YOU!"

There's a loud cry from the kitchens and then a flurry of noise- the door crashes open to reveal a host of staff members in various states of disarray, squealing and shouting and-

Rebecca Gadling.

Her eyes widen as soon as she lays her gaze on him, colored amber in the shock of sunset splayed across her face. She grins, and it's like a sun emerging in his chest, with frizzy long hair and tottering on her heels as people from the back shove at her.

Then suddenly, she stops moving towards him and leans back and Dream looks down to see that he has rather spectacularly dropped the large vase of flowers he'd brought Hob between them. Also the chocolates. And the shells. And the now-redundant shopping bags and the limestone sculptures and the silk handkerchiefs.

Hob breaks the stunned silence with a gentle, wet laugh, and Dream looks back up to her, feeling greatly like his entire body is misfunctioning.

"You shifted," He says hoarsely. Because she has- changed shape in a way belying a talented magician- one that's not her lover, the Shaper of Forms, who she surely must have known would have helped her with such a transformation in an instant if she'd so much as hinted to him about it- but Dream's aware enough to know he's on thin ice as is.

"Yeah, I, uh," Hob chuckles, tucking a hair behind her ear shyly, coyness dancing in her eyes as she sidesteps the broken glass and other obstacles to reach him. "You like?"

"Like?" Dream repeats faintly, too busy being overwhelmed as she comes closer. There's a skirt. A short skirt, pleated and the same pink latex as her half-top. Her half-top that is barely holding in her-

The white lace bra that she'd made Dream make for her before he left peeks out the straining bust and he makes a noise.

"Darling," Hob says, sounding like she's barely holding back a laugh as she puts one warm palm on his cheek. The women behind them are tittering and cackling. "My eyes are up here."

"I would be privileged to even have only the back of your knees to stare at until the end of the universe," Dream says, not moving with the gentle pressure so he can keep looking at the breasts enclosed in pink and white. "Let alone the vastness of your eyes, warm and beautiful as fertile earth. But I would like very much to stare at your voluptuous breasts as long as unsocially acceptable, unless you deign to reveal to me more-"

"Right," Hob says, strangled. She turns to look over her shoulder. "I'm not coming back after today. Also get out, all of you, I'm fucking him on the tables."

Hob- Rebecca, was it?- turns back to him as the rest of their audience disappears in a loud burst of noise that he pays no attention to. Hob's hair is long and open, held back on both sides by white ornaments- not good enough, he should get her more- and stretches down to her backside, swaying enticingly.

It looks unbearably tempting against the pink.

"Do you still like having your hair pulled?" He murmurs into her neck, fingers already tangled and tugging as he presses her down into the table. Rebecca gasps, shuddering at the viper-quick movement, legs spreading.

"Hi, Dream. How was the deep sea?" She says hoarsely, laughter in her voice, and he growls.

"Unimportant." He declares, turning his head so he can sink his teeth into her throat. He plays with the ends of the skirt, stroking her thighs. It looks indescribably good on her. "Keep this uniform, after you quit."

Hob laughs again and Dream darts in to kiss her in greeting, before getting distracted once more by the feel of her chest pressing to his. Greedily, he reaches up for a handful, and Rebecca releases a beautiful, quiet whimper into his mouth that might drive Dream slightly insane.

"Pink is my color, isn't it?" Hob preens when she can speak ten minutes later, Dream's shadows spreading her saliva across her chin as they retreat, unable to go for stopping Hob's endless chatter during sex like he usually does, after so long in empty, dark silence.

"It is," Dream breathes, still fucking her like a dog. The lights flicker lovingly above them, summer rainstorm blazing outside as the two of them embrace on a sticky table in an empty cafe. The last stretches of twilight grasp at Hob desperately, bathing her in pinks and oranges, a vision. The skirt is flipped up and the half-top is missing buttons and hanging open limply, giving him full access to the lace torn by his teeth and breathtaking curves of her heavy breasts.

He moans as he looks down at the full picture, so different from the last twelve years of blue and white and black. He thinks rather fondly of the anglerfish dreams he's seen over the past few years, and their mating habits, and thinks he would like nothing more than being permanently attached to Hob until the heat death of the universe.

Hob giggles. "Is this because you missed me or because you like me as a woman?"

"You shifted," Dream whines. Hob cackles at him and he pinches her nipples in admonishment. "If you had shifted into a worm, I would have done so too and still had you like this."

"You are so odd," Hob says, delighted, and nearly takes his feet out from under him with how hard she pulls him down to her lips. "And say the oddest, sweetest things. I love you."

"I love you also." Dream says, palms unmoving on the latex and fingers on Rebecca's warm skin, a very pleasant combination. "Please keep the uniform."

Hob laughs again, and Dream allows himself a wide smile as he pushes himself back up. Even destroyed, it looks fetching on her.

But he's not done with her quite yet.

(They both know he never will be.)

"You know I've had more women than men," Dream says, watching with glee as Hob's smile drops in favour of a flustered blush and a healthy dose of fear as he grins down at her. "Let me show you what I've learned, hm?"

She grins back, fire of a challenge in her eyes as she pushes her chest up. Her skirt brushes against their skin as it falls, Dream hitching Hob's leg higher as he presses closer. "Bring it on."

[hb-writes]

Habits

Summary: Harvey visits his sister while she is studying abroad in London and is entirely unsurprised to find that old habits die hard.

Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter (OC)

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The suite Harvey had booked for his visit to London had two private rooms, each with their own emperor-size bed, and yet, Charlie had spent the first night of his visit in her brother's room after falling asleep mid-conversation. Harvey had been jet lagged and in desperate need of some sleep, but Charlie had found herself with a never-ending stream of things to tell her brother and an almost compulsive need for his closeness. It was almost as if Charlie was afraid that if she didn't get it all out right then…if she didn't cherish every available moment…Harvey wouldn't be there to speak to when she woke up, like his visiting was just a dream.

Harvey was almost impressed by the amount Charlie seemed to have to say. Harvey and Charlie spoke every day now, more intentional about it than they had ever been before she went abroad. Shortly after arriving in London, Charlie had quickly figured out the time difference and the most opportune times to call her brother, making sure to place her weekday calls to Harvey's office rather than directly to his cell so she could say hi to Donna at the same time and ask to be transferred to Mike if he wasn't busy. Harvey and Charlie also video chatted on the weekends, keeping to a Sunday schedule that didn't deviate even if Charlie was traveling Europe with her study abroad friends. Sundays were sacred to the Specters, even across time zones, and Harvey looked forward to the video calls whether she was in her London flat or exploring Europe. 

It was during their last video call that Harvey had told Charlie he was coming to visit the next weekend. He had business with a firm here in London and had leveraged a Thursday meeting in order to make a long weekend of it. It probably could have been a phone call, but Harvey had been eager to see his sister and more than happy for the excuse.

It was his second trip to London since Charlie started to study abroad. The first time, he had brought Donna along, but this time it was just him. They had booked only two rooms on the last visit—one for Harvey and one for Donna—assuming Charlie would want to stay in her own flat, but the girl had met them on the first night with an overnight bag and had just bounced back and forth between Harvey and Donna's rooms for the whole visit, insisting it just "didn't make sense" for her to go back and forth between their flat and the hotel. It wasn't time or cost effective.

On that first visit, Harvey had insisted it wasn't an issue to pay for a cab. Charlie had scoffed at that. She didn't take cabs in London. She walked or she took the Tube, but she hadn't been eager to engage him in that particular fight. She assumed her brother's feelings on the matter of public transport in London would be much the same as they were about the public transit in New York City.

But it didn't matter anyhow. Charlie's arguments about the ineffectiveness of traveling back and forth weren't about the merits or demerits of any particular form of transportation. They were just an excuse, something she could say to avoid saying that she had just wanted to be close to her brother and Donna. Charlie had just wanted to spend as much time in their presence as possible. Harvey hadn't gotten the message at first, but Donna had, so when booking this trip, Harvey had gotten a suite ensuring his sister could stay with him without the need of excuses.

"What are you doing up?" Harvey asked as he opened his eyes. 

Charlie had fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation on the first night, but realizing how jetlagged her brother was, she had gone to her own room on the second night only to end up in his room at the crack of dawn. The sky was barely just beginning to lighten, the new day had barely even had a chance to take hold, but Charlie was already wide awake and seated at the foot of Harvey's bed with her computer open in her lap.

"Making arrangements," Charlie answered.

Harvey sighed as he pushed himself up. "What arrangements?"

They had discussed a handful of ideas for activities for the weekend, but had yet to settle on anything concrete. Donna had offered to do all of the arranging from afar, but they had turned her down, claiming they could handle it on their own. And they could, but Harvey didn't feel much like a spontaneous day trip just now.

He usually handled international travel well, but the jet lag was hurting him this time around, and all of the walking Charlie had made them do the day before wasn't helping. He needed to stretch and run and reset before they did anything.

"Well, the train leaves from St. Pancras today at 11:07. It's a little over an hour ride to Dover, and then just a 45-minute walk to the White Cliffs."

"You want to do the White Cliffs again?" he asked.

Charlie nodded. She had already been with friends from school a few weeks prior, but she knew her brother would like it. Knew there was something so special about being in that place, especially on a dreary day when she figured not many people would be there. She figured her brother could use the calm and the quiet.

"We can rent a car and drive. It'll be—"

"It's not faster to drive, Harvey," she said. "Slower, actually. And it'll be nice to walk through town.

"Please?" she added.

Charlie also liked the train because it meant her brother wouldn't be distracted with directions and navigating. They could just be.

"It'll be nice, Harvey. You'll like it. I swear."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, but leaned over to grab his wallet off the table.

"Fine, take my card and—"

"Oh, um, I already bought our tickets," Charlie answered, holding out his credit card.

Harvey grabbed it and put it away. It was more symbolic than anything. She had a matching credit card with her own name on it, but he figured old habits were hard in dying.

"Anything else you charged on there?" he asked as he took his credit card back.

The knock on the door couldn't have been timed more perfectly, nor the subsequent call of, "room service!" from behind the door.

Harvey snorted, shaking his head.

"Just a little breakfast." Charlie shrugged as she quickly scooted off the bed. "Don't worry. I know you're tired. I'll go grab it."

Harvey leaned back in the bed, listening to the sounds of Charlie making conversation with the person who brought up the breakfast trays.

Harvey waited until they were alone before getting out of bed and coming to the suite's living room.

"This is supposed to be a little breakfast?" he asked, looking over the assemblage of plates that covered the table which could easily hold 6 people.

Charlie shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. "Blah, blah, blah. Most important meal of the day and all that."

"Yeah and I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you're addicted to room service," Harvey answered as he slid into the chair across from her.

"I'm not addicted to room service," she answered, pulling her legs up to sit criss-cross on her chair. "I just think breakfast is supposed to be eaten while wearing pajamas...and preferably in bed."

Harvey chuckled. "Well if you're having any ideas of that this morning, make sure you take it to your own bed. I don't need you spilling crumbs in the sheets."

"I'm not going to spill—" Charlie stopped herself as she knocked over a bowl spilling porridge across the table while reaching for a piece of fresh fruit. "Oops."

Harvey didn't bother answering, simply sipping his coffee and watching as Charlie cleaned up the mess, a self-satisfied smirk on his face the whole time. Old habits, indeed.

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