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norristrii · 2 months ago

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SO CLOSE TO WHAT.

“No, you ain’t got no Mrs, oh, but you got a sports car.” — Moving to England to live with your aunt’s boyfriend was one thing, the other one is to deal with his son’s annoyingly cocky behavior.

pairing. step cousin! Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. AU! (Lando’s younger, and isn’t f1 driver) step cousins romance(I tried to make them as distant as possible), complicated family situation.

babs’ notes. I let the voices win— I completely understand that this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s okay!! There’s not going to be smut, and I’ll probably make this series!

music. Sports Car by Tate Mcrae.

Series masterlist.

YOUR AUNT WAS A TRULY PERPLEXING WOMAN—enigmatic in ways you could never quite figure out. She wasn’t easy to understand, but you loved her regardless. She had been your anchor since you were little, stepping in where your parents had often failed. While they weren’t exactly the Parents of the Year, your aunt was always there, her fierce loyalty and unwavering care filling the gaps they left behind.

But your aunt had her quirks, and one of them was her apparent inability to be alone. She always had someone by her side—a new boyfriend or partner that became a fixture in her life for however long the romance lasted. Over the years, you’d grown accustomed to the revolving door of men who entered and exited her life.

This time, though, was different. For the past two years, she’d been with a man who didn’t seem to fit the usual mold. His name was Thomas, he lived in London, a wealthy single businessman, according to everything she had told you—a world away from the Los Angeles life you knew. He had a son your age, she’d mentioned in passing, though you’d never thought much about it.

Her frequent trips to England had become routine, each one pulling her further into his world. But this time, her decision rocked your world entirely: she wanted to move. All the way from sunny Los Angeles to the vastly different city of London. You could tell how much she wanted this, how much happiness she seemed to find in the prospect of starting a new chapter with Thomas. And despite the bittersweet ache of leaving your friends, your home, and everything familiar behind, you agreed to go with her. She’d always been by your side, after all, and now it was your turn to be by hers.

Packing up your life was harder than you’d expected. Every photo, every book, every piece of clothing seemed to carry the weight of memories tied to the life you were leaving behind. As the day of the move approached, you couldn’t help but feel the enormity of it all—the uncertainty of what lay ahead, the bittersweet finality of what you were leaving behind.

You leaned against the cool leather seat, your aunt beside you, chatting away excitedly about how different London felt compared to Los Angeles. Her words barely registered as you stared out of the tinted window of the luxurious limousine that had been sent for you—a reminder of the new world you were stepping into.

The city unfolded before your eyes like a movie scene. The streets buzzed with life, the iconic red double-decker buses rolling past, black cabs weaving through traffic with practiced ease. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, some clutching umbrellas despite the sun peeking through the clouds. London didn’t feel like any place you’d ever been—it was both historic and modern, loud and elegant all at once.

The music in your airpods provided a gentle soundtrack to your thoughts, keeping you anchored in the overwhelming rush of sights and sounds. You felt like a lost tourist, out of place amidst the grandeur and hustle of the city. Every corner seemed to hold a piece of London’s story: old buildings with ornate details, high-end shops gleaming with glass displays, and the occasional glimpse of lush green parks tucked between it all.

Your aunt’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly, her tone warm and reassuring. You glanced at her, noticing the way her eyes sparkled as she took in the sights of London. She always had a way of making things seem less daunting, even when you weren’t sure you believed her.

Reluctantly, you pulled out one of your airpods, letting the faint hum of music fade into the background. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said, her voice filled with genuine awe as she gazed out at the bustling streets.

You followed her gaze, taking in the city around you. Beautiful? Sure. The historic buildings, the cobblestone streets, the iconic red buses—it all looked like something out of a postcard. But to you, it was also overwhelming. Unfamiliar. A world away from the sun-soaked streets of Los Angeles that you knew like the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “Beautiful. And also fucking unfamiliar.”

Your aunt didn’t seem to catch your words—or maybe she chose not to. Instead, she reached over and gave your hand a gentle squeeze, her silent way of saying she understood. And maybe she did. After all, she was leaving behind her own life too, even if she seemed more excited than scared.

The limousine came to a halt, the soft hum of the engine quieting as you stared out at the sight before you. The villa was something straight out of a daydream—grand and elegant, with French windows that glinted in the sunlight and lush greenery that seemed to wrap the house in a sense of timeless beauty. You couldn’t help but think, Wow, this is not so bad. If nothing else, at least the place itself might soften the blow of moving here.

Thomas was already waiting at the entrance, his smile broad and welcoming as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. The moment the car door opened, your aunt practically bolted into his arms, laughter and affectionate greetings filling the air. They embraced like the stars of some romantic film, completely caught up in each other. At least one of you was happy, you thought, watching them.

You stepped out of the limousine hesitantly, your shoes crunching softly against the gravel drive. The cool breeze carried the faint scent of flowers, and for a moment, you let yourself take it all in—the towering architecture, the perfectly trimmed hedges, the sheer opulence of it all. It was beautiful, yes, but also overwhelming, like stepping into a world you weren’t sure you belonged to.

Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you glanced around, taking in every detail of the place that would now be called home. The air was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves, and the sheer quiet was a stark contrast to the hum of Los Angeles. You felt a pang of homesickness already, but you pushed it aside. This was a fresh start, you reminded yourself, no matter how unfamiliar it might be.

“Just treat yourself like home, Y/n,” Thomas said warmly, his accent crisp yet inviting. He kept an arm around your aunt as he spoke, the two of them radiating an ease with each other that made you smile faintly. At least she was happy. That was what mattered most, you reminded yourself. They turned towards the grand entrance of the villa, leaving you to follow quietly behind.

The house opened up before you like a gallery, every inch of it steeped in luxury and charm. As you stepped inside, your eyes were immediately drawn to the walls—adorned with framed photographs and posters of McLaren F1 cars, sleek sports cars, and classic vintage models. The space exuded the spirit of a car enthusiast, one who seemed to live and breathe motorsport.

“Typical British man,” you muttered under your breath with a soft chuckle, amused by the predictability of it all. But if you were being honest, you kind of liked it. The bold curves of the cars, the energy captured in the photos, the sleek designs—it all sparked something familiar, something comforting.

You’d loved cars and F1 for as long as you could remember. When your dad was still around—still playing the role of a father, even if fleetingly—he’d introduced you to the world of motorsport. He’d taught you how engines worked, how to tell one car apart from another, how to appreciate the artistry of speed and design. He even let you sit on his lap and “drive” when you were just six years old, your tiny hands gripping the steering wheel while he worked the pedals. Those memories stuck with you, even after the illusion of who your dad was faded.

Running your fingers along the edge of a wooden banister, you let your gaze linger on one of the larger framed photos: a McLaren car hurtling down a track, wheels kicking up dust as it rounded a corner. There was a thrill to it, a sense of movement and purpose that felt magnetic.

Behind you, you heard your aunt’s laughter echo down the hallway as she and her boyfriend disappeared deeper into the house, wrapped up in their own bubble of bliss. You stood there for a moment longer, taking in your surroundings and wondering what it would feel like to call this place home. It was beautiful, sure, but it was also unfamiliar. Strange.

You sat at the grand dining table, surrounded by the understated elegance of your new home. The plate in front of you held what could only be described as the most typical British dish imaginable—crispy fish and chips, with a side of mushy peas that you were still trying to convince yourself to like. The room was quiet, save for the occasional clink of utensils against porcelain. Even your aunt, normally a chatterbox, seemed content in her little bubble of bliss, sitting close to her boyfriend.

The silence was suddenly broken by the unmistakable growl of a roaring engine outside the house. It wasn’t just any car engine—it was powerful, aggressive, commanding attention in a way that made your heart leap slightly. You glanced toward the window, your curiosity piqued.

“It must have been Lando,” Thomas said casually, barely glancing up from his plate.

Lando. That was his name? You rolled the name over in your mind, trying to place it. Your aunt had mentioned the man had a son your age, but this was the first time you’d heard his name spoken out loud. Lando. It sounded sharp, unique, leaving an impression before you’d even seen him.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, trying to keep your movements subtle, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Your fingers idly brushed the edge of your plate, but your gaze was firmly fixed on the massive window across the room. Outside, the carbon blue McLaren sat parked with an air of quiet power, its sleek design commanding attention even in stillness.

The car door opened smoothly, catching your eye as the man stepped out. He moved with effortless confidence, his posture relaxed yet purposeful. His curly brown hair caught the sunlight, slightly tousled, as though he’d just come from the rush of the open road. Dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a sweater that matched the deep tone of the McLaren, he seemed entirely at ease in the luxurious surroundings. The sunglasses perched on his face obscured his eyes, but the sharp angles of his jaw and the slight smirk tugging at his lips hinted at a self-assuredness that was hard to ignore.

You found yourself watching him longer than you intended, intrigued by the way he carried himself. There was something magnetic about his presence—like he knew exactly how to make an entrance without even trying. He lingered by the car for a moment, brushing his hand along the roof before glancing toward the house. His movements were deliberate, casual, yet somehow striking in their simplicity.

You leaned back slightly, arms crossing as you processed the sight before you. So this was Lando. The son your aunt had mentioned in passing, the one you hadn’t given much thought to before now. He seemed confident—maybe too confident—but you’d seen worse. Much worse.

Still, there was something about him that lingered in your mind as he walked toward the house, his movements unhurried, exuding a kind of effortless ease. You weren’t sure yet what to make of him, but you had a feeling he wasn’t the kind of person you could easily ignore.

“Hey,” his voice rang out, that undercurrent of cockiness still lingering as if he carried the room with just a few syllables. You hesitated, your fingers lightly brushing the edge of the table as your aunt rushed past you, her excitement undeniable.

“Oh my god, Lan, you’ve grown up so much,” she gushed, wrapping her arms around him with a warmth that made you feel like an outsider in the moment. You could hear the sound of his laugh—a short, amused chuckle that matched the easy confidence he seemed to radiate.

Finally, you turned around, unable to resist any longer. Your eyes landed on him, taking in the full picture. His sunglasses now perched on his head, pushed back to reveal striking green eyes that seemed to catch the light in a way that made them all the more intense. His gaze darted to you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker there—curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe it was just the same cockiness he carried in his voice.

Lando was taller than you'd expected, but not so much that it felt imposing. He stood with an ease that was almost frustrating, like he’d never had to try too hard for anything in his life. And yet, there was something about his presence that drew you in, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

So this was the golden boy everyone seemed to talk about—the one who apparently had it all: fame, charm, and a life that you couldn’t even begin to compare to your own. Honestly, you weren’t surprised. He looked good. Too good, almost. Like he had stepped straight out of the kind of world that only existed in glossy magazine spreads and Instagram feeds.

“You must be Y/n,” he said with a smirk, his tone light but carrying a certain edge of confidence. It wasn’t just an introduction—it was like he knew exactly how to set the pace of the room, how to make his presence impossible to ignore. “Dad and Auntie talked about you a lot.”

Auntie. You bristled slightly at the word, but let it pass. Whatever. It wasn’t worth commenting on, especially when he was already sliding into the seat opposite you, his movements casual but deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

His green eyes locked onto yours, steady and focused in a way that made it hard to look away. There was something about them—sharp and observant, as if he was reading you like a page in a book. It wasn’t intimidating, exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. You could feel your guard rising instinctively, unsure of what to make of him.

“So,” he said, leaning back slightly in the chair, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you settling in, or did they just drag you here against your will?” His tone was teasing, but you caught the flicker of genuine curiosity hidden beneath it, like he actually wanted to know.

“The second one actually,” you said, your smile tinged with sarcasm, a playful edge in your voice. It was obvious you were joking, but the words carried just enough bite to keep things interesting.

Lando’s smirk grew, his green eyes narrowing slightly in mock amusement. “Dragged here kicking and screaming, huh?” he teased, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Well, I guess I should feel honored to be graced with your presence then.”

You rolled your eyes, but the faint smile playing on your lips betrayed you. “Oh, absolutely,” you shot back, keeping your tone light. “I mean, it’s not every day you get to sit across from a golden boy.”

He chuckled softly at that, shaking his head as if to brush off the comment, but the glint in his eyes remained. “Golden boy, huh? Is that what they’re calling me now?” He leaned back in his chair, casually draping an arm over the backrest. “I’ve been called worse, I suppose.”

“Anyway, I need to go,” Lando announced, his voice cutting through the room with a casual confidence that seemed to come so naturally to him. His tone carried the same cockiness you were starting to realize was simply a part of who he was. “Max and I are going to play some golf,” he added, like the words were a badge of honor. Golf—of all things. The most boring sport you could think of. Or whatever it even was. You couldn't help but picture him swinging clubs in the middle of a pristine course, surrounded by people eager to soak in his charm.

“Golf?” you muttered quietly under your breath, the word leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The thought of it seemed laughable—too refined, too slow, too uneventful for someone who radiated such energy. You resisted the urge to say it aloud, knowing it wasn’t worth the trouble. He didn’t seem like the type who’d be fazed by a comment like that anyway.

“You just arrived,” your aunt interrupted, her voice softer now, tinged with a hint of disappointment. You could see it in the way she leaned toward him, her hand resting gently on his arm. She wanted him to stay longer, wanted to hold onto this moment of togetherness for just a little while more. But Lando didn’t seem particularly moved by her subtle plea.

“Sorry,” he said with a small shrug, the apology falling from his lips with all the sincerity of someone who had already made up their mind. His casual demeanor felt unshakable, like he lived in a world where rules and expectations bent around him, not the other way around.

And then, his gaze flicked to you. “See you around, Y/n,” he said, your name lingering on his lips with a bittersweet tone that sent a faint ripple through your chest. The way he said it—like it meant something more than just a casual farewell—caught you off guard. You couldn’t quite place the feeling it left behind, but it clung to you nonetheless.

Without another word, he turned and left the room, his footsteps fading into the hall as the faint hum of his McLaren’s engine became the only sound left to fill the silence. The absence of his presence seemed almost louder than his arrival, leaving you feeling... unsettled. You sat there, unsure of whether you were relieved or intrigued—or maybe both.

Thomas’ smile was warm, brimming with an almost paternal pride as he spoke. “He’s my boy, I’m sure you’ll get along,” he said confidently, his words carrying an air of certainty that you found difficult to match.

You nodded politely, offering a faint smile in return. It was nice that Thomas was so sure of this, so convinced that you and Lando would mesh seamlessly. But in truth, you weren’t. You couldn’t quite picture yourself clicking with someone like Lando—the golden boy who radiated charm and arrogance in equal measure, who seemed to move through life with a confidence you weren’t sure you could match.

The memory of his smirk, the cocky lilt in his voice, and the way he had glanced at you with those sharp green eyes—all of it lingered in your mind, unshakable even as you tried to dismiss it. You were still processing what you’d seen in him and what you hadn’t, trying to decide whether he was someone you wanted in your orbit or someone you’d prefer to keep at arm’s length.

Thomas didn’t seem to notice your hesitation, his expression full of pride and affection. And despite your doubts, you couldn’t help but respect the bond he clearly shared with Lando, the way he spoke about him with such unwavering certainty.

You forced your smile to stay in place, the words catching slightly in your throat as you replied, “I guess we’ll see.” It was the safest response you could think of, one that wouldn’t betray the uncertainty swirling in your mind.

Thomas chuckled lightly, oblivious to your internal conflict. “Oh, trust me. Once you get to know him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You weren’t sure if that was a promise or a warning, but you couldn’t deny the faint flicker of curiosity that had already begun to take root. Whatever happened next, you had a feeling that Lando Norris wasn’t someone you’d be able to ignore—whether you liked it or not.

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karlachismylife · 6 months ago

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So, we all know Simon is covered in freckles, beautiful constellations blooming on his pale skin, nature marking the perfect paths for kisses along his collarbones, down the dip of his spine, scattered on his arms.

And his face, of course, little spots on his nose and cheeks, sneaky ones all the way up to his eyes. Hidden from everyone, full attire, a mask and smear black providing cover for the shy stars, like clouds do on windy, humid autumn nights. Cold and detached wrap to keep this weird sign of life on a living dead body from overly curious eyes.

But not from his Captain. Price knows these freckles, he's seen them young and bright, he's seen them dull and almost invisible on a half translucent skin.

He's seen them disappear, long, cruel winter and the mask almost grown into Ghost's skull wiping everything besides uneven scars and black ingrained into his skin. He's seen the summer taken out of his boy, replaced with the dead sleep of the winter, white and icy like Simon's eyelashes.

And, frankly, he won't have that.

If there's not enough sun for those little specks of life to shine, be it London fog half of the year or excruciating cold of the northern polar night they're stuck in on an op, Captain Price is giving his Lieutenant a personal sunshine. One that will melt polar caps if you let it shine in full brightness, hot, unpredictable in its flares, relentlessly glowing and cutting it's radiation through any barier.

Deadly as a burning globe of gas can be. Sergeant MacTavish.

Johnny doesn't have a problem with disregarding laws of physics. If this sole, dark, barren planet of ice refuses to circle him like everyone else does, Soap flips all those heliocentric theories over and instead makes a satellite to Ghost out of himself. Simon's joints stop aching when the shared space heats up, air few degrees away from rippling around Soap's broad form like it's boiling overhead a fire pit. His breath appears visible again, contrast to the almost non-existent fog that was leaking out of his mouth, making everyone who knew (not many of them) wonder, if Simon Riley actually ever left his grave.

One day, Simon's knuckles turn white and hurt. One day, Simon's frosty lashes flutter and not a single cloud of steam exits his mouth. One day, he feels frozen in place despite being basked in molten sunlight of Johnny's gaze, because Sergeant's restless hands found a makeup pen and are swiftly covering Simon's flushed cheeks in freckles.

Crowded constellations, all little sister stars from the MacTavish clan, clinging to Simon in semi-permanent kisses.

Price walks in on them, Simon sitting with his hands clenched tight and his breath held, Johnny with his tongue stuck between his front teeth as he keeps bringing spring out of its long dormant state on Simon's once again alive face.

Just like a sun should. Just like Captain Price expected.

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jam3sacaster · 7 months ago

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“Don’t waste your time with him.” PT 1.

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by my sweet heart anon 🫶🏽 / Your uncle, Freddie Jones, introduces you to his new business partners, and you end up wishing he didn’t…

18+ FANFIC / SMUTTY, angsty, hot, in love. Longer than usual so I apologise and hope you don’t take a nap halfway through. Reader character aged 21. As always, request what you wanna see in my asks 💋

Desperate to escape the exhausting bustle of London, it had been agreed some weeks ago that you were to stay at your uncle, Freddie Jones’, Manor House in Rutshire. He had mentioned, vaguely, over the phone about his new business idea and that your expertise in marketing would provide a real asset. Pulling into the extravagant driveway at 8am sharp, you slam your car door shut and pull three substantial cases from the boot. “Darlin!” The familiar accent chimed as your moustached uncle threw open his front door, walking towards you with outstretched arms. Dropping your cases to the floor, you ran to meet him, embracing in a tight, meaningful hug. “I��m so glad you see you.” You exhaled, already feeling the stresses of London melting away. You had always been incredibly close to your uncle, but his newfound wealth and social status and upheaved him from his family and everyday life and plunged him into Rutshire. “Leave the cases. Someone will bring them up for you.” He nodded, taking your hand and leading you into his remarkable home.

“Hello, darlin!” Your auntie Valerie peeped from the doorway, momentarily giving you an uncomfortable, cramped hug. “You’ll have to excuse Fred Fred for an hour, he’s having a business meeting.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. Embarrassed, Freddie looked down at his feet, but still mustered a smile for you. “Don’t worry about that, come in and meet them. I can tell you all about our new business plan, it’s fuckin’ incredible.” He spoke, beaming to himself now as Val pottered her way outside into her lavish garden. Opening the door to his office, Freddie ushered you in and boomed to the two men standing inside. “Gents, this is my beautiful niece, she’s staying with me for a while and she was an absolute marketing genius down in London. Darlin, this is Rupert-Campbell Black, Minister for Sport, and Declan O’Hara, former star of Declan on Corinium.” He introduced you. Declan tutted at the very mention of the C-word.

“Hello.” You spoke gently, awkwardly glancing between the two men. They quickly exchanged the necessary response to you, and gathered Freddie round the table, mumbling statistics that were far beyond understanding. “Sit, sit.” Freddie tapped the seat beside you, and you hesitantly obliged. Scanning your eyes over their scrawled out business plans, Rupert took the seat beside you, leaning over you slightly to point at some arbitrary on the paper. The potent, saccharine aroma of his aftershave wafting into your nostrils. As he retreated his hand, it brushed across yours softly, making your jump gently in shock. “Sorry.” He muttered, looking up at you and presenting you with a faint smile. Time stood still for a moment as your eyes interlocked contact — Rupert’s eyes softening in lust, yours in affection. “So,” Freddie’s hands slapped against the wooden desk, “We’ll have lunch, a couple of drinks and then get back to it.” He rubbed your shoulder and grinned at you, mouthing shortly after ‘You okay?’, to which you nodded.

Standing up from your chair and making your way into the garden, you breathed in the soft fragrance from the luxurious assemblage of flowers — Soft, pastelled hydrangeas, electric primroses, and properly preened roses of scarlet red and crisp white. You wrapped your soft, knitted lavender cardigan around your torso and squinted slightly under the subtle early morning sun. “London then, eh? Whereabouts?” An aristocratic voice sounded from behind you, cigarette smoke clouding the aroma from the flowers. “Kensington. I worked for a marketing agency, but they ended up thinking I was some kind of businesswoman so I ended up marketing a few television shows.” You reply, turning around slightly to see Rupert Campbell-Black stood, top button of his pastel blue shirt undone.

“Hmm. You’ll be a great asset to the team then. We could use your expertise.” He internally rolled his eyes as he spoke. There was nothing more dull and droning than boring a beautiful young lady with business. “Declan seems nice.” You reply, cheeks delicately glowing a rosy hue. To this, Rupert raised an arched eyebrow — appearing confused but a painful tinge of jealousy coursing through his veins. “Don’t waste your time with him. He’s… emotionally unavailable. His wife just fucked off back to London.” He chuckles abruptly, taking a long puff of his cigarette. Your supple lips pouted, feeling a rather strong wave of sympathy for Declan — partly for his wife leaving, partly for Rupert divulging such personal information to you. “I’m up at Penscombe Court, should you ever need to visit. To talk business and such. Or maybe more.” He winked, and you snickered, shaking your head softly. “Thank you. I’ll-umm… remember that.” You respond, making your way back inside.

Back in the office, Freddie was pacing up and down on his mobile, hand struggling to clasp around the thickened brick of a phone, and the antenna wafting around after him. Declan, muttering to himself under his breath, was sat at the desk, scribbling on an a5 piece of paper. “Drink?” You ask him, and he takes a moment to respond. “Sorry, love. Umm… yes, please. Just a soft one.” He replies, curling his bottom lip into an awkward smile. Temporarily migrating to the kitchen and walking back with a teeming jug of lemonade, laden with ice cubes and slices of fresh lemon, alongside four glasses. Pouring one out for everyone, Declan thanked you as you sat bedside him. “Sooo… what are you working on?” You ask, leaning into him to look over his shoulder. “Just a few pitch docs, jus’ throwin’ some ideas around.” Declan replied, but placed his pen back onto the table and sat back in his chair. “How old are ya?”

“21.” You meekly squeak, his presence intimidating. “And you’re already a marketin’ expert? Ya’ must be really good.” A reassuring smile plastered across his face as he spoke, and took a quick swig of his lemonade. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think Uncle Fred has made me seem a lot better than I actually am.” Freddie looks as you as you speak, smiling through his tedious phone conversation. “I’ve been propositioned already by Mr Campbell-Black.” You sigh, to which Declan shakes his head in disbelief. “Honestly, that man. There’s not a woman on the planet that he wouldn’t ride. Don’t waste your time with him.”

As the evening grew piercingly cold, the budding Venturer team roamed to the living room — television on, fire crackling and tumblers of amber whiskey flowing. You felt small amongst the room of men, talking too loudly and laughing too obnoxiously. Freddie was talking Rupert’s ear off, and that now familiar look of disinterest on Rupert’s face gave it all away. You grinned at him with twinkling eyes as he screwed his face up jokingly towards you at your uncle’s surely riveting conversation. “Whenever ya’ free, and ya’ wanna talk strategies, let me know and we can call a meeting.” Declan spoke, now drunk and stumbling over his words. “This isn’t your way of trying to flirt is it?” You ask, rolling your eyes and pouring yourself an offensively large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. “Trust me, darlin’, you’d know if I was trying to flirt.” All of a sudden, it wasn’t a joke anymore. His tone was low and gruff, and his eyes sharpened. “Maybe we should talk business now?” You suggest, inching your voice towards his. Without responding, Declan rose from the sofa and entered the office. To avoid arising suspicion, you get up a few moments later, with a half-arsed excuse about needing to use the bathroom. Barely waiting for you to close the office door behind you, Declan crashed his lips into yours, pinning you to the wall as the sounds of your colliding lips fought for dominance over your passionate groans.

•

Sliding his hand under your blue floral frock, Declan rubbed his thumb over your slit, the friction of your pants sending a jolt through your body. “Wet for me already?” He asked into your ear, before pulling your pants to the side and gliding two fingers inside you. You yelped in pleasure as his fingers immediately curled towards your g-spot. The frantic passion of the seductive man increased your groans, as you brought your hand down to rub his growing cock over his jeans. “Do you want me on my knees?” You asked with a smirk. Declan opened his mouth to speak, but —

The doorknob turned, and you both desperately panicked to straighten yourselves out. Smoothing down your dress as Declan turned around, in attempt to hide his hard-on from whoever was to enter the room. “Darlin?” Your uncle asked, and you perked your head up innocently. “You okay?”

“Yes, Uncle Freddie. Declan was just… picking my brains.” You chime, turning around slightly to check for his reaction. He suppressed a smirk, and nodded in agreement towards Freddie. Unsuspecting as always, Freddie smiled in contentment and closed the door behind him. “Fuck, that was close. Jesus feckin’ Christ, you turned me into an animal.” Declan wheezed into laughter. You stepped towards him and lifted his hand, sucking his brutish fingers that were, moments ago, inside of you. “Fuck.” He growled in response, running a course hand over his hair. You opened the office door and stepped out, Declan following close behind and giving you a playful snack on your behind that made you yelp. Freddie stood by the door, phone to his ear and speaking nonsense to a pretend caller. He was watching, and keeping a close eye.

•

“Cigarette?” Rupert’s voice spoke from the kitchen towards Declan. You hear Declan decline, and make your way into the kitchen to refill your drink. “You?” He asks, and you nod your head in response as you take a few, very-needed sips of wine. Pulling your uncle Freddie’s lighter from the countertop, you follow the suited man into the garden, taking a quick seat on the frosted wooden bench as Rupert stood above you. He lit his cigarette, and leant down to your level, lighting yours with the blaze within his.

“Finding us insufferable already?” He teased, taking a step back. Shaking your head and puffing your cigarette, your mind could barely muster a response as you envisioned the sound of Declan’s groans and the way his fingers hooked inside of you. “Umm… no. You’re both very nice, actually.”

“Hmm. Declan’s a bit of a cunt but we fair well for ourselves. Think any more about my offer?” He asks, sitting beside you now. “Not yet. How do I know you’re not some chauvinistic Casanova that wants to add me to your long list of conquests?” Raising an arched eyebrow as you speak. Rupert raises his hands in defeat, chuckling to himself that he’d been completely rumbled. You chuckle half-heartedly, semi-believing your own joke. “Well, let’s forget business. I don’t believe in waiting for something you desire. You’re a beautiful girl, and I’d like to take you to dinner.” He declared, taking a long drag of his cigarette and rubbing his thumb over your silky cheek. Taken aback by his rather attractive forwardness and gently biting your lip, you tilt your head upwards at the gentleness of his touch. The bitter evening silence in the garden was comforting — solemnly tranquil, interrupted only by autumn leaves tumbling in the wind and the occasional croaking of a frog in the grass. Even more beautiful still, the heavens opened up to unleash a downpour of of rain. Luckily, the bench was tucked under the porch, but one could still admire the serene display of nature.

Keeping your head tilted towards him, he ran his thumb from your cheek to your lips, lining the top lip, and then the bottom. So enamoured with desire, you could barely breath. He gently pushed his thumb into your mouth, making contact with your tongue. Keeping it there for a moment, he paused and spoke .. “You are magnificent.”

“Darlin’? Are you comin’ in? It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there.” Freddie’s voice beckoned you from the kitchen window, catching a slight glimpse of the scene unfolding on his garden porch. Taking his time, Rupert removed his thumb from your mouth and stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall. “You know where I am, angel. Don’t hesitate.” He expressed solemnly, as you collected yourself and went to join your uncle.

“Be careful, darlin’. You’re playing with fire.” Your uncle Freddie warned.

#rivals #rivals fanfic #rivals fanfiction #love triangle #every triangle is a love triangle when you love triangles - james acaster #declan o’hara #aidan turner #declan o’hara x reader #rupert campbell black #rupert campbell-black #alex hassell #rupert campbell-black x reader #my own dreadful writing #freddie jones #danny dyer

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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Scientists have developed a new solar-powered system to convert saltwater into fresh drinking water which they say could help reduce dangerous the risk of waterborne diseases like cholera.

Via tests in rural communities, they showed that the process is more than 20% cheaper than traditional methods and can be deployed in rural locations around the globe.

Building on existing processes that convert saline groundwater to freshwater, the researchers from King’s College London, in collaboration with MIT and the Helmholtz Institute for Renewable Energy Systems, created a new system that produced consistent levels of water using solar power, and reported it in a paper published recently in Nature Water.

It works through a process called electrodialysis which separates the salt using a set of specialized membranes that channel salt ions into a stream of brine, leaving the water fresh and drinkable. By flexibly adjusting the voltage and the rate at which salt water flowed through the system, the researchers developed a system that adjusts to variable sunshine while not compromising on the amount of fresh drinking water produced.

Using data first gathered in the village of Chelleru near Hyderabad in India, and then recreating these conditions of the village in New Mexico, the team successfully converted up to 10 cubic meters, or several bathtubs worth of fresh drinking water. This was enough for 3,000 people a day with the process continuing to run regardless of variable solar power caused by cloud coverage and rain.

[Note: Not sure what metric they're using to calculate daily water needs here. Presumably this is drinking water only.]

Dr. Wei He from the Department of Engineering at King’s College London believes the new technology could bring massive benefits to rural communities, not only increasing the supply of drinking water but also bringing health benefits.

“By offering a cheap, eco-friendly alternative that can be operated off the grid, our technology enables communities to tap into alternative water sources (such as deep aquifers or saline water) to address water scarcity and contamination in traditional water supplies,” said He.

“This technology can expand water sources available to communities beyond traditional ones and by providing water from uncontaminated saline sources, may help combat water scarcity or unexpected emergencies when conventional water supplies are disrupted, for example like the recent cholera outbreaks in Zambia.”

In the global rural population, 1.6 billion people face water scarcity, many of whom are reliant on stressed reserves of groundwater lying beneath the Earth’s surface.

However, worldwide 56% of groundwater is saline and unsuitable for consumption. This issue is particularly prevalent in India, where 60% of the land harbors undrinkable saline water. Consequently, there is a pressing need for efficient desalination methods to create fresh drinking water cheaply, and at scale.

Traditional desalination technology has relied either on costly batteries in off-grid systems or a grid system to supply the energy necessary to remove salt from the water. In developing countries’ rural areas, however, grid infrastructure can be unreliable and is largely reliant on fossil fuels...

“By removing the need for a grid system entirely and cutting reliance on battery tech by 92%, our system can provide reliable access to safe drinking water, entirely emission-free, onsite, and at a discount of roughly 22% to the people who need it compared to traditional methods,” He said.

The system also has the potential to be used outside of developing areas, particularly in agriculture where climate change is leading to unstable reserves of fresh water for irrigation.

The team plans to scale up the availability of the technology across India through collaboration with local partners. Beyond this, a team from MIT also plans to create a start-up to commercialize and fund the technology.

“While the US and UK have more stable, diversified grids than most countries, they still rely on fossil fuels. By removing fossil fuels from the equation for energy-hungry sectors like agriculture, we can help accelerate the transition to Net Zero,” He said.

-via Good News Network, April 2, 2024

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unconventional-lawnchair · 8 months ago

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Stray {Blurb}

Postwar!Remus Lupin x Muggle!Reader

Summery: After drifting aimlessly and struggling with the aftermath of war, Remus finds an unexpected ally in a compassionate woman who sees beyond his scars. Through her unwavering kindness and the simple life, Remus maybe he deserves the similar things in life.

Wc:3860

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, fem reader, self doubt, mentions of major character death, financial insecurity, drifting, self indulgent.

Remus Lupin never really believed in rock bottom. Everytime he thought he'd hit it he would fall harder and deeper than he ever thought possible.

After the war there was a long period of time he was drifting. Not necessarily liking the idea of staying in one place too long, not that he could if he tried. Most of the highlands were packed with nosey wizards and witches, his paranoia getting the best of him every time someone asked a bit too many questions, and then it was on to the next town.

It didn't help that no one was enthusiastic about hiring him after learning of his special requirements. He couldn't hold down a job let alone a stable place to stay, staying in the rougher bits of London and Scotland, too busy wallowing in grief to truly feel sorry for his situation.

His full moons were the worst of it. Without James, Peter, and Sirius, Moony reverted back to its most volatile form. His mental state didn't help much either. He had grown comfortable, complacent, with the nurture his friends provided him those nights. So much so he forgot what it was like to have battered and bruised skin. What the scars on his body felt like.

Everything was back to his normal.

Well, not everything. This was the first time he's woken up to the sight of a gun barrel in his face. His body throbbing and his leg caught in a snare. If he looked just past the barrel, he could see glimmering eyes. Fear. He was used to that look.

Though, he could argue he should be the fearful one, considering his lack of dress and immobile position. Bleeding and scared, with a women he's never seen before saying something his ringing ears couldn't quite comprehend.

Soon, his blood loss and blurry eyes made him unable to stay awake. The last thing he saw was a large white dog coming up to sniff his face.

~~~

It was soft, everywhere he turned. Like he was being held in a cloud, he was sure she must have shot him.

When his eyes opened he was greeted with a dim room. It was small, a cream off white with floral designs, it looked like his mother’s, truthfully. He tried to shift his leg only to notice a sizable weight, looking down to see a large white cattle dog, he couldn't quite place the breed immediately, but the moment he shifted it seemed to wake up. Staring at him in his very soul.

The large beast gave a low and steady grumble before he gave a few barks, something he didn't quite know how to place. He just sunk back into the soft plush bedding, giving a low sigh. “Bloody hell..” He mumbled and closed his eyes.

He was still in pain, a lot of it, and he could feel the throb of his injuries pulsing through his body. But there was also a strange sense of comfort in the softness of the bed and the warmth of the room. Even the soft smell of Shea butter and thick wool. It had been so long since he had felt anything remotely close to comfort that it almost seemed foreign to him. He almost convinced himself to fall right back asleep, screw the consequences.

The dog continued to bark, and soon after, Remus heard the soft patter of footsteps approaching. His instincts kicked in, and he tried to sit up, but his body protested vehemently. Leaving him to prop pathetically on his elbows.

As the door creaked open, he came to the conclusion that he was most certainly dead. And he guessed the muggles were right about God. Why else in Merlin’s name would an angel be stepping into this room? With a tray of food, no less.

Like that, the barking stopped. The dog satisfied he notified his master in time.

The woman who had been holding the gun stood in the doorway, looking significantly less threatening now. She had a cautious yet gentle expression, her eyes scanning Remus with a mix of curiosity and concern. Retracing his now bandaged chest and bruised skin, clicking her tongue before she walked over. Setting the tray down and picking up two pill bottles from the side of the bed.

"You're awake.” She assessed softly, her voice carrying a lilting accent that Remus recognized to be Scottish. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it through the night.”

Remus tried to respond, but his throat was dry and his voice came out as a weak croak. She poured a glass of water from the tray and handed it to him, with three pills in her palm.

He didn't think twice before he took them, his concern for his life had far since left his mind. He just felt.. safe.

As the cool water soothed his parched throat, Remus couldn't help but wonder who this woman was and why she was helping him. He hadn't known genuine kindness from anyone since he entered the war- everyone was a suspect until proven otherwise. He glanced around the room, taking in the subtle details- the worn but clean furniture, the soft light filtering through the curtains, and the faint smell of herbs mingling with the scent of the shea butter that he could now conclude came from you.

"Thank you.” He managed to say, his voice still weak but sincere. "For... everything."

The woman gave a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're welcome. My name is {Y/N}." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "You're lucky I found you when I did. The Highlands aren't exactly the safest place for someone to be..” She gestured vaguely. “What were you up to? Naked forest dancing?”

Remus let out a weak, humorless chuckle at your comment. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but appreciate your attempt to lighten the mood. His muscles protested every small movement, but he managed to shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable.

"Something like that. I'm Remus.” He muttered, his voice still hoarse. He didn't dare dream of expressing the full length of his woes; the full moon, the transformation, the uncontrollable rage and pain. It was too much to burden you with, not to mention the rapid fire excuses he'd have to come up with. Still, he still felt horrid for lying, especially to someone as kind as you.

You seemed to sense his reluctance and didn't press further. Instead, you busied herself with adjusting the pillows behind his back, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. "Well, whatever it was, you're safe now.” You muttered gently. "You need rest and time to heal. Those pills should help with the pain and prevent any infection."

Remus nodded, grateful for your understanding. "Thank you, {Y/N}.” He repeated, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the cozy room or the medication. "I don't know how to repay you for this."

You waved off his gratitude with a dismissive huff before walking over to set up the simple bowl of oatmeal and apple slices you had managed in the kitchen.

“Seriously, I don't have much but-”

“Your money's no good here, I fear.” You remarked calmly and turned to face him as you handed him the bowl carefully, wrapped in an oven mitt so he wouldn't burn himself. “But your body is.”

Remus blinked, taken aback by the statement. He opened his mouth to respond, but you quickly clarified, sensing his alarm.

"Not in that way.” You quickly corrected with a soft laugh, the first sign of genuine amusement he'd seen from you. "I meant, it's coming up on winter. Once you get better, if you'd like to repay me, there are holes in the barn that need to be patched. There is wood to be collected, there is always work.”

Relief washed over him, and he nodded slowly, understanding the exchange you were offering. That was something he could do. Easily. "I can do that.” His voice was still weak but filled with sincerity. "I'm more than willing to help out."

You smiled, this time a bit more genuinely. "Good. We'll worry about that when you're back on your feet. For now, just focus on getting better." You placed the bowl of oatmeal and apple slices on his lap. "Eat up, you'll need your strength."

Remus took the bowl, feeling a deep sense of,, peace. It had been so long since anyone had shown him patience and kindness this real. He spooned some of the oatmeal into his mouth, savoring the warmth and simple flavor. It was raw. Something unfiltered and unprocessed. You had made these from scratch, while it wasn't impressive, it made the gesture all the more real to him.

As he ate, you busied yourself around the room, tidying up and making sure everything was in order. The large white dog, now lying by the foot of the bed, watched him with curious eyes.

"What’s his name?" Remus asked, nodding towards the dog.

"That's Hugo.” You hummed, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "He's a good boy. A fine worker, too. Found him as a pup wandering near the woods. Much like you, I suppose."

Remus chuckled softly, though it hurt his chest a bit. "Well, I'm glad he found his way to you. And I'm glad I did too."

You paused for a moment, looking at him with a studying looking in your eyes. "We all need a bit of help sometimes.” You said quietly. "No shame in that."

Remus nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope. The care you had shown him was a balm to his weary soul, and he couldn't help but feel that perhaps, just maybe, things could get better from here.

As he finished his meal, he felt a wave of exhaustion washing over him again. The combination of the medication and the warm food was making it difficult to keep his eyes open. You seemed to notice and gently took the empty bowl from his hands.

"You should rest.” You said softly, but stern, placing the bowl back on the tray. "Sleep will help you heal faster."

Remus nodded, unable to argue with common sense. As he settled back into the pillows, he felt the soft weight of Hugo shifting in a commando crawl up to his side, offering him a sense of security and companionship. His heavy head resting on his chest.

"Thank you, {Y/N}, Hugo.” He murmured one last time, his voice trailing off as sleep began to claim him.

You watched as his eyes closed, a small smile playing on your lips. "You're welcome, Remus," you whispered, turning to leave the room. "Rest well."

As Remus drifted off into a deep, healing sleep, he couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he could finally stop destroying himself and start rebuilding.

~~~

The days turned into weeks, and Remus slowly but surely regained his strength. Each day, he marveled at the patience and empathy you and Hugo showed him. It was a simple life, far removed from the chaos and pain of his past, but it was exactly what he needed.

You never pried into his past, never asked questions, never pushed past what you needed to know in the moment. You hardly even acknowledged the night he showed up on your property. Instead, you offered gentle conversation, warm meals, and a quiet companionship that Remus found deeply comforting. In return, he began to help around the property as he had promised. Fixing the holes in the barn, chopping wood for the winter, and tending to any task you needed of him.

It was symbiotic. You got the help you needed, and he felt like he was contributing to something meaningful without the threat of being chased away.

As the weeks turned into a month, the next full moon loomed. Even as his irritation grew and his stomach sank with dread, you never said a word. You filled his plate, kept him busy with work on your land, and didn't question him when he took a stroll into the woods on the night of the full moon. Though you were a bit baffled when Hugo went with him.

That morning, you were on the porch waiting for him. You said nothing about his tattered clothes and suitcase, just welcomed him home with a warm smile.

It was more than he ever thought he'd deserve. You reminded him of nectar in the mornings and like fine wine most nights. As sweet as honey but as deep and rich as the most ancient oak, your presence grounded him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Each day with you was a melody, a harmony that soothed the tempest within him. He found himself looking forward to your soft laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts, and the gentle touch of your hand as you handed him a steaming cup of tea.

Your kindness wasn't just a balm for his physical wounds; it seeped into the deepest recesses of his heart, mending the fractures that years of pain and loss had wrought. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere between your shared meals and quiet evenings by the fireplace, he realized he was falling in love with you.

It wasn't a whirlwind or a blaze; it was a slow, steady burn that warmed him from the inside out. He cherished the simplicity of your life together, the unspoken understanding that passed between you, and the way Hugo seemed to understand it all, lying at your feet as if guarding this fragile, precious thing you were building together.

In those quiet moments, when the world outside seemed a distant memory, Remus realized he had found something he never thought possible: a home, a sanctuary, and he didn't dare hope for more.

Even as you sat on the small couch, in the simple living room. Knees tucked to your chest as you continued to fight with yourself.

“Writer's block?” He prodded as he walked over, sitting down in front of you. Your eyes flickered up to his, your expression still holding slight irritation. “You've been looking at that page for ages.”

“I have ideas.” You argued, looking back down at your pages with a huff. “Just not sure.. how to work them together.”

“Isn't that supposed to be the fun part?” He teased softly and that earned a playful glare form you. He flicked his hands up in defense, slowly smirking.

You managed a soft laugh, your irritation melting away under his gentle look. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one staring at a blank page.” You challenged, but there was no real bite to your words.

Remus leaned closer, peering at your notes with genuine curiosity. "Maybe you should write something else. Just for today. Heard it's supposed to help, yeah?”

You sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. "Alright, Mr. Lupin, what do you suggest I write about?"

“Maybe your affinity for strays?” He teased and that earned a belly laugh from you.

“Do you hear him, Hugo? He just called you a stray.” You smirked and Hugo gave a huff and a long sigh from were he laid on the floor by Remus’s feet.

“I meant the both of us, really.” He muttered, eyes drifting away. But he knew you knew that already. You would do anything to make him think he wasn't burdening you, but self doubt was his biggest flaw.

Your eyes softened that way that made him feel his stomach turn. Then, your lips turned upward, eyes sparking with amusement. “You make it sound like a talent.” You hummed before you leaned in a bit. “But I wouldn't call you a stray, Remus. You're no more a stray then Hugo.”

Remus felt his mouth go dry as he stared down at you, his heart pounding with an intensity that made his ribs feel bruised. The way your eyes seemed to look straight through him, seeing every hidden part of his soul, left him feeling exposed, yet desperate for the intimacy of it all. The air between you crackled with a palpable tension, each second stretching out as his expression turned thoughtful.

He watched as you slowly reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against his arm. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't help but lean into your touch, his breath hitching.

“I mean it, Remus.” You whispered, your voice barely audible but the loudest thing he's ever heard.

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours as he nodded, inching closer. The space between you seemed to shrink and expand all at once, his movements hesitant yet driven by an undeniable force he couldn't fully understand.

“Yeah?” He whispered, his voice raw and almost pleading, his vulnerability never felt more purposeful.

“Yeah.” You affirmed without a moment's hesitation, your grip on his arm tightening as if to anchor him to your reality. A reality he wanted to understand more then anything. Your gentle loving reality, one that fooled him again and again into safeties he didn't think he deserved. “You're home, Remus.”

The words hung in the air, a lifeline he desperately needed. The tension between you reached a breaking point as you tilted your head. Every so slightly, your eyes lingering on his lips.

It wasn't long before his lips were on yours, not giving himself time to second guess it all. It was patient. It was sweet. It was ancient and timeless and yet as new as the flowers that were blooming just outside the door. Winter had come and gone and yet here he was, still demanding more of you. As he moved in closer, you felt the book fall against the ground. Not that you minded, it freed up your hands to slide along his chest.

He continued to test the waters, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss. Affection you reciprocated easily. Just as hungry for it as he was. He couldn't find himself wondering if he should think it through. He didn't have much of a choice, the way your hands traveled up to his hair, the way you shifted your legs to make room for him.

“You're home, Remus.” You whispered again, much softer, in between the ever heating kisses. He pushed you fully on your back, his lips traveling the bare skin of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each kiss igniting a fire that spread through your veins. The words you had spoken echoed in his mind, grounding him in the moment, making everything feel more real and more impossible to resist. He whispered your name, a reverent prayer, as his hands explored the contours of your body, committing every inch to memory.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if afraid he might disappear if you let go. The urgency of your kisses matched his own, a silent agreement that this was right were you both belonged.

~~~

The next morning, you woke up in your bed. Remus was hugging you from behind, his nose buried in your neck and still sound asleep.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You felt the warmth of Remus's body against yours, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a delightful peace. For a moment, you simply lay there, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected to someone who had come to mean so much to you. Your heart ached with affection, selfishly hoping he'd wake up so you could stare into his lovely eyes again.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him despite yourself, and turned to gaze at his sleeping face. There was a peaceful calm there that you hadn't seen before, a loveliness that spoke of a man who had finally found a measure of peace. It made your heart swell with a mixture of love and protectiveness.

As if sensing your gaze, Remus stirred, his eyes slowly fluttering open. When he saw you looking at him, a soft smile curved his lips, and he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer. Your eyes indulged in his own like it was sin.

"Good morning.” He murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Good morning.” You whispered, your own smile mirroring his. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in years.” He admitted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret or hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, {Y/N}."

"For what?" You asked, absolutely melting as he continued to trail kisses from your temple to your neck.

"For everything.” He sighed, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "For giving me a place to heal, for your patience, and for... well, for last night." He cheeked.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory of the previous night, but you couldn't help but smile, playfully glaring at him. "I should be the one thanking you, Remus. You've brought something into my life that I didn't even realize I was missing."

He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your face. "I'm not easy.” He whispered.

“I've always been one for a challenge, Remus.” You whispered as he leaned down to bury his face into your neck. “Unfortunately, I find falling for you quite easy.”

He chuckled, the base in his voice bringing a shiver to your spine. “... I'm a lot of work.”

“You earn your keep, Remus.” You whispered softly and he slowly began to let his hands slip up to your waist, lowering himself to draw lazy kisses along your chest.

“You'll tire of me. When you know me.” He urged and you closed your eyes blissfully.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“You'll-” Before he could finish and fall deeper into his own self doubt, you covered his mouth. Cupping his jaw to pull him into another kiss. One he returned with full earnestness.

You broke the kiss and stared up at him with your doe eyes he almost caved.

“I'll love you, Remus. I do. I will. I'm not going to give up that easily,” You huffed. “No matter how much convincing you try to do.”

He stared at you a moment longer, leaning in and running his lips along yours. “It's rotten work.”

“I've never shied away from work.” You whispered and pulled him close. Letting him hide away from the world in your room. “I'm never going to shy away from you.”

Remus sighed deeply, the weight of his doubts lifting as he whispered, "Then I'll never let you go."

And in that shared promise, they found a peace that neither had ever dared to hope for.

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szariahwroteit · 2 months ago

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Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 22

Giselle could feel Kylian's frustration from high up in the stands as he exited the pitch, his head hung low and his shoulders tense as they left prepared to leave North London three-nil down Arsenal.

Although Real Madrid still had a chance for redemption, there was no denying morale was incredibly low among the men.

Following behind a few of the wives and girlfriends that had accompanied their partners from Madrid to London, Giselle remained quiet as she trailed the women.

The transition from the stadium to the airport was fast and within a few hours of the loss, they were on their private jet, the mood heavy with disappointment. Giselle found herself seated next to Kylian, who stared blankly out of the window, the London skyline fading into the distance. She could sense the turmoil brewing beneath his stoic exterior; frustration mixed with regret played a symphony of emotions in the silence between them.

Giselle reached out, her hand brushing against his. "Hey," she whispered, drawing his gaze away from the clouds. "If you want to talk, we can."

Kylian turned to her, his piercing eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “I know, but it hurts. I wanted to do better for the team.” His voice, usually confident, cracked slightly at the end, revealing the weight of his expectations.

She squeezed his hand, their fingers intertwining, grounding him in that moment. “You’ve given everything to be where you are and the man you are, and you’ll continue to shine. I believe in you.”

As the jet flew through the night sky, Giselle felt the tension begin to ease, if only slightly. Kylian’s breath steadied as he allowed himself to lean into her. She used this moment to pull him closer, her arm draping around his shoulder, offering warmth and solace as he tucked his face into the crease of her neck.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured softly, her breath brushing against his ear, stirring something deep within him. The jet’s soft hum cocooned them in a private world, far removed from the disappointment that lingered on the pitch.

Kylian's grip on her hand tightened, relishing the comfort she provided. “It’s just... I hate letting everyone down. Fans, teammates…” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Giselle could feel the unyielding pressure of his burdens, and she understood that sometimes, all he needed was an anchor to navigate the storm. “You’re human, Kylian. You’re allowed to stumble,” she reassured him, her fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of his hand.

As the cabin lights dimmed, a cocoon of intimacy enveloped them. The other couples settled into their conversations, but Giselle and Kylian remained wrapped in their own world. She could feel the tension easing around them, the atmosphere softening with every reassuring word exchanged.

“Thank you,” Kylian murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "For being here."

Giselle smiled softly, tilting his chin up so that their eyes met. "It’s where I want to be."

As the jet continued its smooth ascent into the night sky, Giselle could sense the change in Kylian. Slowly, beneath the weight of his disappointment, a flicker of something more vulnerable began to surface. She admired the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow like stars across an endless night.

"You know, sometimes I feel like I'm just in a performance," he confessed, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Like I'm always on show, always expected to win."

Giselle nodded in understanding. "But it’s okay to be real, to show emotions. You carry so much weight on those shoulders, Kylian," she replied, her tone soothing. "It's okay to feel lost sometimes."

He hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the window, the world outside now a swirl of darkness and distant city lights. Then he turned back to her, a small sense of resolve settling in. "I appreciate you saying that. It eases the pressure... just a little."

Giselle leaned closer, instinctively wanting to close the distance between them. Her heart quickened as he moved slightly, just enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off his body. "We all fall down," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s how we rise again that defines us, right?"

Kylian's breath hitched slightly as her words sunk in, and he found solace in her touch. "You always know the right things to say," he said, his tone softening as he held her gaze. The dim light from the cabin only accentuated the way her eyes sparkled with kindness and strength.

Suddenly, the heaviness of the night began to lift, replaced by a warmth that wrapped around them both. Giselle traced the contours of Kylian’s jaw and let her fingers linger. The connection between them deepened, the intimate moment cocooning them from the reality of disappointment outside.

“I have a confession,” Kylian said, his voice teasingly playful, the weight of their earlier conversation simmering beneath the surface. “Having you here is the best part of this miserable trip.”

Giselle chuckled softly, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “So I’m your lucky charm?”

“More like my peace of mind,” his expression turned serious, but his gaze glimmered with something more. “I don’t know how I would manage all of this without you.”

She felt a delicious thrill run through her at the intensity of his gaze. They shared a charged silence, the air thick with emotion. As if an unspoken agreement had been made, they moved closer to each other.

“Giselle,” he whispered her name as if it were sacred, his lips inches from hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

“Kiss me,” she dared softly, her heart racing at the vulnerability of the moment. The air around them crackled with anticipation, pulling them closer as if an invisible force had taken hold.

Kylian's gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips, his breath shallow and warm. The world around them faded into obscurity, leaving only the two of them suspended in this intimate bubble. It was as if time had come to a standstill, granting them this single moment of connection stripped of the noise and pressures that usually surrounded them.

He leaned in, the brush of his lips against hers igniting a spark that coursed through her veins. The kiss was tentative at first as if both were testing the waters, but it quickly deepened into something more profound, something that spoke of the unguarded emotions and burning desire.

Giselle felt the warmth of his hands cradling her face, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, the kiss growing more fervent and desperate as they lost themselves in each other. The taste of him—fresh and intoxicating—made her head spin, and she melted into him, surrendering to the undeniably fierce connection.

“I want you,” Kylian whispered, his hand slipping from her face to trace her jawline, exploring the contours of her skin as if she were the most fragile piece of art. His eyes burned with a mixture of desire and something deeper—an emotion that transcended mere attraction.

Giselle's heart raced in response to his words, a hunger igniting within her. She tilted her head back slightly, giving him further access, their lips brushing against each other, teasingly, with an urgency that told her he meant it. "When we get back to Madrid," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper steeped in desire.

“What if I don't want to wait?” Kylian asked, their eyes meeting as his hand found her jean-clad thigh.

“You have to,” Giselle whispered, her breath deepening as her nipples hardened against the silken cotton of her top.

Kylian's gaze darkened with a mix of frustration and longing, his fingers gently squeezing her thigh, setting her ablaze. “Why do you have to play by the rules? Let’s just let go of everything just this once.”

The tension crackled in the air between them, a heat rising that made Giselle’s heart race faster. “Because,” she leaned in closer, her lips ghosting over his, “you deserve more than rushed sex in a tiny bathroom.”

He breathed deeply, absorbing her words, and she could see him wrestling with the urge to give in to the reckless desire that was thrumming through them both.

The hour was late and Kylian was horny as they arrived back in Madrid, he barely bid his teammates a good night before he was dragging Giselle toward the car that awaited them.

His earlier frustrations had transpired into lust, and the desire to get completely lost in each other. The moment they were inside the car, Kylian's hands found her waist, pulling her close as the driver maneuvered through the city streets.

Giselle felt the heat of his body against hers, the tension from earlier dissolving into a palpable energy that promised something more. The silence in the backseat was thick with unspoken words, their breaths mingling in the confined space as Kylian's lips traveled from her cheek to her jawline, paying attention to every inch of her skin.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff with seduction, sending shivers down her spine. “Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”

Giselle's pulse quickened at his words, a thrill coursing through her veins. She could feel his breath against her neck as he continued to explore, trailing kisses downwards toward the neckline of her shirt.

“Aren't I always?” she teased, arching her back slightly, wanting more of his touch.

Kylian chuckled softly, a deep rumble in his chest that reverberated through her. “That’s true,” he admitted, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, drawing it up just enough to expose the soft skin. “Are you going to let me have my way with your body?”

“Ask me properly,” Giselle challenged playfully, her heart racing with excitement as she felt his fingers brush against her bare skin. The heat between them was palpable, a simmering tension that grew with every moment they shared in the back of the car. She relished the way he looked at her, with an intensity that made her feel both desired and empowered.

Kylian's eyes sparked with mischief, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Giselle,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, “will you let me have my way with your body tonight? I want to feel every part of you."

Her stomach fluttered at his words, stirring a hunger deep within her. “That’s better,” she replied, a teasing smile spreading across her lips. “But you need to do more than just ask nicely. Show me how much you want it.”

Kylian's expression darkened with desire, a heated look that made her pulse race. He tilted her chin upwards, capturing her gaze as he leaned in closer, their lips nearly brushing against one another. “I want you, Giselle. I want to explore every inch of you, to feel your body beneath mine, to pleasure you until you beg me to stop. Are you going to let me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling the weight of his words send a shiver down her spine.

“When we get to the house, remove your clothes and wait for me in my bedroom,” Kylian instructed in a low, commanding voice, his gaze never wavering from hers. The heat radiating between them was electric, a potent mix of longing and urgency.

Giselle felt her heart race at his directive, a thrill coursing through her veins. “And what if I decide to tease you instead?” she challenged, her lips curling into a playful smirk.

“Do it and find out,” Kylian warned.

As they arrived at Kylian's house, the tension between them was palpable, a thick fog of desire that clung to their every move. The moment the car came to a stop, Kylian was out and pulling Giselle along with him, his grip firm and possessive.

Kylian led her upstairs, his hand never leaving her waist, guiding her through the darkened halls until they reached his bedroom.

He pushed open the door, revealing a spacious room dominated by a large, plush bed. The curtains were drawn, casting the space in a soft, intimate glow. Kylian turned to Giselle, his eyes burning with intensity as he took a step closer, backing her up against the closed door.

"Now," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "are you going to be a good girl and do as I asked, or do I need to remind you who's in charge?"

Giselle's breath caught in her throat as Kylian pressed her against the door, his strong body pinning her in place. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with the underlying musk of his desire.

"I think," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and excitement, "I need a little reminder." She tilted her head to the side, exposing the long, graceful line of her neck, a silent invitation.

Kylian's lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. "As you wish," he murmured, his hands sliding up her arms to grasp her wrists, pinning them above her head. He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck as he began to trail kisses along her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin.

Giselle gasped, her body arching instinctively into his touch. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her, a promise of the pleasure to come.

His lips continued their assault on her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, marking her as his. One of his hands released her wrists to roam down her body, cupping her breast through the fabric of her shirt. His thumb brushed against her nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch.

"You're playing with fire, Giselle," Kylian growled against her skin, his voice thick with desire. "You know what happens when you tease me."

Giselle moaned softly, her head falling back against the door as she surrendered to his touch. "Show me," she whispered, her voice laced with a challenge. "Show me what happens when I push you too far."

Kylian's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity, a primal hunger consuming him. He stepped back, releasing her completely, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. "Strip," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Slowly."

Giselle's heart raced as she met his gaze, a thrill running through her at the dominance in his tone.

Reaching for the hem of her t-shirt, she pulled it up and over her head to reveal her breasts, her nipples hard and aching to be touched as she stood bare before him.

“Strip,” Kylian repeated.

Kylian's gaze raked over Giselle's exposed skin, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of her. "Slowly," he reminded her, his voice a low growl. "I want to enjoy every inch of you."

Giselle's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the button of her jeans, popping it open and sliding the zipper down. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband, slowly peeling the denim down her legs, revealing the lacy panties that clung to her hips.

Kylian's breath hitched as he watched her, his eyes following the path of the jeans as they pooled around her ankles. "Step out of them," he ordered, his voice husky with want.

Giselle complied, kicking the jeans aside and standing before him in nothing but her underwear. The lace did little to conceal her curves, the fabric stretching taut over her hips and ass.

"Turn around," Kylian instructed, his gaze never leaving her body. "Slowly."

Giselle's heart raced as she turned slowly, giving Kylian a full view of her body. The cool air of the room prickled her skin, making her nipples harden even further. She could feel his gaze burning into her, tracing the contours of her figure, igniting a fire within her.

As she faced him again, Kylian's eyes flicked up to meet hers, filled with a raw, primal hunger. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Now, the panties. Off."

Giselle's fingers hooked into the delicate lace, slowly dragging the fabric down her legs. She stepped out of them, standing completely bare before him.

“Come here,” Kylian commanded, his voice unyielding yet laced with a hunger that sent shivers down her spine.

Giselle took a tentative step forward, feeling the heat radiating off him, the anticipation thick in the air. Every inch closer ignited a longing within her, her body responding instinctively to the magnetic pull between them.

Kylian stepped forward, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her against him with a hunger that was both surprising and exhilarating. She could feel the hard line of his body pressing into her softness, igniting a fire that danced in her core.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, his lips brushing against hers in a teasing whisper. “You are everything I want and more.” With that, he captured her lips with his, kissing her deeply and possessively, as if he were trying to etch her into his very being.

Giselle melted into him, her hands roaming over the strong planes of his back, feeling the way he responded to her touch with an urgency that set her aflame.

“I want to taste your pussy before I ruin it,” Kylian growled against her lips, his voice low and filled with desire. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse race.

"Please," she breathed, the word slipping from her lips in a pleading whisper, filled with longing and anticipation. The very thought of his mouth on her sent waves of heat cascading through her body.

Kylian's hands found her thighs, lifting her effortlessly to press her against the wall. "Hold on tight," he instructed, the command sending a thrill through her. She gripped his shoulders, her heart racing as he lowered himself to the ground, his mouth hovering tantalizingly close to her core.

With agonizing slowness, he trailed kisses from her thighs to her sex, teasing her as he relished the way she reacted to every feather-light touch. "You smell incredible," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “So sweet and tempting.”

Giselle couldn't contain the moan that escaped her lips at his words, the sound a mix of desire and desperation. She had never felt more exposed yet more confident, knowing the effect she had on him.

Just as he'd proclaimed, Kylian feasted on Giselle until she was a trembling mess before he fucked her, her body the perfect distraction after such a testing and heavy evening.

Kylian pinned Giselle's wrists to the bed as he rolled his hips against hers, each deep-measured stroke ripping soft, drawn-out moans from her throat as Kylian's forehead remained pressed against hers, their eyes locked as she gave herself to him.

Kylian's lips curled into a smirk against Giselle's as he felt her body tremble beneath him, her wrists still firmly pinned as he continued his slow, deliberate pace. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Completely at my mercy, giving yourself to me so willingly."

He nipped at her bottom lip, his hips rolling in a way that made Giselle gasp and arch her back. "I could do this all night," Kylian continued, his words punctuated by a particularly deep thrust. "Keep you right here, beneath me, taking every inch of my cock until you're begging for mercy."

His free hand slid down her side, gripping her hip possessively as he increased the pace slightly, his movements becoming more forceful. "But I think we both know you'd never beg me to stop, would you? You love this too much. Love feeling me inside you, claiming you as mine."

Kylian's eyes flashed with dominance as he stared down at Giselle, his smirk growing wider at the sight of her flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. "Say it," he demanded softly. “And I’ll fuck you until you can't walk straight.”

Giselle's breath hitched as Kylian's words washed over her, his dominant tone sending shivers down her spine. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her. It was overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. "I love it. I love feeling you, Kylian. I'm yours, baby."

Her hips moved to meet his thrusts, matching his pace as they moved together in a dance as old as time. “Fuck,” Kylian groaned, releasing his grip on her wrist so he could reach for her thighs, pinning them to the bed as he adjusted his angle, slipping even deeper.

Giselle's eyes rounded in awe as her arms wrapped lazily around his shoulders, needing to touch him amidst the sensations coursing through her.

Kylian's eyes darkened with lust as he felt Giselle's body respond to his touch, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts. He could see the desire burning in her gaze, matching the fire that consumed him.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low growl as he rewarded her submission with a particularly deep thrust. "You take my cock so well, Giselle. You were made for me."

His grip on her thighs tightened, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrashed his hips, driving into her. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their labored breaths and moans of pleasure.

“I was,” she said, her voice barely above a breath. “I was made for you.”

Giselle's words sent a surge of primal satisfaction through Kylian. He felt a possessive growl rumble in his chest as he claimed her mouth in a feverish kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste her. His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her welcoming pussy.

"You're mine," he declared against her lips, his voice hoarse with desire. "Say it again. Tell me who you belong to."

Kylian's pace became punishing, each thrust designed to brand himself onto her very soul. He wanted to erase any thought of anyone else, to be the only man she ever craved. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her in place as he took her with wild determination.

Giselle cried out, her nails raking down Kylian's back as she clung to him. The pleasure was overwhelming, bordering on painful, but she never wanted it to end.

In one swift movement, Kylian stood from the bed with Giselle in his arms, his cock buried in her depths. Kylian's powerful legs carried them to the nearby wall, where he pressed Giselle against it, her back flush against the cool surface. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip as he resumed his relentless pace.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Tell me who you belong to, Giselle. Who fucks you so good that you can't even think straight?"

His hips slammed against hers, the force of his thrusts making the wall shake. Kylian's eyes bore into hers, intense and unwavering, challenging her to deny the truth.

Giselle's eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the wall as Kylian's words and actions overwhelmed her senses. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her completely. It was too much, yet not enough. She needed more.

"You," she gasped, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "I belong to you, Kylian. Only you."

Her words seemed to unleash something primal within him. Kylian's grip on her wrists tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he flexed his hips, driving into her with a fierce intensity. The wall shook with each powerful thrust, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the room.

"That's right," he growled, his breath hot against her ear. "You're mine, Giselle. Mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own."

His cock slipped from her as Kylian eased himself from her tight confines, snarling as he inspected his cock, covered tip to base in her essence.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he took in the sight of his own length, glistening with Giselle's arousal. A wicked grin spread across his face, his lips curling into a predatory smirk.

"You're a fucking mess," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Look at how your beautiful pussy is dripping for me."

He stepped closer, his hand wrapping around his shaft, pumping slowly as he brought the tip to her entrance. Giselle shuddered, her legs trembling as she felt the heat of him against her sensitive flesh.

"Please can I ride you?” she asked, her breath hitching as their eyes met.

Kylian's smirk widened at Giselle's plea, his ego swelling along with his already throbbing erection. He loved seeing her like this desperate, needy, completely at his mercy. It was a heady feeling, knowing he could reduce this stunning woman to a begging mess with just a few well-placed thrusts.

"Mmm, I like the way you ask," he purred, his accent thickening with his arousal. "So polite."

He stepped back, releasing his grip on his shaft, and gestured to the bed with a flourish. "By all means, ma chérie."

His eyes gleamed with mischief and lust as he watched Giselle scramble onto the bed on shaky legs.

Kylian's eyes darkened with desire as he watched Giselle position herself on the bed, her back arched and her hips lifted invitingly. He crawled onto the mattress, his muscular body hovering over hers as he settled between her spread thighs.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he guided his cock to her entrance. "Asking so nicely for what you want."

He teased her with the tip, rubbing it against her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. Giselle whimpered, her hips bucking slightly as she sought more friction. Kylian chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending shivers down her spine.

"Patience, ma belle," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I'll give you what you need."

With a swift thrust, Kylian buried himself deep inside Giselle, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips at the feel of her tight, wet pussy gripping him. Giselle cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he flipped them so she straddled his lap.

Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements. He loved the way her body felt pressed against his, the soft curves molding perfectly to his hard muscles. Giselle began to ride him slowly, her hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm that drove him wild.

"That's it, ma chérie," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Take what you need. Fuck yourself on my cock."

His words spurred her on, and Giselle picked up the pace, bouncing on his lap with increasing fervor. The nasty sound of their bodies clashing filled the room, mingling with their moans and gasps of pleasure.

Kylian's hands slid up Giselle's sides, trailing over the smooth skin until he reached her breasts. “Sit up and take every inch,” he growled.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a fierce intensity as he watched Giselle sit up, her back arching beautifully as she took him to the hilt. A low, possessive growl rumbled in his chest at the sight of her stretched around his thick length.

"That's it, baby. Take it all," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper. "Fuck, you look so perfect like this. Impaled on my cock, desperate for more."

His hands gripped her hips tightly, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements. He loved the way her body responded to his touch, the way she shuddered and moaned with each thrust.

"You're mine," Kylian declared, his words punctuated by a particularly deep thrust. "Every inch of you belongs to me. Say it, Giselle. Tell me who you belong to."

His hips snapped upwards, driving into her with a fierce intensity, that forced a cry to rip from her throat in place of her words, reaching to cup her breasts as Kylian controlled her from beneath.

Giselle's eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back as Kylian's words washed over her. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. It was overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.

"You daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. "I'm yours, Kylian. Only yours."

Her hips moved to meet his thrusts a few more times before faltering as she sat up and lifted herself from his cock, slipping off of him so she could lay on her side.

“I want you all over me,” she whispered, her gaze smoldering with need as she looked at him over her shoulder, her body invitingly splayed out on the bed.

Kylian's breath caught in his throat at the sight before him—Giselle, soft and inviting, her skin glistening as she arched her back, revealing every curve to him. The need within him surged, a primal urge to claim her completely overwhelming his senses.

"All over you?" Kylian growled, the possessive need lacing his tone as he shifted closer, his body flush against hers.

In one swift, fluid motion, he filled her from the side, the angle of the position allowing him to get as deep as he wanted.

Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrust into her from behind. He could feel her walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock.

"Tell me how you want to be fucked," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure.

“Slow and deep,” Giselle whispered breathlessly, her voice thick with desire. “Just like that, Kylian. I want to feel every inch of you.”

Kylian's response was a low, guttural growl as he complied, his hips rolling in a steady, deep rhythm that made Giselle’s body tremble.

"Like this?" he grunted against her shoulder, his grip on her hips tightening as he guided her movements.

Giselle moaned, pushing back against him, craving more of the delicious friction. "Yes, just like that," she encouraged, her breath hitching in her throat as he adjusted his angle, hitting that sweet spot inside her that belonged to him.

Cupping her breasts in his hand Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's breasts, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his slow, deep thrusts. His fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling the hardened peaks as he felt her walls flutter around him.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Feel how deep I am inside you. How I fill you up completely, how your perfect little body was made for me."

His hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, each thrust designed to drive her closer to the edge. Kylian could feel his own release building, the pleasure coiling tightly in his abdomen, but he held back, determined to make Giselle cum first.

"Cum for me, ma belle," he urged, his voice a low, commanding growl. "All over my cock."

His hand snaked down her taut stomach, his fingers finding her swollen clit and circling the sensitive nub in time with his strokes. Giselle cried out, her body tensing as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

"Kylian!" she mewled.

“Give yourself to me,” he whispered hotly into her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth as he reached for her outer leg, hooking it over his forearm and holding her open, the shift in position allowing him to give her his entire length.

“Harder, baby,” she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency. “I need you, Kylian.”

Kylian's eyes darkened with lust as he listened to Giselle's desperate pleas, her voice filled with a need that mirrored his own. He gripped her hip tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he began to thrust harder, deeper, each stroke designed to push her over the edge.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all. Every fucking inch."

His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body tensing as she approached her climax.

Giselle's body shuddered violently as she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her in powerful waves. She cried out Kylian's name, her voice echoing through the room as she convulsed around his length, her walls clamping down on him like a vice.

"That's it, ma belle," Kylian groaned, his hips pistoning furiously as he chased his release. "Milk my cock. Fucking squeeze every last drop out of me, it's yours."

With a final, brutal thrust, Kylian buried himself deep inside Giselle, his body tensing as he found his release. He came with a roar, his seed spurting hot and heavy inside her, filling her.

"Fuck, Giselle!" he groaned, his voice hoarse and ragged as he emptied himself inside her, his hips jerking spasmodically with each pulse of his orgasm.

Giselle was completely enamored as she rolled over to face Kylian, her core pulsing with the remains of his handiwork as she melted against his chest.

“Kiss me,” she whispered against his chest, peppering kisses over his skin, feeling the warmth radiate from him as she traced her fingers along his chiseled muscles. Kylian chuckled deeply, the rumble reverberating through his chest, sending vibrations to her lips as she kissed him.

“Insatiable,” he murmured, his hand finding the back of her neck, tilting her chin upward so he could capture her lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

The taste of her lingered on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he pulled away from her lips, gazing into her eyes.

“I’m not,” Giselle protested playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just understand what I want.”

Kylian smirked, his gaze smoldering as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And what is it that you want, Giselle?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

She leaned in closer, pressing her body against his, feeling the heat radiating from him. “Always you,” she whispered, her breath a caress against his skin. “Win or lose, I always want you.”

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fanged-fanfics · 5 months ago

Note

Could I please request a parental Aziraphale and Crowley with a teen reader they adopted?

I really need platonic parental Ineffable Husbands 😭

~🍩

☆ Guardian Angel, Serpent Protector — Ineffable Husbands & Adopted!Teen!Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff/Familial || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The Ineffable pair ended up taking you in after consistent run-ins. They felt bad about the amount of danger you could be in by lingering too close, so both began showing caution and protectiveness around you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Though imperfectly, they really did do their best to keep you away from the supernatural battles they had going on. Crowley usually used small miracles to create a diversion, using them to throw you off. Aziraphale, well.. he did his best to lie to you, think of bluffs to ease your confusion, but he tended to think of excuses that contradicted one another or were given in a suspiciously rushed stammer

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The truth had to come out eventually, it was way too difficult to keep it all away from you. Accidents happen, and with time you uncovered their true nature. They were rather surprised to see you be accepting of the revelation, but why wouldn't you be? Mr. Aziraphale had always lent his bookshop to you if you needed, whether for a place to sit for a moment or somewhere to rest for the night. He'd even talk with you over books or a record playing. Crowley lent you rides in his Bentley and gave pragmatic advice on problems you went to him with, always willing to lend you favors

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once the initial period of answering questions and adjusting faded, the two only got closer to you if anything. They weren't afraid to hide performing little miracles for you or letting you know about what next big end of the world event might be occurring. It got a little dizzying when they argued or came to you with wildly opposing sides, but it was routine by then. Comfortable, familiarity

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Aziraphale essentially let you live at the bookshop, always having a spare room prepped for you. He kept tabs on your preferred meals, and at least once a day asked you to help him in small tasks or simply to come for a chat

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Crowley remained the more reliable one for advice, even if his judgment was a bit clouded by human tropes he'd seen in films, primarily from the 70s. He'd even occasionally mention that a curse or 'nudge' could be your best bet, much to his angel's dismay

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Aziraphale would get confrontational on your behalf, in the kindly way that he knew how to be. Any situation you didn't want to be in? He'd lead you out that instant. Someone bothering you? They'll get a very stern talking-to. Need a social buffer? Done and done, you won't have to say a word you don't wish to

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Crowley knew all the best spots to have a night out. Whenever you ask, he'd carry you to all the favored places of London, even some hidden spots that only he and few others could enter. Or, if you just needed some air, he'd drive the Bentley and let you be soothed by the motions of the car and air passing by. He knows all too well how it feels to just need some time

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Knowing as much as he does, Aziraphale loves to teach you anything you'd like to learn. He has a book for every occasion, but he prefers to bond by teaching you personally. Want to know a language? Absolutely! Something about music? He has just the record in mind. Magic? He's absolutely delighted! Even if he's learning a new skill with you, he's glad to spend the time by your side, especially in such a productive way

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Crowley gives you oddly specific and cryptic lessons on plants, methods that you don't quite understand but somehow always provide healthy foliage. He loves telling you about music or cars, particularly of course Queen or his Bentley. He's open to music suggestions you may have, but he'll keep insisting that bands like The Velvet Underground are the best. Beneath all that, he really just appreciates the time with you, and will even burn you some CDs of your favorites

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mysticstronomy · 3 months ago

Text

IS DARK MATTER LIGHT??

Blog#489

Welcome back,

Wednesday, March 19th, 2025.

Could we have been looking for dark matter in completely the wrong place – or rather, at the wrong mass?

A team of researchers attempting to understand some unexplained chemistry at the centre of our Galaxy, the Milky Way, think we might be.

Dark matter is an invisible substance that makes up around 85% of the Universe’s mass.

While it can’t be seen directly, its impact can be seen in the rotation of galaxies, light bending around massive clusters, and even in the echo of the Big Bang, the cosmic microwave background.

The current leading theory is that dark matter is a group of particles known as ‘Weakly Interacting Massive Particles’, or WIMPs. These only interact with so-called ordinary matter via gravity.

While individual WIMPs can move through ordinary matter without affecting it, large clouds of them have enough mass to shape the Universe.

A study looking at the centre of our Milky Way Galaxy, a region called the Central Molecular Zone, may provide a different option.

“At the centre of our galaxy sit huge clouds of positively charged hydrogen – a mystery to scientists for decades because normally the gas is neutral,” says Shyam Balaji from King’s College London who led the study.

This means the gas has been ionised – the negatively charged electron has been knocked out of the atom. This requires a lot of energy, so the question is where does that energy come from?

Balaji’s team propose the culprit could be a new form of dark matter particle. These crash into each other, creating showers of charged particles that then ionise the hydrogen gas.

"The energy signatures radiating from this part of our Galaxy suggest that there is a constant, roiling source of energy [ionising the gas], and our data says it might come from a much lighter form of dark matter than current models consider,” says Balaji.

Originally published on https://www.skyatnightmagazine.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, March 22nd, 2025)

"WHAT IS A DARK MATTER STAR??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #universe #spacecraft #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography

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pers1st · 1 year ago

Text

JUST A SPARK... PROLOGUE - leah williamson

it's never quite as it seems

warnings: death, grief, this is pretty angst tbh

master list / next chapter

It rained again. Ever since you had moved to England, the weather seemed to taunt you for leaving the country you actually considered to be your home. Your nonna, your mamma, and even your Dad stayed behind in Italy, and just like that, every dream of what England should’ve been was crushed between your tight fists. It rained. Every single day that you had lived in England, it rained. Today was the tiniest bit better than what yesterday’s clouds had provided. Instead of furious down-pouring that almost silenced your every thought and made the pitches impossible to train on, the water was splashing from the sky rhythmically, staining your windows as it peacefully dropped.

You were sitting on your couch, a mug of tea in your hand that you found oddly comically typically English, watching as the weather let you down once again. You missed Italy then, more than you usually did. Dreams of your summers spent in Tuscany, sitting on the terrace with your friends, sipping on a pearly white wine as the birds breezed past you cascaded in your mind as you stared out of the large, rain-stained window of your living room. Reaching for your phone, you huffed, realizing the closest you could come to being back home was a phone call. Although it wouldn’t be enough, it would certainly have to do.

The first sign that something was wrong was the way the ringing of your phone wouldn’t stop for far too long. There was very little time difference from England to Italy, and if it was an hour earlier, you would have believed your parents would’ve laid down for their daily nap, but it was almost six in the evening and there was no way they weren’t awake right now. When the call was finally picked up, the second sign hit you like a truck. Instead of your mamma’s sweet voice, you could hear a total mess unfolding, a sob ringing through the line, a dish being thrown to the floor.

“Mamma? Mamma, cosa non va?” (What’s wrong?), you asked, panic striking your tone as you sat up, gently disposing the mug of tea to the very edge 0f your couch table.

“Mamma?”, you repeated as any clue of what was going on was still withheld from you.

“Morto. É morto” (Dead. He’s dead), your mother cried, and at once, the oddly comically typically empty English mug fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

The flight back to Italy was painfully silent. You didn’t allow yourself to listen to music, too scared to listen to anything just in case you forgot your father’s voice. Your train of thoughts was absolute nonsense, to put it into harsher words, but it didn’t matter to you.

After speaking to both Emma Hayes and other officials of the club, most of whom you had never met, you had voiced the will of your mother to be buried in Italy rather than in London, where he had been born, and had taken the next flight out to your home country, ignoring the protests of men who had never truly known your father, claiming they wanted to come with you. You knew, however, that your father wished for more. The legacy he held at Chelsea wasn’t unknown, but you knew that none of the men in suits had ever mattered to him, and that none of them would have known him truly. It was quite ironic- the fact that you were defaming the very club that had raised not only you but your father as well, and that he had only left behind once you had been old enough to live on your own, and watched as your family moved back into the country you so desperately longed for.

Being back, now, felt like a slap to the face. Your mamma was still inconsolable, although your nonna tried her best to pick the broken pieces from the floor and hold them together just to take another weight off your shoulders. No twenty-three year old should watch as their father was buried, but life was not fair and you had no way to deal with it other than to just deal with it. Silent tears crept down your cheeks as you listened to Father Marcus tell anecdotes of your father’s life, and of his career, and you wondered whether he would’ve liked to be buried nearer to his own home. Italy had always been your mamma’s, but after witnessing the agonizing love between your parents for a time that felt far too short now, you figured that he would want to be wherever she was. The cemetery was only a five-minute walk from your parents’ casa, but it was a three hour flight from your flat.

Still, the walk felt painfully long as you followed most of your parents’ friends to your childhood home, and rain began to softly splatter from the sky as you trotted among the crowd. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t fight it, rather grateful that anyone was unable to tell whether your cheeks were wet with the rain or stained by your tears. You wondered whether this was your Dad telling you to get your act together. It certainly seemed like something he would do, and the thought put the faintest of smiles on your lips. Afraid to seem like a mad woman to the rest of the grieving crowd, you slipped past Father Marcus, away from the procession, as you fiddled your phone out of the pocket of your coat, watching as rain wet the screen.

Another smile crept up on your face at the multiple messages you had received over just the past few hours you had neglected your phone.

Most of your Chelsea teammates were sending you their wishes, along with Emma, but what interested you most was a missed call from an unknown number. An unknown English number.

Silently, you glanced towards the front of the procession, seeing they had almost reached their destination as you found your mamma at the very front, weeping in your nonna’s arms. You should be there, right now, with her, but you simply couldn’t.

Instead, you reached to call the number back. The other line picked up surprisingly fast.

“Hello, Y/N. I was hoping you would call me back. I hope it’s an okay time for you”, a woman on the other line spoke. Furrowing your eyebrows, you nodded, forgetting that whoever it was couldn’t see your movements.

“Oh, sí. Yes, it’s a perfect time, actually?”

“Really? Because I was informed by your club that you were… back in Italy. For…”, the woman trailed away, and you exhaled shakily.

“No, no, it’s okay. I just saw your call, so…”, you tapped your foot against the wet pavement rhythmically, eager to know who you were speaking to.

“Well, it’s Sarina Wiegman here, I’m sorry. I should’ve started with that. Anyways, I was wondering whether you would be interested to join the Lionesses for the Arnold Clark Cup, this year. I know of your circumstances right now, so I don’t need an answer right away.”

You let out a shaky exhale at her words. You had always thought about playing for England, as you had joined both their youth teams as well as Italy’s, while you had still played in the country. They had offered you a place in their senior team far earlier than England had, and although you couldn’t have been sure whether England would ever offer, you had always held out for something. For what, you didn’t know. Although now, it suddenly seemed to make sense.

Your father had played for England, had even captained his country for a short while, and although you had always dreamed of playing for Italy when you were younger, infatuated with their men’s team’s success, much to your father’s dismay, you had not agreed yet. The reason only came to you now. And suddenly, it was so painfully clear.

“Yes, yes. I would really like that”, you smiled to yourself, glancing up at the cloudy sky to clear your teary vision. It didn’t help in the slightest.

“Great! The call-up will be published tomorrow, we’ll send you all the details in an email. I look forward to seeing you in camp!”, your manager cheered, and although it tasted bitter-sweetly in your mouth, you voiced your excitement as well before hanging up the call.

You would play for your father’s country, if all went to plan. You would finally step into his footsteps. You would continue his legacy, whether you really wanted to or not.

#woso community #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #leah williamson oneshot #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal #chelsea women #chelsea fc #chelsea wfc

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the-kr8tor · 2 years ago

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Hi, could you do domestic fluff Hobie x reader where they stargaze on his boat and the artist reader shows off their sketchbook, maybe even draws him!🥹

Hi hun! I have a similar fic that I've been working on (the reader showing Hobie her sketchbook) so I added in your prompt (stargazing part) since we had the same idea (great minds think alike 😏), hope you don't mind! Thank you for requesting ❤️

Pairing: Hobie brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck Hobie, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

There's a city-wide brownout, the usual lights in historic London are all off, the entire city enjoys a rare sight in the night sky. Without the light pollution that usually presides over the city, the stars in the sky shine brightly, blanketing the dark sky in twinkling star lights. There's no cloud in sight, therefore nothing could cover the magnificent view.

Hobie's houseboat is littered with candles, providing a romantic light on his 'porch'.

You sigh longingly for the fifth time that night, neck craning up, staring at Orion's belt. You lift your eyes off the constellation for a second to finish your sketch of Orion, pointing your little torch on the page. Your hand expertly shade in the drawing. The well loved sketchbook is filled to the brim with various drawings– some landscapes, food, dogs you encounter and an embarrassing amount of Hobie.

The pages are covered with him, whether he's sitting with a guitar in his lap, strumming away, or Hobie in his suit, sometimes with his mask on but mostly without it, and so many portraits of Hobie, you just love sketching him.

You'd die of embarrassment if he ever sees them, he might think you're obsessed with him (you are) or tease you into oblivion.

You can't help it though, accidentally making him your muse. There's just something about his perfect jawline, how his lips curve into a sly smile, or how his eyes light up whenever he's passionate about something, he gives you so much inspiration to make art.

You sigh, absolutely whipped for him. A breeze sends shivers through you, hugging your thin jacket closer to your torso.

Suddenly a heavy weight drops on your head, Hobie laughs loudly as you make a sound from the back of your throat.

"Hey!" You lift the heavy cloth away from your face, Looking closer at the heavy material, you see Hobie's familiar leather jacket, your heart swells.

" 'm sorry" he pecks the top of your head, his hands full, holding two steaming mugs, Hobie puts the mugs down on the table, the contents sloshing a bit to the sides. "Here let me"

Hobie reaches for the jacket, at first you thought he's gonna take it from you, but once he drapes the jacket behind you, your heart soars, thumping hard on your chest. You're sure he can feel it when he gets closer to you, so he could help you slot in your arms inside the jacket. You feel giddy, you smell like him now.

"There, warm enough?" Hobie rubs your arms, sneaking a look at you wearing his jacket, a smile creeping to the corner of his lips. Your cheeks heat up from his stare.

There's something in the air tonight, making the atmosphere romantic. Maybe because you're floating on the river in his houseboat currently stargazing in the dark?

"Mmhm" you nod with a shy smile, unable to form the correct words, eyes practically shaped like hearts, Hobie mirrors your expression.

Yeah, there's something in the air. It's definitely not because you're both absolutely lovestruck for each other.

He sits down, cringing when his knees creak. Damn his joints, he's trying to act cool in front of you.

You think it's endearing, adorable, even.

You give him a knowing (teasing) smile, putting your chin in your hand, while your elbow rests on the arm of the chair.

He rolls his eyes at you, but his smile betrays his true emotion. Hobie grabs his drink to hide his grin.

"Softie" you murmur.

"Drink your bloody tea, don't want you freezing to death while you're in my boat" he moves the mug closer to you.

You notice him sitting farther from you, you mentally shake your head, that won't do. So you place your opened sketchbook on your lap. Putting both hands on the back of his chair, you try to pull him towards you. But alas he's too heavy for you, your movement causes you to almost topple over.

Hobie's senses warn him before you could fall, with a strong grip on your chair, he stabilizes you. "What are you doing, love?" Words dripping in fondness.

"You're too far" you struggle as you continue to pull him towards you.

Instead of Hobie pulling your chair towards him, he slightly lifts himself off the chair, lessening the weight off it. You don't notice this, smiling triumphantly when you finally move his chair closer to you. The metal scraping against metal, makes your ears ring, but you mentally high five yourself for a job well done.

"Nice, you hitting the gym?" He places his arm on the arm rest of your chair, he's a lot closer now, breath mixing in with yours. Your cheeks heat up, you should've thought this through.

Knowing that you're too flustered to make a coherent sentence, you just nod "mmhm"

"Mmhm" he mimics you, teasing. "Right, just don't replace me with a gym bro, yeah?"

Your eyebrows knit together, taking his joke seriously "never"

He glimpses your opened sketchbook, that's miraculously still in your lap. Without thinking, he grabs it, whistling when he sees your drawing of mighty Orion.

"You drew this? Just now?"

Nodding, You try to reach for it back, please don't flip through it, you thought, embarrassment creeping up to you.

Hobie, being Hobie raises it higher away from your hands. He pretends to compare the constellation in the sky to your drawing. "Can't believe you drew this the whole ten minutes while I was making tea"

"Yeah, the stars inspired me, can I have it back, please?"

" 'm not done admiring it" he holds it with both hands, thankfully staying on the same page.

You grit your teeth, hoping, praying he doesn't move to another page.

Mother nature has a different idea though, a strong wind rushes past, rocking the boat slightly, the candles you meticulously lit up, blow out in the wind; the pages of your book flips widely, conveniently (unfortunately for you) stopping at a sketch of Hobie.

Oh, fuck. You internally curse. Nope that's it he's gonna get weirded out, and he's gonna break up with me. You keep catastrophizing.

"Is that me?" Hobie moves the book closer for inspection, his eyes roam to the perfect copy of him on the page, his heart skips a beat. "When was this?"

You put your face in your hands, you groan out, "I'm sorry, I should've asked for permission"

He's confused, Hobie closes the book, placing it carefully on the table. He grabs your hands carefully, you can feel the calluses on his fingertips.

"Nothing to be sorry about, look at me" he waits for you to remove your hands from your face. "I liked it, hey," he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, "you don't need to apologize"

You sneak a peek through your fingers, "you must think I'm a weirdo"

Hobie ducks his head to meet your eyes "yeah, because you are, knew that before I dated you, but you're my weirdo, yeah?"

You close your fingers together, hiding your flustered state from him, he called me his? You completely forget the part where he called you a weirdo.

"Enough of this, yeah?" He shakes you slightly "you don't need to ask permission to sketch me," he shakes you again, trying to make you laugh,

"I like" shake "it" shake "and I" shake "fancy you" Hobie shakes you harder, you smile behind your hands.

You bravely remove your hands away from your face.

"There you are" Hobie grins, while you look at him through your lashes, bashfully.

"You mean it?"

"We're literally together" he says through his laughs, Hobie cups your jaw affectionately "we're stargazing, even though it's bloody freezing, you think I'll do something like this if I didn't fancy you?"

"And you made me tea," you point out.

"And I made you tea, which you haven't even taken a sip yet, you ungrateful shit" Hobie smiles through his swearing, even with him cursing at you, you smile widely at him, knowing that's how he shows his affection.

You gather all your courage "you wanna see the rest?"

He taps your cheek "you sure?"

"Mmhm" you nod.

Hobie searches your face for any doubt, but finds none. He grabs your sketchbook, opening it to the first page. His own face greets him.

He whistles "who's that handsome man? I like his piercings"

"You dork," you laugh, pushing your face closer to his bicep, feeling his warmth through his hoodie.

Hobie releases his bicep from your hold, you pout, but he places his arm behind you, bringing you closer, a flustered smile replaces your pout.

He flips a page, a sketch of the planet saturn.

"You can actually see saturn from here" you say softly, content in his arms.

"Yeah? Point it to me" Hobie whispers against your hair.

You both crane your neck up, Hobie follows your pointing finger.

"Right there"

"Yeah?" He buries his face closer to your hair, muffling his voice.

"You're not even paying attention," you say softly, noticing his relaxed state.

"Nah, continue, I'm listening" Hobie cuddles to your side closer.

You let him relax in your hold as you point out more planets and constellations.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thanks for reading! Consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #fanfic #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #artist!reader

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geeconglobal · 10 days ago

Text

Cloud Computing Services in London: What You Need to Know

cloud computing services London are more than a trend—they are a necessity. Whether you're a tech startup in East London or a well-established financial firm in the City, cloud solutions can power your operations, improve productivity, and enhance scalability.

If you're considering cloud computing for your business, here's what you need to know about the services available in London, their benefits, and how to choose the right provider.

What Is Cloud Computing?

Cloud computing enables businesses to store, manage, and process data using remote servers hosted on the internet, rather than local servers or personal computers. It includes services such as:

Infrastructure as a Service (IaaS) – virtual servers, storage, and networking.

Platform as a Service (PaaS) – tools for developers to build and manage apps.

Software as a Service (SaaS) – ready-to-use software accessed via the cloud.

Why Cloud Computing Matters for London-Based Businesses

Operating in a global business hub like London means staying competitive and agile. Cloud computing services offer key benefits:

Cost Savings: Pay-as-you-go pricing helps reduce capital expenditure.

Flexibility: Easily scale up or down depending on demand.

Remote Access: Work securely from anywhere—essential for hybrid work models.

Disaster Recovery: Automatic backups and failover capabilities protect your data.

Compliance & Security: UK-based data centres help with GDPR compliance and cybersecurity.

Major Cloud Service Providers in London

1. Amazon Web Services (AWS) London Region

AWS offers a comprehensive range of cloud services with data centres in the UK, supporting everything from small businesses to enterprise-level deployments.

2. Microsoft Azure – UK South & UK West

Azure integrates seamlessly with Microsoft 365 and supports industries such as finance, government, and education with a strong UK infrastructure.

3. Google Cloud Platform (GCP) – London Region

Known for its strengths in data analytics, AI, and machine learning, GCP is ideal for innovative and data-driven companies.

4. IBM Cloud – London Data Centre

Focused on secure and hybrid cloud services, IBM Cloud serves businesses needing advanced computing and industry-specific compliance.

5. Oracle Cloud Infrastructure (OCI) – London

Oracle's cloud services are optimised for businesses using Oracle databases and ERP systems, offering strong performance and reliability.

Local Managed Cloud Service Providers in London

Aside from the global tech giants, several local providers in London offer managed cloud solutions, consulting, and migration services:

Cloudreach – A cloud-native consultancy with experience across AWS, Azure, and GCP.

Claranet – Offers tailored hybrid cloud solutions and managed services.

Rackspace UK – Provides 24/7 multi-cloud support and managed hosting.

How to Choose the Right Cloud Solution

When selecting a cloud provider, consider the following:

Business Requirements: Are you looking for storage, app hosting, or full infrastructure?

Budget: Compare pricing models and scalability options.

Compliance: Make sure the provider is compliant with UK and EU regulations.

Support: Look for strong technical support and customer service.

Performance & Uptime: Ensure the provider offers reliable uptime and fast performance with local data centres.

Future of Cloud Computing in London

With increasing demand for digital transformation, cloud computing Services London continues to grow. From AI-powered services to enhanced cybersecurity features, the future holds even more possibilities for businesses to innovate using the cloud.

Final Thoughts

London is one of the most advanced tech ecosystems in Europe, and cloud computing is a core driver of that innovation. Whether you’re just beginning your cloud journey or seeking to optimise your current setup, there are numerous cloud computing services in London to support your goals. Visit more information for your website

#cloud computing services London #cloud providers London #managed cloud services London #cloud solutions for businesses London

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 year ago

Text

Ligyrophobia

Moon Boys (Jake focused) x Mama!Reader (Feat. Khonshu and Victoria!)

TW/CW: fluff!

A/N: This just popped into my head because i suffer from this as well and God damn it I needed fluffy Khonshu

Note: This ties into my mini-miniseries, "Small Surprises". Just a drabble on Khonshu's tough bitchy exterior chipping away because Victoria is adorable and he's secretly a big ass softie

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dreary day. Another storm sweeping over London, blotting out the sun's rays behind the angry dark clouds.

You and Jake had run out to gather things to make for dinner, and Victoria didn't want to venture out with you. She had a bit of a fever and a sniffle, and you were hesitant to leave her behind.

You and Jake were flabbergasted when Khonshu had offered to babysit her.

Jake was hesitant to leave your precious child alone with him, but... even he had to concede the point when you told him that as a protector of the innocent, he would never hurt Victoria.

He had sneaking suspicions that something else was going on with you in particular, as even Steven was far more protective of you than usual.

But... here he is now, with your sickly daughter who sniffled and rubbed at her eye as she huddled beneath her desk, her plush scarab clutched against her chest as though it could ward off the booming thunder from outside.

The power had blinked out, so the flat was dark, only the dim light from outside provided any illumination, which seemed to frighten the child more.

He kneeled down, peering at her.

"You can come out. It's only thunder." He said, trying to keep his tone gentle and quiet. She was a child after all, and it was natural for children to fear things outside of their control, and things they did not yet understand. Especially children like Victoria (and Steven).

Victoria shook her head and cried softly, burying her face in the stuffed toy, her feet curling and rubbing together again, and again as she rocked back and forth, noises bubbling up beneath her tiny sobs.

"Little one--" Khonshu's voice was cut off when a loud crack of thunder shook the flat.

He looked towards the window to see the heavy rain pelting the glass with loud patters, the wind shaking the glass.

This was a bad one, he couldn't help but wonder what triggered this.

His head snapped back to look at Victoria when she hiccuped and began wailing, rocking back and forth, her breathing so quick and ragged he was afraid she would faint.

Her face messed and streaked with... ugh.

But... he couldn't deny something inside of him tugged at the sight of her so tiny and helpless, afraid of what her little psyche could possibly label as some sort of monster outside her home.

Khonshu sighed and reached down, his voice low and soft.

"Come here, little one." He says gently, his large hands curling around her tiny body and pulling her out from her hiding place.

He wasn't surprised when she squirmed and cried, trying to get free to go back to her "safe place". He let her flail, to fight him, until he sat back, cross-legged and cradled her against his body.

She sniffled, her breathing broken up by little sobs as she finally relented, body tense as Khonshu held her, his robes flowing around the two of them, creating a buffer between Victoria and the storm outside.

She snuggled against him instinctively, drawn in by the warmth he exuded, but still made little noises and groans as the thunder roared outside.

Khonshu cradled her back with his hand and pressed her a little tighter against his chest, feeling her rub her cheek on his robes and bandages in a manner similar to how she would stroke her cheek on you or one of your lovers.

"Hush." He murmurs softly, petting her curly hair in an effort to calm her. "You are safe."

She didn't respond. She didn't usually talk when she was having a meltdown, often only rocked and made odd sounds in an attempt to work off her frightened or nervous energy; and it was difficult to break through to her mentally when she was like this.

Khonshu sighed.

And then... began humming.

It was a small melody, but one he remembered well. Hathor would often pluck her harp and sing it to him before he was sent into exile. He remembered being present during the feasts and festivals in her honor, her followers often sang the same song and performed it in the streets.

His deep, vibrating voice seemed to soothe her, little bit little, judging by how she relaxed against him, the tension in her body loosening as he gently rocked her, humming the heavenly song to her.

While this moment was happening, however, he didn't notice the monitor in the corner, the little red light blinking.

He did not know that it automatically switched to battery mode when the cord was disconnected or the power was switched off.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Jake squinted at the bottles of vitamins, trying to figure out why one bottle was more expensive than the other when their ingredients were the same.

"Ay, paying for brands is so fucking stupid." He growled, ignoring the weary looks from people as he cursed in Spanish.

He plucked a bottle of the shelves and held it up, clearing his throat so the pregnant young lady next to him would look.

"I don't mean to be rude or anything...." He said awkwardly. "But which bottle of these is better? Would you say?"

The young woman seemed a little nervous at first, until she spotted the bottle on question, and realized he was looking at the same shelf of vitamins she was.

Her left hand rubbed her belly as she shyly took the bottle from his fingers, turning it over, and looking at the facts on the back of the bottle.

"Oh! For these, you can just get generic. They have the same stuff and are cheaper." She chirps.

Jake sighs with relief as he replaced the bottle with the recommended one. "Sí, that is exactly what I was saying."

"You're.... shopping for someone?" She asked.

"Ah... Yeah." He laughed a little stiffly, dropping the bottle in the basket he clenched in his fist.

"My fiancé."

"Aw... how far along is she? Er--I mean, I don't mean to assume, I was taking prenatals before I got pregnant just for the health benefits, uh..." She floundered.

Jake flashed her a charming grin, his beard creasing around his plush lips. "She's due sometime in the summer. Only found out a week or two ago."

"Oh! Congratulations!" She smiled, relaxing a bit.

"Gracias," Jake chuckled. "Our little girl is going to be excited--we hope--when we tell her."

"Aww... I hope everything works out for you guys." She giggled, grabbing a bottle of vitamin gummies for herself as well. "Well, maybe see you around!" She chirped once more before cutely waddling away.

Jake grinned again, he couldn't wait to see you waddle like that. Like a cute little penguin.

"Jake! Jake!" You panted, apparently having run with the shopping trolley just to find him. The panicked edge in your tone had him immediately on alert.

"What's wrong? What is it?" He asked, dropping his basket in the trolley to hold your arms in his palms.

"The power's out at home." You heaved, holding up your phone.

He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Did something happen? Was Victoria all right? Did Khonshu do something--

"You have to see this." You say, interrupting his thoughts as you swiped your password in, opening the app to the baby monitor. You weren't out of range just yet, as the shop was relatively nearby, and you'd purposefully purchased that expensive monitor because of the large signal range it had.

You turned your phone around, a face-splitting grin on your face as you showed him the most recent clip recorded. The monitor, when you weren't looking at the receiver at your bedside, uploaded clips in five-minute intervals to the app for storage for you to look at later.

Khonshu and Victoria were highlighted plainly in the night vision mode. Victoria was curled up in his lap and Khonshu was... was singing to her. He didn't understand the words he said out loud, assuming it was some ancient language that Steven could only decipher; as his large hands patted her hair and back, rocking and soothing her like one would do for a baby.

"....See? Who was right? Told you she'd be fine with him." You grin slyly, a hand over your ear, awaiting the inevitable.

"Okay, okay, mierda." Jake ran a hand through his curls, shaking his head at you. "You were right. Maybe the old bird is... coming around."

"Victoria has a way of charming everyone." You giggle, looking at the recording with a glimmer in your eyes.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands resting on your belly, thumbs tracing your soft curves beneath your shirt.

"Yeah, well... I'm willing to bet her sibling will have the same charm."

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #khonshu #khonshu moon knight

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preraphaelitepaintings · 2 months ago

Text

The Dryad

Artist: Evelyn de Morgan (English, 1855-1919)

Date: 1884-1885

Medium: Oil on panel

Collection: De Morgan Collection, London, United Kingdom

Description

In Greek mythology dryads are mythological tree nymphs and protectors of the oak tree. Evelyn appears to have depicted a hamadryade, which is a type of nymph who is bonded to the tree itself. In this painting we can see the little nymph emerging from the tree, with her foot still hidden inside the tree's stout trunk. Legend says that if the tree dies, the dryad will also die and for this reason the Gods punish any mortals who harm trees. Purple irises are at the dryad's feet symbolize the minor Greek goddess Iris. Iris is the messenger of the gods, particularly Zeus and Hera. She is also the personification of the rainbow and, as goddess of sea and sky, provides clouds with water to rain upon the world to nourish plants and trees.

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aziraphales-library · 10 months ago

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hi hello !! v much appreciate the work you've done and i've enjoyed going through my fave tropes through your tags 🤍

just wanted to ask if you have know of fics that show Crowley and Aziraphale as childhood best friends or basically them as kids? i've checked the kid fic tag but that's mostly about them adopting or taking care of kids. I know there are a bunch of human aus that reference a time they were best friends or knew each other when they were younger and then got reunited, which are great !, but I want to read more of cute Crowley and Aziraphale being friends when they were still kiddos 🙏🏽

Would appreciate any recs! Thank you so muchh !!

Hey. You'll have more luck with our #childhood friends and #high school au tags, so check those out! Here are more to add...

Angelic Lullabies by nemingo (NR)

There was once two kids as different as the sun and the moon. One was kind hearted their head turned to the clouds. The other was... angry. But they did share a common ground. A loveless home. But elements could rage around them, they'd always have a shelter.

You're the One That I Want by emmagrant01 (M)

The Grease AU absolutely no one asked for.

And you've got your demons by liber_solis (T)

In which Aziraphale is the new kid at school and Crowley has a reputation Or They say it has to get worse in order to get better, but no one had warned Crowley about the dangers of making a bet and regretting all his life decisions afterwards. Of course, he should have seen it coming, because it was very difficult to not fall in love with Aziraphale

in your own time by ineffabildaddy (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

By My Side by Demonicputto (T)

When Crowley is given the chance at a human life (birth to death, family, Free Will, the whole shebang) he takes it. He does this, in part, to protect Aziraphale from being forced to take the same opportunity against his will. However, once Crowley is off on this metaphysical adventure, Aziraphale learns that his friend’s new life is not all that was advertised. To protect a small, amnesic Crowley from a childhood of cruelty, Aziraphale must go after him. If he’s going to do so, he must become human himself. Now in the form of a nine-year-old boy (though with his memories mercifully intact) Aziraphale must navigate adoptive parents, child therapists, and nativity plays to try and provide what protection he can to his dearest companion.

A Careful Kind of Something by hope_in_the_dark (T)

Ezra Seraff and Anthony Crowley aren't exactly what you'd call friends. Yet.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #childhood friends #high school au #mod d

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queenshelby · 2 years ago

Text

Forbidden Desire (Part 16)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

As Tommy walked downstairs, he was greeted by his cousin Michael and an inspector who was unfamiliar to him.

"Michael," he greeted curtly, nodding slightly in acknowledgment of the stranger.

"Good morning, Thomas," Michael returned politely, stepping aside to allow the inspector to follow Tommy into his office.

"You are Mr. Thomas Shellby?" the Inspector queried, glancing at the paperwork in front of him.

"I am sure you already know who the fuck I am, eh?" Tommy chuckled.

"Please sit down, Inspector." he then offered a seat to his guest. Settling down across from him, he sized up the man. From what little he could discern from the brief introductions, the detective appeared to be relatively young—likely eager to make a name for himself with a high-profile case like this.

"So, tell me, why exactly are you here?" Tommy asked casually, leaning forward in his chair, intimidating the inspector slightly.

The inspector hesitated, examining his notes once more before answering. "There have been a series of murders occurring recently," he began, attempting to strike a balance between formality and informality. "All victims share connections to various factions within the city and all of them had also been employed by one of your companies," He paused momentarily, his gaze steady.

"One such murder happened just yesterday evening, and another today early morning. Both occurred at a significant distance from our territory – indicating a wider area of interest for the perpetrator(s). We believe these incidents may be linked somehow," the inspector explained.

"Listen carefully pal, my family owns ninety percent of all businesses in fucking Birmingham. So, of course these men were employed by us. There is only a slim chance for them not be one of our employees," Tommy expressed clearly, his tone serious and direct. The inspector looked steadfast, his demeanor calm yet cautious.

"Mr. Shellby, it would greatly aid our investigation if you could provide names of those known to have had dealings with the deceased within your organisation," he requested firmly just as Polly Gray came barging through the door with the intend to put an end to the meeting she had overhead part of earlier. Her face flushed with anger, her hands tightened into fists.

She had only just found out who was behind this all, trying to take up their family bond and, with concrete evidence in her hands, she snapped.

"This meeting is over and you, inspector, need to go back to London and investigate this," Polly snarled, presenting a file to him containing all necessary proof proving Liam's involvement in the crimes. Tommy raised an eyebrow, surprised by Polly's swift reaction.

Seeing this, the inspector rose slowly, gathering his papers and folders without uttering a word.

"My understanding is that, last night, Liam O'Connor was shot dead by an unknown perpetrator and, whilst he was employed by Shelby Company Limited, he acted upon his own volition when carrying out these crimes. WE had nothing do with this," Polly concluded confidently, standing tall despite her emotional turmoil.

"Well... that doesn't change the fact that multiple individuals connected to your company have died suspiciously," the inspector retorted sharply, refusing to back down. However, seeing the undeniable evidence provided by Polly Gray, he relented marginally.

"Very well," he finally conceded but, before departing, he turned to address Tommy and his cousin.

"Just bear in mind Mr Shelby that, by the time the elections come around, your organisation's involvement in illegal activities will be thoroughly scrutinised," the inspector warned, and, with that, he left the room, leaving a heavy cloud of unease among the trio.

"Tom, I had nothing to do with this. You must believe me," Michael pleaded as soon as the three of them were on their own.

"It wasn't me who helped Liam," he went on to say and his mother stepped in.

"No, it wasn't you, Michael. It was Finn. He took it upon himself to bring you down Tommy and, because he isn't smart enough to do so on his own, he got involved with Liam O'Connor and another member of your gang. Unfortunately, jealousy over your own fucking niece made you too blind to see this as all you could think about was Liam making a moving on Y/N," Polly revealed. "And how typical! For someone like you to think with your cock," she continued sarcastically. Tommy didn't respond directly to her accusation but instead glared at her.

Anger flared in Tommy's eyes as he considered Polly's words. This entire situation was becoming increasingly messier, complicated further by the complex web of lies and betrayals.

"What about Finn? Where the fuck is he, eh?" Tommy seethed, rubbing his temples before he paced around the room, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His mind raced through possible scenarios, wondering how far Finn could possibly have gone in order to sabotage him.

"He won't get away with this," he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw.

"I dealt with him myself," Polly affirmed defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a show of determination.

"Dealt with him how?" Tommy asked, his curiosity piqued despite his growing anger.

"He is gone, that's all that matters right now," Polly replied brusquely, unwilling to discuss further details of her encounter with Finn.

Tommy grunted noncommittally, unsatisfied with the answer but knowing better than to push Polly any further on the matter. Instead, he changed the subject abruptly.

"How much does the inspector really know about Liam's death?" he asked cautiously, causing Polly to shake her head.

"Not enough to cause problems," Polly informed him reassuringly.

"What you need to concentrate on now are the upcoming elections, which involves doing the right fucking thing by Lizzie and stop fucking your own niece. I can smell her perfume on you even from here," Polly scoffed, turning her nose upward in disgust.

"Why don't you let us worry about our personal lives, eh?" Tommy snapped back harshly, annoyed by Polly's intrusion into his private affairs even though he knew that, if Arthur would find out, he would be furious.

"Because Tommy, when it comes to our world, everyone's life affects everyone else.

Your decisions echo throughout the whole community, regardless of whether people care to admit it or not," Polly added solemnly, a hint of sympathy masking her previously fierce facade.

"Your relations with Y/N reflect poorly on your leadership skills, especially considering the forthcoming elections and, if you want to maintain control during these challenging times, you should focus on improving your reputation rather than destroying what's left of it," Polly said before, with these final words, she exited the room, leaving the two men alone. Silence hung heavily in the air, punctuated only by the ticking clock and Tommy's labored breathing.

"You know my mother is right Tommy, don't you?" Michael interjected nervously, looking at his cousin imploringly.

"Of course, I know she is right," Tommy agreed reluctantly, breaking eye contact with Michael as he thought about Polly's warning. Tommy knew that, realistically, he could not be with you, regardless of how much he wanted to and, with this in mind, he came up with a plan.

"Y/N should take over the export division in Boston," Tommy suggested, causing Michael to nod in agreement, knowing that this would keep you away from him and allow him to think clearly.

Tommy's voice held no trace of emotion when he said the words while yet, deep inside, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness at the prospect of losing you. He knew how much it meant to him to have you close, physically and otherwise, yet it seemed impossible to continue having this secret relationship with you.

Thus, Tommy decided it was best for you to leave town until things settled down and, much to your despair, when you were told days later about the plan for you to leave, you could hardly argue against it. You knew why Tommy needed space from you and, you were willing to give him exactly that for the sake of your family.

Your entire relationship with him was condemned. He was your uncle after all and, despite wanting desperately to protest, you understood where they were coming from. It was important for him to win the elections and it was even more important for your father not to find out the truth.

***

Therefore, within two weeks, you packed up your belongings and made your way to America with a view to start a new life.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you realized how lonely these months or years apart might feel. You knew that this was the end and, even though Tommy promised to visit you, this time never came. He never visited you in Boston during those long, solitary eleven months abroad and neither did he call you. He always had Polly make contact with you when business matters had to be discussed and not once did you receive a letter from him.

Your heart ached as memories of tender moments spent together flashed through your mind, bringing tears unbidden to your eyes. The distance between you grew more pronounced each day, and it felt as though something vital had vanished from your existence. In spite of the passage of time, the pangs of loneliness remained ever-present, lingering in the depths of your soul.

The painful reminder of your love affair brought a wave of regret. Regret for allowing yourself to become entangled in such a dangerous game of passion. Each time you closed your eyes, you saw his piercing gaze, felt his rough touch on your skin, and remembered the way his body moved above yours.

Memories of intimate encounters surfaced unexpectedly, triggering an irresistible yearning that threatened to consume you completely. Days passed by with the weight of your absence growing heavier and heavier, a constant reminder of everything you once shared but lost along the way.

And then, one day, you received a telegram containing a message you had not expected and which shook you to the core.

It was an invitation to Tommy's and Lizzie's wedding in Birmingham and, as the news sank in, your pulse quickened, and a rush of blood coursed through your veins.

Although the eleven months since you had parted ways had dulled some of the pain associated with the separation, this announcement reignited old wounds, awakening raw emotions that you hadn't experienced in quite some time. Your palms began sweating profusely, hands trembling as you reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting nearby. Taking a large swig, you winced slightly at the burn running down your throat.

Grabbing a cigarette, you lit it hastily, taking a moment to compose yourself. How could this happen? After everything that transpired, why would he ask you - someone whom he loved dearly - to witness his marriage to Lizzie? This sudden revelation shook you to your core, stirring a concoction of bitterness, resentment, and confusion within you.

Unwittingly, you found yourself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions – the intensity of which was almost suffocating.

There was anger, frustration, jealousy, sorrow, and, most disturbingly, an insatiable desire that refused to be quelled. As the reality of the situation dawned upon you, you vowed that you wouldn’t attend the ceremony. But somewhere deep inside, you couldn’t help hoping for just one last glimpse of Tommy… just one last chance to prove that nothing had truly changed.

As you mulled over the decision, weighing the pros and cons, your mind drifted elsewhere as your maid, Sarah, entered the room.

"I think he is hungry ma'am," she commented softly while carrying a small bundle of joy wrapped carefully in linen cloth.

"He has a good appetite that's for sure," you acknowledged as you took another sip of your drink while admiring the baby's tiny fingers pointing straight at you.

"Pass him here, please," you told your maid gently and with a smile. "Let me feed him before he tears down the house with his mighty screams," you chuckled before Sarah placed him gently in your arms. His warmth filled the void within you temporarily, soothing your turbulent emotions.

Gazing down at your son's face, you noticed its striking resemblance to his father.

Every feature mirrored the essence of Tommy, right down to the shape of his lips and the blue of his eyes. Feeling an odd mix of tenderness and vulnerability, you rocked the little boy slowly back and forth, careful not to jostle him too roughly.

"So you think we should go back home for a little bit, hmm?" you asked your baby-boy lovingly. Giving a light kiss on his forehead, you continued to cradle him in your arms. His sweet laughter warmed your heart, giving you strength amidst the chaos enveloping your life. With each passing minute, your resolve weakened, and eventually, you accepted the invitation, hoping against hope that seeing Tommy again would provide closure.

Tags:

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@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder

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