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queenshelby · 4 months

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AMERICAN GIRL (PART SIX)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace's Stepdaughter!Reader

Warning: Grace is a bully, infidelity, taboo

Over the next few days, you tried to avoid Tommy at all costs and when Ada invited you and Emma to stay with her for a few nights in London, you couldn't help but accept her offer with open arms.

The bustling city provided a much-needed distraction from the constant tension that seemed to have surfaced since that evening at the Garrison and Ada even took you shopping to help you find something elegant.

One evening, however, you decided to venture out on your own , eager to enjoy the anonymity that the city offered and explore the vibrant nightlife. It was then that you stumbled upon a lavish and elegant establishment, nestled in an unsuspecting corner, away from the main streets.

There was a guard or so called bouncer in front of the door, telling you that women were not allowed in on their own. The place was exclusive, and you couldn't help but feel intrigued, craving a taste of this mysterious new luxury.

Although you wanted to press the issue, a sense of caution and self-preservation stopped you from making a fuss.

"You are not a performer, are you Love?" another man in a suit asked just as you were about to leave . The intrigue in his eyes was unmistakable, and a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"And what makes you ask me that?" you inquired with a hint of amusement, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, it's just a hunch, Sweetheart," he replied, slowly letting his gaze roam over your figure, trying to gauge your response. The way he eyed you filled you with a curious mixture of unease and exhilaration. "Because, if you are, in fact, a performer, I can let you in," he continued, his voice low and seductive, daring you to challenge him.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I am," you replied boldly, with just enough of a flicker in your eyes to make him believe you. "I am singer and, after few whiskeys on the house, I may even be happy enough to perform for free," you added, the corner of your lip quirking upwards in a challenging grin.

The man looked at you with a newfound sense of amusement and interest, a slow smirk spreading across his face before he opened the door, waving you in.

As you stepped inside, you were immediately greeted by a world unlike any other; dimly lit, adorned with red velvet drapes, and filled with the sound of loud, lively jazz music. It was a world shrouded in mystery, decadence and, above all, allure.

As you ventured further into this unknown territory, your pulse quickened, and a heady thrill surged through your veins. The intoxicating atmosphere seemed almost tangible, and you couldn't help but be drawn into its hypnotic embrace.

Waiters adorned in crisp suits skillfully weaved through tables, expertly balancing trays laden with amber-colored liquid concoctions. A woman with fiery red hair, accentuated by an elegant sequined dress, sauntered around the baby grand piano with a predatory grace. Her voice intermingled with the music, creating an atmosphere that was as captivating as it was provocative.

"A drink for you ma'am?" offered a waiter in a pristine suit, his eyes sharp and observant. The novelty of this enchanting place hadn't worn off yet, but his hawkish attention made you a little nervous.

"Yes, please. I'll have whatever you recommend," you responded, attempting to match his neutral expression with one of your own.

The waiter then gently placed an elegant, stemmed glass before you, adorned with a delicate slice of orange peel expertly twirled over the top.

"Will you be performing?" he too asked, seeing that you were on your own and not part of the usual décor that littered the establishment. This question caught you a bit off guard, but it also brought along a spark of excitement in your chest; you had not prepared for such a turn events, but it seemed to be unfolding quite nicely in front of your eyes.

"Yes, I suppose I will," you responded confidently, holding his gaze for a moment before turning away to scan the stage area. The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving you to ponder your decision. You briefly wondered if you had made the right choice, but your curiosity and the thrill of the unknown whispered in your ear like a silent siren call. The temptation to stay and lose yourself in this immersive world was too enticing to ignore.

You scanned the elegant room with its sultry atmosphere until your gaze landed upon a familiar figure in the corner, sitting with his back to you. Thomas.

His presence sent your heart into a frenzy, causing it to gallop uncontrollably inside your chest. A concoction of emotions surged through you, and you realized that you cared too much for someone who was as good as forbidden.

Why was he here, out of all places, you wondered ? A strange coincidence perhaps. You considered leaving, sparing yourself the torture of watching him from afar, yet your curiosity anchored you to the spot.

Your plan needed a rethink. With newfound resolve, you walked up to the woman on stage as she took a break and gently tapped her on the shoulder. She paused what she was doing, turned to you, and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Yes, dear?" she inquired with a knowing smile.

"I was wondering if I could sing a few songs during your interval," you confessed with a bashful smile. The woman, seemingly amused by your proposition, studied you for a few beats before nodding her head.

"Absolutely, darling. The stage is yours," she replied, extending her hand towards the microphone.

With a grateful nod, you made your way onto the platform, pulling in a measured breath to steady your nerves.

With trembling fingers, you adjusted the microphone stand and clasped it tightly to ground yourself in the swirling sea of emotions threatening to consume you. The gentle hum of conversation gradually receded, replaced by an expectant hush that blanketed the entire room which is when you began to sing.

The words and melody came almost naturally to you , weaving together an intricate tapestry of emotion and sound. Each note resonated deep within you, released from a secret chamber that had been longing to be opened.

The enraptured patrons listened intently as they sipped their martinis and bourbons, the room's electricity shifting palpably, settling around you with an intensity that left you breathless. You felt exposed and vulnerable through each verse, and yet you couldn't deny the uninhibited freedom that singing had awakened within you.

But you did not just sing, you performed and, soon enough, the band that had been taking a break joined in. You loosened your hair from its tidy bun and let it cascade down your shoulders, dancing wildly, as your voice weaved in and out of the pulsating rhythm. There was a wild magic in every movement, a seductive allure in the lyrics you effortlessly strung together. It was a captivating performance that left everyone motionless, including Thomas.

As you sang, you forgot about the forbidden nature of him, the danger that surrounded his presence, his empire of deception and secrets, and instead lost yourself in the music, letting go of all inhibitions.

Men cheered and clapped, while women looked on with admiration and envy. You swayed along with the melody, the enchanting notes escaping your lips effortlessly. Each and every word seemed like vows whispered only to the man who had captured your heart, despite knowing that their paths were meant to never cross.

When you finally finished singing and the band drew their instruments to a close, the room erupted into thunderous applause, but before you knew it, there were two hands on you, ushering you off the stage, through the back.

"That's enough Love," Thomas murmured in your ear. "You had enough attention tonight, eh," he added, a hint of frustration and annoyance leaking into his voice. You were surprised by his appearance, but it thrilled you even more.

"But I just started," you protested half-heartedly, relishing his possessive nature. Thomas simply shook his head, his expression remaining firm as he pulled you behind the velvet curtain while the red-haired woman took over again, thanking you for your impeccable performance before signing a tune of her own.

"It's time for you to leave," he declared, his voice low and authoritative.

"Why?" you asked. "There is no harm in me singing?" you queried with an arched brow, searching his eyes for reasonable justification for his sudden protectiveness.

His hold around your waist intensified as he pulled you closer, causing involuntary shivers to ripple through you.

"That's not what concerns me," Thomas confessed gruffly. The corners of his lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "But these men are unpredictable, high on fucking cocaine and just waiting for someone like you," he began to say before being cut off by you.

"You know what I think Tommy?" you quipped, feeling a surge of courage thanks to the adrenaline and confidence from your performance. "You are jealous," you accused, looking straight into his eyes, challenging him to disagree.

The atmosphere between you and Thomas grew tenser as he held your gaze, searching for a response that somehow justified his feelings. You could see the internal struggle and conflict within him. He was not a man easily swayed by his emotions, yet here you were, igniting feelings in him that he couldn't suppress easily.

"I am not fucking jealous Love," he replied, barely hiding the irritation in his voice.

You smiled wryly, knowing deep down that your suspicion was not far off. The flicker of something unreadable in Thomas' eyes only served to heighten your curiosity and spur you on.

"Oh, I think you are," you pressed on. "You can't stand other men giving me attention. You can't even stand them looking at me for too long," you persisted, daring to call out his jealousy with the boldness that came from being under the spotlight.

Thomas' eyes flashed, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he tightened his hold around your waist and steered you out of the back door, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

The chilly air greeted your warm skin as you stumbled out onto the dimly lit alleyway.

"Tell me that I am right," you demanded as, suddenly, Thomas pressed you against the cold brick wall, his body hovering close, pinning you in place.

His blue eyes glittered with an intensity that was at once alarming and exhilarating, a quiet storm brewing in their depths. Every rational thought in your head seemed to fade away as you found yourself drowning in the all-consuming presence that was Thomas Shelby.

"Listen Love," he growled lowly, a rough quality weaving into his voice. "You're playing with fire here, and you don't even realize it." Thomas' voice was barely a whisper, a low warning that only served to fuel the flame crackling between them. You stared up at him, refusing to back down from the challenge in his eyes.

"Then I suppose I'll burn," you replied, your voice steady and unafraid, igniting his gaze.

Thomas leaned in, and you closed your eyes, anticipating the touch of his lips on yours. Instead, he trailed his nose along your jawline, inhaling deeply as if desperate to etch your scent into his memory.

When his lips found your ear, he whispered, "You don't know what you do to me."

The sensation of his breath against your skin caused an ache to bloom within you, deepening with every brush of his lips against your delicate flesh. His hands slid down your arms, capturing your wrists before gently pinning them above your head. The contrast between his possessive gesture and the way he caressed your skin with feather-light strokes was both intoxicating and maddening.

You gasped, the contact sending your thoughts reeling.

"Fucking kiss me already," you whispered, urgent need clawing its way out of your throat. You opened your eyes, meeting Thomas' gaze head-on. The hunger in his eyes was impossible to miss, mirroring the longing that gnawed at your very insides.

" Is that what you really want?" he crooned, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear. Your body trembled almost imperceptibly, aching for his touch, for the feel of his lips pressed against yours. The suspense was overwhelming, the promise of something delicious lingering precariously close.

"Yes," you replied breathlessly, trying to keep your desperation in check as, finally, he claimed your lips with his. The taste of whiskey and tobacco lingered on his tongue, igniting new sensations within you. When he deepened the kiss, there was an intensity that resonated in the way his hands slid down your arms and then around your waist, like he couldn't bear to let you go.

The way Thomas kissed you—with a passion that felt unmatched, as if he had been searching for something in you and finally discovered a hidden key to unlock the door. The exhilarating feeling of his strong hands exploring your supple curves only added fuel to the fire that burned relentlessly inside of you, awakening your senses, making you feel more alive than ever.

As if he could sense the effect he had on you, Thomas pulled away, leaving you both breathless.

"I am staying at the Dorchester," he revealed with a husky whisper, his gaze still locked on your flushed face. "And I want you to come with me tonight," Thomas urged softly, his voice thick with desire and unspoken promises.

But instead of immediately responding, you hesitated. After all, venturing off into the unknown could lead to thrilling experiences, but there was always a chance they might forever change your life as he would be your first.

"Look at me," he whispered tenderly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "I promise you; nothing will happen that you don't want to." His reassurance touched your heart as he leaned into gently place a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Okay, so lead the way then," you murmured, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your decision made, a shiver of excitement and anticipation raced through you.

You straightened your dress, smoothing out the creases as Thomas lead you down the dark alleyway towards the luxurious hotel that he was staying in, which was just a short stroll from the establishment you had just sung at.

***

Several minutes later, you arrived at the Dorchester, a magnificent building with an elegant exterior. Thomas held the door open for you, and you stepped into the grand foyer, your heels clicking against the marble floor.

You could feel the weight of the staff's curious gazes on you, as whispers filtered through the air, but Thomas paid them no mind, his hand rested securely on the small of your back as he guided you towards the elevator.

The doors slid open with a soft ding, and the pair of you stepped inside. Thomas slid his key into the slot and pressed the button for the penthouse suite.

The elevator ascended smoothly, and your heart raced with every floor that passed. When the door finally slid open, you stepped out into the luxurious penthouse, your eyes wide with awe at the opulence surrounding you.

Thomas walked over to the expansive windows, his hands thrust deep into his pockets as he took in the view of London below. You lingered behind, taking in the surroundings of the lavish room. The plush carpet felt soft under your heels, and the scent of fine leather and rich mahogany filled the air.

Tommy turned to face you, a sensual smile on his lips.

"What do you think, Love?" he asked, gesturing to the surroundings before approaching you and caressing your face.

"I think it's perfect," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as you leaned into his touch.

Thomas leaned in, brushing his lips gently against yours, sending a wave of pleasure surging through your veins. You couldn't deny the chemistry that sizzled between you, nor could you resist the temptation of finally crossing the line that you had both been dancing around for so long.

The tension between you had been building for weeks, and it was a spark that was ready to ignite into a raging inferno. The connection you shared was magnetic, a force so powerful that it seemed impossible to resist.

"Fuck, Y/N," Thomas murmured against your lips, his voice low and gruff. "You have no idea how much I want you."

His hands roamed over your body, leaving a trail of heated desire in their wake. You gasped as his fingers brushed against your breasts, the silk dress you were wearing offering little protection against his touch.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he slowly began to undo the buttons on your dress, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste to touch your naked skin.

"Tommy wait," you breathed, placing a hand on his chest to halt his movements. He looked at you, his eyes darkening with desire at the sound of your plea.

"What is it, Love?" he asked, his voice low and husky, filled with a barely restrained hunger that sent shivers running down your spine.

"I have never done this before," you confessed, biting your lower lip nervously, as if the words tasted wrong on your tongue. Thomas paused, his hands stilling on your body as he looked at you with a tenderness that took your breath away.

"Do you want to stop?" Thomas whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No," you replied, your voice firm despite the nervous tremor that ran through it. "I want this. I want you," you assured him, your voice filled with conviction, as you looked deep into his eyes.

Thomas nodded, understanding dawning in his gaze before leaning down to capture your lips with his own. The kiss was slow and passionate, a promise of the pleasures to come. His hands returned to your buttons, finishing what he had started.

The dress opened, revealing the thin lace lingerie you wore underneath. Thomas trailed his fingers along the exposed skin, making you shiver with anticipation. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Thomas breathed, his eyes raking over your body.

He lowered his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth through the lace fabric.

You gasped as his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he continued to tease and tantalize you.

"Fuck," you breathed, your head falling back as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. "Please, Tommy, I need more."

Thomas raised his head, looking at you with dark, passion-filled eyes. "Begging already, Love?" he teased, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he finally guided you towards the large four poster bed.

You didn't dignify that with a response, your gaze locked onto his as he slowly began to remove your clothing. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he painstakingly revealed inch after inch of your skin until you were left in nothing more than your panties.

"Lie down for me," Thomas commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. You obliged, your heart pounding in your chest as you sank back onto the cool sheets, your body bared for him.

He looked like a predator preparing to claim his prize, a dark and dangerous look in his eyes that made your insides clench with need. Slowly, deliberately, he began to strip off his own clothing.

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the sight of him, the rippling muscles of his chest and abdomen, the hardness of his erection straining against the confines of his trousers.

"I can't fucking wait to taste you, Love," Thomas growled, his eyes glinting with hunger as he crawled up the bed, settling himself between your legs.

He parted your thighs, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers brushed against the dampness of your panties.

"Fuck, Tommy," you whispered, writhing beneath him as he teased you, his movements slow and maddening. You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second, your desire for him reaching new heights.

"Please," you begged, arching your hips up towards him, desperate for release.

Thomas chuckled low in his throat, the sound reverberating through your entire body.

"God, you're impatient," he teased, his fingers dancing over your damp folds, lingering just outside of your entrance. You whimpered with frustration, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

"Tommy, please," you begged again, your voice trembling with desire. Thomas finally took mercy on you and pulled off your soaked underwear, leaving you completely bared to him. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You're so fucking perfect," Thomas whispered, his voice filled with reverence. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a fierce determination that made your heart race before, finally, liking the tip of his tongue over your entrance.

You cried out at the contact, your back arching off the bed as he began to tease and taste you, his movements slow and measured.

"Fuck," you gasped, your fingers desperately gripping the sheets beneath you as he sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your breathing grew ragged, each breath sounding like a soft moan as he continued to worship you with his mouth, his tongue delving inside of you, tasting your sweetness.

Your hips bucked wildly, desperate for him to bring you closer to the edge, but Thomas had no intention of rushing. Every lick, every kiss he planted on your heated flesh was done with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Fuck, Tommy. This feels so good," you moaned, not knowing fully what was actually happening to you. You never felt like this before ; this overwhelming wave of pleasure and desire, this sensation of losing control. It seemed to come from the depths of your very being, rising to the surface as your body trembled under Thomas's expert touch.

"God, you taste like heaven," Thomas growled, his voice thick with desire as he continued to explore you with his mouth. You could feel the orgasm building inside of you, the knot of pleasure growing tighter and tighter with each passing second.

Your breath hitched, your hands clenched into fists, and your toes curled with pleasure as Thomas continued to devour you.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving you panting and writhing on the bed, desperate for the release that had been just within your grasp. You looked down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and desire.

"Why did you stop?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

"I want to feel you come apart on my cock, Love," he said, his voice rough and raw. You nodded eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation.

Slowly, Thomas crawled up your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he went. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. It was filthy and primal, and you couldn't get enough of it.

Thomas' body hovered over yours, his muscles rippling in the dim light of the room. He was a vision of masculinity and power, and you couldn't believe that he was here with you. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Open your legs, Love," Thomas growled, his voice deep and raw with desire. You complied, allowing him to settle between your thighs. He rubbed his cock against your wet folds, teasing you and making you gasp with pleasure.

Thomas was a master of anticipation, drawing out the moment until your body was trembling with need.

"Go slow, please," you said, reminding him that you never had sex before .

There was a look of concern that crossed his face for a moment, but then he leaned down to kiss you with a passion that stole your breath away. His mouth devoured yours as his hands roamed your curves with reverence.

When he broke the kiss, Thomas whispered, "We don't have to if you, -" he began to say but you cut him off. "I want to. I trust you," you replied, looking him in the eyes. A soft smile tugged at the corner of Thomas' lips before he nodded.

"I will go slow. I promise, Love," Thomas breathed the words against your lips before he reached down between your bodies to grip his cock. He guided it toward your entrance, teasing you by rubbing the head of his cock along your wet folds again.

You whimpered, your body trembling beneath him, begging for more.

Slowly, Thomas pushed inside of you, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him causing a low growl to rumble in his chest. You gasped at the sensation of him filling you up. It hurt, but it also felt so good.

" Oh God, Thomas..." you breathed out, digging your nails into his shoulders as he paused, allowing you to adjust to his size.

Thomas kissed you desperately, his tongue driving into your mouth as if he was trying to convey how much this moment meant to him. You tasted whiskey and something bitter, but that only turned you on more.

"You're so fucking tight, Love," Thomas grunted, his hips starting to move in slow, teasing thrusts that quickly gained intensity. Each plunge of his cock pushed you further up the bed, your body writhing beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat as he hit a spot deep inside of you that triggered a wave of unparalleled pleasure. Thomas grinned against your neck, his thrusts quickening as he pressed his tongue against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

"I can feel you, Love, clenching around me. It feels so fucking good," Thomas groaned. His hand snaked down your body, finding the swollen bud of your clit. He rubbed slow, gentle circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within your chest.

Your hips lifted off the bed in a desperate attempt to grind yourself against his fingers, but Thomas was relentless, his rhythm steady and unyielding.

"That's it, Love. Let go for me," Thomas coaxed, his voice strained with desire. He moved his hand from your clit, replacing it with his lips as he sought out the sweet spot just below your ear. "Come for me, Y/N."

He had said your name, and the sound of it on his lips sent shivers down your spine.

With that, you let go, your orgasm rushing through you like a tidal wave. Your back arched off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling under Thomas's powerful frame.

His thrusts grew more frantic as your inner muscles clenched around him, milking him for all that he had. The sensation of your warm release coating his cock triggered his own orgasm, and Thomas roared as he filled you up with hot jets of his seed.

He continued to thrust into you as you both came down from your highs, prolonging the exquisite pleasure that held you captive.

As you lay beneath him, limp and thoroughly satiated, Thomas rolled off of you and gathered you in his arms. He pulled you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin as he breathed in the scent of your hair.

"Fuck, Love," he muttered, his voice hoarse from the force of his release. "That was... incredible."

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.

Your entire body still tingled from the mind-blowing orgasm Thomas had given you. You felt like putty in his arms, completely content and relaxed. Thomas brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, leaving a soft kiss in its place.

"You okay, Love?" he asked, concern etched on his face as he looked down at you. You nodded, still unable to find your voice. Thomas grinned, pride radiating from him.

"Good," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N. The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you."

You looked up at Thomas, your eyes meeting his as he spoke. His gaze was intense, and you could feel the desire simmering beneath the surface.

"No one can ever know about this, Tommy ," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I know, Love," he reassured you, his voice low and husky. "But I am going to struggle to keep my hands off you, Y/N." The way he said your name made your heart flutter. It was as if you were the only person in the world that existed to him. You knew you shouldn't feel this way about him, but you couldn't help yourself.

You stayed in his arms for what seemed like hours, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. The world outside of the penthouse room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of intimacy until, eventually, you fell asleep in Tommy's arms.

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lundenloves · 1 year

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@bringinsexybackk69: can i please request dad simon with a boy? like yeah he has all his girls and then there's either the youngest or the oldest and it's his only son? i can just picture like the girls are jealous cause he gets new clothes not hand-me-downs, he gets to do his own sports with out his siblings, he gets to go shooting with the 141- just like totally sibling rivalry and fighting over who is dads favorite?!

youngest.

simon is over the fucking moon when he finds out it's a boy - he's one of them dads in american gender reveals who says “i think you're a girl but i need you to be a boy" 💀

instant attention all goes to this kid, because A) he actually knows how to do it now and B that's his boy. that's his fuckin lad.

the kid looks like you. boys look like their mums, girls look like their dads n all that but christ does he have simon's quietness.

a complete observer like his dad. will be in silence while the girls argue, quietly exchanging glances with simon who internally feels like fucking high-fiving himself for creating a kid who finally understands him.

however the clothes are admittedly down to you, you love buying shit. any excuse. and having a son instead of another girl gave you great reason. though you did go too far sometimes. credit card bills rocketed.

he gets his own room too. straight off the bat, fresh into this fucking world and he's got it all. or that's how your daughters seen it.

“how does he get everything."

“give him a fucking chance." mumbling something about how he's only a week old. the dad sigh strikes again.

him and simon fuck off together a lot. they'll be away camping somewhere, simon teaching this (probably half uninterested) kid how to do all the survival stuff since his girls were never interested.

and when he gets older, maybe around seventeen to eighteen he's so game for that stuff. realistically, was probably in the school cadets n all 💀

when he's able enough, he'll maybe tag along on a run with 141 or summat. this is an incredibly humbling experience to say the least, though uncle soap is there to make everything a laugh n slow the run. "boys, boys, give the lad a chance eh?"

gets into his dads routine of the gym in mornings too, simon watching his workout from a distance before giving him pointers - hands on hips before stepping back to see if he's doing it right or not.

although, simon does not let him apply to the army. all fun n games till it wants to happen isn't it padre?

probably applies behind simon's back ngl. resulting in a huge fuck off argument once a letter comes in stamped under british army branding under the kids name instead of his own. yikes.

classic son x father shouting match.

i’m probably going to get asked to write that now aren’t i? happily, gladly, don’t get me wrong. sorry i haven’t been writing much but i do enjoy talking to you lot in the inbox.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123 @ellies-girll @paperbag-prncs @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 5 months

Text

The Alchemy

AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.

Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

CW: Smut

Word Count: 6,871

Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.

It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.

Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.

Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.

Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows.

Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."

I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye.

"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script."

Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."

As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.

"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."

Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."

I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."

She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."

Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.

"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.

As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.

Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me.

I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength.

I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore.

Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.

Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head.

For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer.

That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.

As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.

"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."

I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.

But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."

Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.

The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.

Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.

"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."

I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response.

"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt.

Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement.

"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"

His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state.

"Cat got your tongue?" He teased.

I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt.

Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.

"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality.

"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class.

My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.

I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.

I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H

I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.

I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.

I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.

After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.

I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.

Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.

His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.

I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.

The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.

I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.

Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.

As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.

By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.

Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.

I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous.

"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy.

Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked.

I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me.

"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously.

Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.

I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly.

Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.

Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me.

I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field.

As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.

At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return.

In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.

As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.

"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.

"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.

"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.

Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game.

I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights.

"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly.

I tilted my head. "Why's that?"

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."

Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions.

"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly.

Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...

But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise.

Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out."

He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.

As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.

A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.

As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.

Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."

I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."

Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."

He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.

"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."

I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."

Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."

We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.

I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.

Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.

The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.

Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.

His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore.

"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.

Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.

"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.

My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.

Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.

Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.

Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”

As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.

Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.

"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."

He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.

I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.

"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.

Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .

"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me.

My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.

"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts.

I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.

My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.

My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.

"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."

I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.

My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.

And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.

He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.

But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened.

As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."

I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate.

"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."

He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.

"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.

As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.

We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.

I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.

"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.

I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.

"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.

I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."

He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.

My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.

"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.

A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.

Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.

Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago.

“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.

As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.

The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.

Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.

His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.

The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.

I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.

Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.

One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.

I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.

Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.

Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.

"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.

"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."

Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.

“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.

“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”

The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.

I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.

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dudethatsmyundeaduncle · 7 months

Text

DP X DC AU Danny & The Little Dead Girl

(title pending lol, Danny and Curare adventures pt 2!) Pt 1 here My AU art

__________________________________________

Monday comes, as it is won't to do, and Danny has to go to school which means the baby halfa has to come to school too.

" ok, so, one rule for today, big rule, you gotta be quiet in class. Uh-"

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket as their bus hits a pot hole. Sitting right at the front means they catch the momentum first and he has to hold Curaré against his side lest she go flying into the aisle.

A couple voices grumble behind them at the jostling as Danny gets his text to speech open.

" Necessitas ser quieto en clase. ¿Entiendes?" The Google robot lady voice translates for him.

Curaré blinks at him from behind her little paper face mask and looks from the phone to him curiously.

This is the game they've been playing since last night, Danny says something in English robo lady repeats it in Spanish.

Danny doesn't know if Curaré understands how the phone speaks or even that it does but she's giving him her favorite little blank expression so he assumes she gets it. At least, she hasn't really disagreed or disobeyed anything he's asked of her yet so...not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth Danny boy!

School goes well, mostly.

They get through the metal detectors and bag checks at the front entrance just fine. The security guards barely glance at Curaré once they confirm she isn't hiding a Glock or something under her shirt. Which it's kinda sad to know gun control is a cross-dimensional American problem but it's on brand if nothing else Danny thinks.

They get to first period without stopping at Danny's locker and settle down in two desks by the back door. This is Danny's usual spot, well usual as of a month ago, it's mostly empty back here now but Danny used to have a seat partner.

(A seat partner who had a kind of shady tweaker vibe that Danny would have been worried about but that kid went home early one day and never came back so....it's Curaré's seat now.)

The little dead girl looks even littler sat in the desk-chair combo, she can barely see over the top. Danny stacks three dictionaries under her for a boost then he gets her set up with some pencils and paper and the single highlighter he found on the floor his first day here.

Curaré seems vaguely interested in his offerings ,after Danny shows her how to use them to mark the page, and starts creating cautious marks of her own.

She keeps glancing back up at Danny as if to confirm that this is still fine? And he nods his head every time trying to be encouraging as it becomes obvious that nobody taught this kid to write inside Fosters Home for Real life Assassins. Which Danny thinks is poor planning on there part because really? If your Assassin can't write how the fuck were they supposed to leave ominous threatening warnings? Or fake suicide notes? Or any number of written props to flesh out a cover story.

Whatever, obviously the assassins raising Curaré sucked ass all around so he can't say he's surprised but he is majorly disappointed.

As the bell rings for first period a whole slew of teens rush in ahead of the teacher Mr. Berk. Simple guy, grey beard, coke bottle glasses, smells like Vics vapor rub, the works.

He's like the most chilled out version of Mr. Lancer ever so he's alright in Danny's books. Plus he only has one "rule", as long as your butt is in your seat by the time he calls your name for attendance he won't mark you late. In Gotham, where everyone and their brother has enough late marks from shitty public transportion to get detention, it's a pretty sweet rule.

So Mr. Berk takes attendance like usual and only pauses on Danny and Curaré in the back for a brief moment.

Curaré stops drawing and stares down Mr. Berk like he's the T rex from Jurassic park. Frozen in place and without breaking eye contact. He stares back at her completely unphased.

" A small visitor then?" He says.

Danny nods. " My sister"

" Mhm" Mr. Berk says already moving on to the next student on his roster.

Danny breathes out huge sigh of relief, that was so much easier then he expected.

They more or less repeat this exchange the whole day. Mondays suck ass because it's one of the only days Danny actually has all 6 periods, but they make it through 1st, 2nd, and nutrition unscathed.

By lunch time Danny thinks they might actually be home free, if no one is gonna bring up the whole freaking child tagging along with him then he can probably just bring her with him everyday.

Maybe he can find her some work books and she can learn the alphabet? And addition? That's like on track for 4 year olds right? Danny can't remember being 4 but that feels right to him. He will educate the child in his care like the responsible almost adult he is. She will go to college!

At lunch Danny sits them at the back of the school right next to the teachers lounge because it's mostly deserted.

In Danny's exprience the best place to hide is in plain sight. He's been sitting here everyday since he enrolled himself and the teachers have never noticed him. Their way too busy trying to get any kind of break from teaching high schoolers to be concerned.Which Danny is greatful for because he has broken the rule about using his cell phone at lunch 50 times at this point.

Listen he has to do universe research when he has access to wifi! Which he only does at school. The administration should be glad he's using his lunch period to educate himself really.

So they eat by the lounge. Danny has Curaré face away from the door so she can take off her face mask and eat unencumbered.The cut on her face is still gnarly, it looks an almost enflamed purple as it tries it's best to heal.

Danny had given Curaré a little immuno-boost with his own ecto the night before to try to speed up her healing factor. But like any Halfa, basically just Danny's personal experience, you have to nourish the ghost half and the human half in equal parts to heal all the way.

It's not until home room, period 6/7, that the metaphorical straw breaks the metaphorical camels back. or the real straw to the metaphorical camel? Did camels even carry straw? where would it go? Between there humps? Not important Fenton!

Home room was a grade A disaster.

Mr. Perez, Danny's kind of ancient home room teacher, who was for almost all intents and purposes blind, had a freaking nose for trouble. It's like he could sniff out vapes and cell phones as soon as they hit the stale class air. Danny thought this would be the easiest class by far, Mr. Perez wouldn't even see Curaré let alone smell her.

And at first it seems like he doesnt, Mr. Perez takes attendance and skips right over Danny and Curaré with no fanfare.

Danny thinks that's the end of it and starts to breathe easy until 15 minutes before the final bell when Mr. Perez' TA asks him to step into the hallway with her for a second.

Danny generally liked Mr. Perez's TA, her name was Sabrina Kahn and she was the kind of girl Jazz would have hung out with.Straight laced, wore argyle cardigans, read books, the smart sort. She looked Jazz's age too, maybe 21ish and she always rolled her eyes when people gave dumb answers in class.

She looks a little embarrassed to be speaking to Danny which immediately sets him on edge.

" It's okay that you brought your little sister today but, I'm sorry, you won't be able to do that again. A bunch of your teachers made complaints with the front office and Mr. Perez got a call about it ..."

Sabrina had always been nice to him and now she was about to ruin his whole week.

" But Ms. Kahn-" Danny started.

She gave him a sympathetic look " Lemme guess, your parents can't take her to work so this was the next best option?"

Danny closed his mouth and nodded, that was actually a much better lie then he was gonna tell, thank you Ms. Kahn. ( But also Boooooo curse you Ms. Kahn!)

" Here, I know it can be hard to find childcare for metas, especially ones as ah-vibrant as your sister. My brother had the same trouble with my nephew."

Sabrina hands Danny a flyer, it's still warm from the printer, it looks like it's just a screenshot of an email.

"Thanks?"

The TA rolls her eyes, wow a lot like Jazz then.

" It's the address to that daycare and a referral. They only take kids by word of mouth, they're kind of... off the books. But their good people! I hope they can help you Danny."

The paper is on off yellow, as Ms.Kahn heads back into homeroom Danny feels all his hope go with her. Shit, what was he gonna do now? He looks through the little glass window in the door to the back where Curaré sits, she's already watching him. He tries to smile at her, be reassuring, he's not sure it works.

......

When the bell finally rings Danny picks Curaré up and puts her on his hip to avoid her being crushed by the rush of high schoolers who stampede out the door in front of them.

The flyer from Ms. Kahn feels like it's burning a hole through his pocket as they ride the bus towards the Narrows.

Danny cased the house from the flyer with maps street view as well as he could. It showed a skinny sublet house across from a small strip mall and laundrymat.

Inconspicuous sure, maybe even innocent looking but well...you could never tell in Gotham, all the buildings looked sort of evil by default. It was probably because of the gargoyles and the general low level stink fog that seemed to always be out.

The big city™ really made Danny miss the suburbs of Amity Park more then just the regular gut wrenching home sickness. Oh what'd he'd give to take a deep breath of air and not inhale the smell of piss when he walked down the street.

They get off the bus at the corner a block from the daycare.

Danny holds Curaré's hand which makes for slow going but seems like the right thing to do. She's never wandered off but Danny didn't want to give her the opportunity to either.

As he helped her climb the three short stairs up to the house Danny was suddenly hit with a wave of panic.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna take care of this freaking Halfa ghost baby for the next 18 years? Im not even an adult! I work weekends at BatBurger for minimum wage WTF?

Danny's hands began to sweat and his stomach cramped. Oh fuck, here was the existential crisis he'd been waiting for since he first decided to take Curaré from the leagues super secret baby basement.

Oh shit he couldn't breathe, what was he gonna do! OH fuck think!

What would jazz do? Call child services and offer psychological support. Not Uber helpful in this case Danny didn't know the first thing about psychology and Gotham CPS was actual prison.

What would Sam do? Assassin babies are hella counter culture but maybe find a cool rich eccentric family to adopt them? Nope, not gonna work Danny only knew one eccentric rich girl and she was a whole dimension away. FUCK THINK FENTON!

What would Tucker do? In this situation ask Google, homeschooling is big these days so maybe if you leave her in the apartment while your gone with an iPad-

" Hey you alright there dude, can I help you?"

Danny choked on the end of his anxiety panic badbadbad spiral and looked up.

The front door to the house was open and just inside the threshold stood a younger teen, maybe 16? With the kind of fade haircut Tucker always whined he couldn't pull off and a bright yellow hoodie.

Danny held his breathe for a moment making sure he felt it burn up his lungs and throat before letting out a big sigh.

" Yeah, yeah sorry kinda zoned out there I'm just uh kinda nervous I was told to come here for Daycare help for my little sister?"

Curaré looked at the stranger in the doorway with the same wide eyed blankness she stared at everything with. Funnily enough she was still holding Danny's hand, had held on through Danny's entire mental meltdown too despite the ecto sweat. Danny felt oddly touched by the gesture, even if it was more likely that the little girl wasn't bothered by his crisis then her being sympathetic.

The teen in the Yellow Hoodie raised an eyebrow at Danny as he fumbled the paper from Ms. Kahn out of his pocket to hand over.

Yellow Hoodie took it and looked between it, him, and Curaré.

" You're not a cop right? You have to tell us if you're a cop"

Danny made a face, " no, I'm not a cop! I would never be a cop, cops suck."

" Right." Yellow Hoodie said still suspicious " So you wouldn't mind if I called your referral up?"

" Be my guest dude."

The teen pulled out his phone and made sure to keep steady eye contact with Danny. Who could do nothing except not look away during this, the world's most impromptu staring contest, until Yellow Hoodie put his phone away.

" Just wanted to see if you were bluffing. Sabrina called earlier said she'd sent someone our way but you can never be too careful. Come on in. "

Danny felt the wind go out of his sails for the second time that day, what was with people and making him anticipate the worst.

.....

The inside of the house was old, homey, but old. It had very obviously been well lived in by a few generations of children, easy to see from the scuffed floors, chipped crown molding, and the sheer number of framed photos that hung on the walls.

There were signs of new life about too, some toys scattered on the floor, walls that were covered in butcher paper and crayon as high as little hands could reach, and oddly enough some scorch marks. Although, Danny's supposed that an unlicensed daycare for meta kids worth it's salt ought to have a least a few burn marks. For posterity if nothing else.

" I'm Duke, I volunteer here when I can but the place is run by the Mariscos, Mrs. Marisco specifically. She's been in the game for a long time" Duke nee yellow hoodie said as he stopped them in front of a closed door.

The hand made sign on the door said Office in nice scribbly lettering and it was hung on with a peg and twine. Real kitschy.

Danny could just make out the sounds of kids playing in another part of the house and was a little impressed that Duke had managed to keep Danny from seeing even one tiny tot during the impromptu house tour.

" I gotta go help Izzy with the kids, this is Mrs.Mariscos' office just knock before you go in, she might be on the phone."

Duke nodded to Danny, smiled down at Curaré and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving Danny and Curaré alone in front of a closed door once again.

Danny looked down at Curaré and she looked up at him, she was characteristically silent.

" This feels like a job interview, did you bring your resume? "

Curaré blinked.

" Yeah, me neither. But I think if we both give her puppy eyes maybe our combined under aged-ness will activate her maternal instincts and she'll be forced to accept us?"

The nerves were back, they had never really left but now they had settled like a rock at the pit of Danny's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on that office door just yet so he fussed over Curaré instead. Kneeling down he straightened the collar of Curaré's hooded jacket and moveed her little backpack strap back up her shoulder where it had slipped.

" We got this. It's you and me now remember, even if this blows and you have to come to school with me for the rest of year it's you and me." Danny rested his hands on little shoulders and hung his head. " Jeez, I sound like my mom"

"No need to be so nervous Mijo! My Chiqis never met a kid she could turn away."

Danny's neck had never snapped up so fast in his life.

Curaré hadn't been looking up at him at all. No, Curaré was staring up towards the elderly woman floating near the ceiling.

Which was not great, because Danny for all the time had spent in Gotham had never seen another ghost. Not a single one.

Which was unsettling on its own but not bad per se, he'd thought maybe this dimension was just different, not enough spectral energy to manifest a ghostly body.

But no, again nope, this was so much worse.

No ghosts was easy enough to reationalize but one ghost? One ghost meant there was enough spectral energy, one ghost meant something was really really wrong with Gotham.

Because if there was only one ghost in a crime ridden pissed off city like this where the shit were all the others?

--------------------------------------------------

Yo! Just wanted to say thank u for all the support on part 1, did not expect people to like or care about it lol. Anyway back on bullshit, I've had this written for a while but didn't have the insp to post it until now.

Might write more, might not, you get one bat cameo for reading this time ur welcome.

Forgot to add this to the first post, it's in the reblogs, but TLDR Curaré is an assassin from batman beyond.

Note: if you wanna see cool art for this AU check the Danny and the little dead girl tag on my blog!

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp #DP x DC #batman #Curaré #batman beyond #duke thomas #danny and the little deadgirl au #i really gotta think of a name for this AU if its gonna be a thing #do i have a plan for this? no no i do not #i have a vague idea about what happens in this universe and no real motivation to write it #batfam

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sleepinghypnos · 7 months

Text

Female Idol/s x Named Character

(You can insert yourself as the Protag…)

Tags: Smut

Genre: Threesome (Kinda?), Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Female Idol x Named Character (Reader), Cum swallowing, Facial.

Red Velvet Joy & Wendy x Han Jin-woo (Protagonist.)

3rd Person’s POV

Han Jin-woo is a mixed, his mother was pure Korean while his father is Italian-American, His parents decided to live in Korea. He was just 12 years old when his whole world came crashing down. His parents, who were his only family, died in a tragic car accident. Suddenly, he found himself alone and without anyone to turn to.

As an orphan, Han Jin-woo was living with their family’s butler in his house. The butler gave Han Jin-woo knowledge he has to know about his parent’s inheritance. Despite the difficult circumstances, he refused to let his past define him. He was determined to become successful and create a better life for himself.

At the age of 18, Jin-woo received a large inheritance from his parents' estate. Most people would have squandered the money on material possessions and luxuries, but Jin-woo had bigger plans. He used the money to start his own business.

With his sharp business acumen and natural leadership skills, Jin-woo's company quickly became one of the most successful in South Korea. By the age of 26, he was the CEO of a powerful company.

Due to his interest in the Entertainment Industry. He had a vision to merge two of the biggest entertainment companies in South Korea, JYP and SM, under one umbrella company. Many thought it was an impossible task, but Jin-woo was determined to make it happen. JYP and SM Entertainment are both facing a huge crisis due to staff negligence, improper management, and backlashes about the songs they produce for their idols. This is the key for Han Jin-woo to devour the entertainment giants.

Through months of intense negotiations and strategic planning, Jin-woo managed to bring JYP and SM together under one company called Deicide Entertainment. The newly formed company became an overnight success, dominating the entertainment industry with its wide range of talents and production capabilities. Jin-woo's name became synonymous with success and his company became a force to be reckoned with.

Not only did Han Jin-woo successfully merge the two companies, but he also revitalized the dying image of idols in JYP and SM, then turn Deicide Entertainment into a multi-faceted media conglomerate that now produces music, dramas, films, and manages some of the biggest names in the industry.

Apart from his business acumen, Han Jin-woo's towering height, chiseled features, and fit physique have also made him a heartthrob in the entertainment industry. His striking looks coupled with his success have made him a desirable figure, and it is no secret that he has had his fair share of romantic encounters. In a society where the personal lives of public figures are heavily scrutinized, Han Jin-woo's sexual activities have sparked controversy and gained him a reputation among his colleagues. However, he remains unapologetic and believes that his personal life has no bearing on his professional capabilities.

2nd Person’s POV (Named Character)

You step into the dimly lit dance practice room, the scent of sweat and determination filling your senses. As the CEO of Deicide Entertainment, you had often visited this place to check in on your artists and make sure everything was running smoothly. Today, you were specifically here to see Red Velvet and their upcoming comeback.

At 28 years old, you had already achieved great success in the entertainment industry. Your company was known for its innovative ideas and with the merging of JYP and SM Entertainment had taken the industry by storm. You were a force to be reckoned with, both in the boardroom and the bedroom.

As you enter the room, you spot the girls of Red Velvet practicing their choreography. They were your top girls, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and excitement at the sight of them. But your focus quickly shifted to two members in particular, Son Seung-wan, or as the world knows her as Wendy and Park Sooyoung also known as Joy.

Wendy was known for her powerful vocals and graceful dancing, but in that moment, all you could see was her glistening with sweat as she moved to the music. Joy on the other hand has seductive voice and charismatic aura. They stopped dancing and took a break. And as if sensing your gaze on them, they greeted you together with the other members.

You couldn't resist any longer, your desire for her taking over. You walk towards to the two people that caught your attention, ignoring the startled looks of the other members.

“Follow me, both of you.” You said and greeted the other members of Red Velvet, the two girls followed you to your office.

“Lock the door.” You calmly said and Joy immediately locked it, you wrap your hands on Wendy.

Wendy doesn't resist, her hands instinctively finding their way to your neck, pulling you down for a passionate kiss. The smell of her sweat and the sound of her breathless moans only fueling your desire. You press her up against the glass window wall in your office, your hands roaming over her body hungrily.

With a smirk, you lean down and whisper in Wendy's ear, “Why don't you suck my cock, Wendy?”

Without any hesitation, Wendy kneels down in front of you, unzipping your pants and pulling out your throbbing shaft. Her eyes widen at the sight of it, “the rumors about you really is true.” Wendy said and she bites her lip in excitement. She wraps her soft lips around your girthy 12 inch cock, sucking and licking it with expert skill.

You groan in pleasure as Wendy's hot mouth engulfs you, her tongue swirling around your head while Joy watches from behind her. When Wendy pulls back for air, Joy takes her place, eagerly taking your cock in her mouth and deep-throating it. They take turns pleasing you, choking and gagging on your massive cock as they moan in ecstasy.

As you reach your peak, Wendy and Joy playfully fight over who gets to swallow your load. In the end, they both get a taste, as you have obscene amount of load, their faces are half-covered and mouths are full, you can't help but chuckle at their competitive nature. As they clean you up.

“Joy, lie on the couch and spread your legs.” And before she knew it, she was lying on the couch with her legs spread, while you knelt in front of her. Joy felt her face flush with embarrassment, but also a sense of excitement.

You wasted no time, as you eagerly began to perform oral pleasure on Joy. Joy couldn't help but let out a loud moan as your skilled tongue worked its magic on her. She had never experienced anything like this before, and it was driving her wild.

As Joy moaned and writhed on the couch, Wendy could only watch in arousal. She wanted to join but she couldn't deny the intense desire that was building up inside her as she watch her group member enjoys herself.

After a few minutes, you pulled away from Joy, leaving her gasping for air, she reached her peak and now quivering. You set your eyes on Wendy, she aroused and horny, since you are generous, she also get the oral pleasure she deserves. Now both of the idols were wasted just by your tongue alone.

But before Joy could even catch her breath for a little longer, you positioned Joy in all fours, she wasn’t ready to take you inside of her. Being considerate, you slowly entered her, and Joy couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy. Wendy's eyes widened in shock as she watched how your cock entered Joy’s pussy.

Your thrusts became faster and more intense, and Joy couldn't contain her pleasure any longer. She was moaning loudly, screaming your name as she reached her peak. “Yes! F-fuck! Fill me, please fill me up! Breed me until I’m bloated.” You followed soon after, both of you collapsing onto the couch in a state of pure bliss. Filling Joy’s womb with your virile seeds.

Wendy is waiting for her turn patiently, you can’t let a woman wait and you lead her to the carpeted floor and she willingly lies down. You look at her, admiring how perfect she looks. You start to undress your top.

As soon as your bodies connect, you feel a shockwave of pleasure course through your entire body. You start to penetrate her slowly, taking your time to make her adjust to your size. Wendy's moans fill the room, and you can't get enough of her. You increase your pace, and she starts to become a wreck under your touch. She loses control, and all that is left is sheer ecstasy.

You are thrusting in and out, letting her feel your weight and muscular physique against her petite body.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the air, along with Wendy's moans and gasps. You can feel her reaching her peak, and with one last powerful thrust, she squirts, making you both gasp in surprise.

“I didn't know you could squirt,” you say, while caressing her face.

“I didn't think I could do it either,” she replies, panting. “I'm filling you up just like what I did to Joy,” you say, referring to one of Red Velvet's other member lying on the couch just happily watching.

Wendy nods, surrendering to the pleasure you are giving her. You continue to pound into her, pushing her to the edge over and over again. As you feel your own release approaching, you thrust deeper and came inside of her filling her to the brim. You pull out and watch as your cum flows out of her.

Joy eagerly uses her mouth to catch it all, making you groan in satisfaction, she shared the cum she collected to Wendy by kissing one another.

“Relay my message to Irene after you met with your co-members later.” You said to the girls still kissing. But they nodded because they already knew what the massage was. It’s Irene’s turn…

A/N: I don't know what to write so here, sorry for ghosting those who wants the continuation of the Bodyguard Series.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fic #wendy smut #joy smut #red velvet smut

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avelera · 3 days

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Ok, I feel like there's three writing concepts that Tumblr needs to get reacquainted with when it comes to understanding fiction:

Catharsis - Sometimes, fiction engages with horrifying, disgusting, painful, or scary concepts in order to bring about a positive experience for the reader. This can be through the hero defeating a disgusting evil, like defeating an abuser for example. One might also get catharsis not out of the defeat of something bad or uncomfortable, but simply from the experience of living it vicariously, such as joy at successfully hiding the body of a murder victim. There are literally countless examples of catharsis in fiction, but most importantly it must be understood, it is completely harmless to real people whether you're experiencing catharsis at something good happening or something bad happening that you get to live vicariously because it is literally fiction. Indeed, there's a lot of evidence that getting to experience catharsis through fiction at evil things, say, living vicariously through a fictional character committing adultery, even if you would never want to cheat on your own partner, actually helps purge the desire to do evil things oneself.

Pleasures of the genre - some genres have expectations that go with them. If you, as a writer, don't include those pleasures, you might turn off the audience. For example, the Western genre has a certain expectation of being set in the 19th c American West. There's usually cowboys and horses involved. If you write a story that's advertised as a "Western" that takes place entirely in a New York City apartment, it might be novel for the genre, but it might also piss off a bunch of readers who were expecting horses. You can do it, obviously, but don't be surprised if readers are confused and perhaps disinterested in the work. More salient to Tumblr perhaps - Marvel believes it is creating action/adventure superhero stories. If a Marvel movie suddenly became a psychological exploration of the internality of a character's relationships, without a single laser beam or fight scene in sight, Marvel expects its audience to be confused and unhappy. We, as fanfic writers and readers might be dying for that story, but that is not the pleasure of the genre that Marvel thinks its audience wants when it walks specifically into a superhero film.

Power Fantasy - this might be one of the most misunderstood or perhaps narrowly applied terms. Yes, sometimes a power fantasy is a 16 year old boy watching a superhero dude with 8 pack abs destroy the bad guy, get the girl, and save the day. Living vicariously through that character is definitely a power fantasy. BUT, a power fantasy can also be fantastical things that the audience wishes would happen in a way that would empower an audience member or make them happy. For example, a billionaire industrialist merchant of death like Tony Stark getting hit by his own weapons and deciding to become a crusader for justice in a way that actually helps normal people is, in fact, an audience power fantasy. We want to believe that if the right bad guy like a billionaire got the right comeuppance like a near-death experience at the hands of their own evils, they'd learn their lesson and become a better person. This is a power fantasy. This is not a thing that actually happens. It's honestly not that different from the power fantasy many gun owners have that if they own a gun, they're more likely to stop a crime in progress with their perfect marksmanship, rather than that they're more likely to kill or be killed by a member of their own family. Understanding the application of power fantasies in terms of good things you hope would happen happening in fiction is not only important for dissecting fiction as an intelligent viewer, it's also important in terms of recognizing when you're being influenced by certain stories and choosing what lesson you take away from it and what lesson (if any) you want to take away from it.

I just feel like these 3 terms are what I see most lacking in a lot of "discourse". Fiction is trying to engender emotion in the audience. Great fiction engenders a wide range of emotions in the viewer, not simply good emotions. Thoughtful fiction might (but not always!) try to impart a lesson. But great fiction can also just want to give you great emotions and make you think outside the usual box of your usual experiences. It's also completely fine for great fiction to just want to give you a great emotion experience like catharsis, or the thrill of a power fantasy. And I really wish these three separate but interrelated concepts were discussed more when it comes to dissecting fiction here on this site.

#fiction #writing #long post #maggie rambles #these are gross oversimplifications in some case but it's already a long post

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evermoredeluxe · 2 months

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How Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Took Over the Entire World

By Chris Willman

By Alissa Gao for Variety

On the morning that Taylor Swift’s “Eras Tour” is about to begin a three-night stand in Dublin, the older gentleman taking charge of my passport at airport customs has clearly had his fill of Swifties, probably processing them by the hundreds already today. When I reveal myself to be one too — despite being arguably the wrong gender, inarguably old and lacking a telltale “Lover” mascara star over my right eye — his disdain is palpable. Suddenly, I’m getting way more screening questions than anyone not on a watch list should. “What do you like about her?” he sneers, peering up over specs.

This is probably the wrong time for me to point out Swift’s Irish heritage, or to assert that she is this generation’s James Joyce. (The original king of the Easter eggs, right?) I wouldn’t really go that far — I’m only on record as doing my best to certify her as this century’s Beatles. Trying to figure out how to answer him, the past 18 years of extolling Swift in print flash before my eyes. I end up murmuring the bare minimum: “Um, her songwriting.” This seems to disturb him further. He snaps back: “Aren’t they all the same song” — a slight pause, and I know what’s coming next — “about her breakups?” Then, abruptly, he stamps me through, sparing me a detour to Interpol for more grilling.

In the cab into town, the driver is blasting a local talk-radio personality sharing his dismay about the fans of an awful superstar taking over his country. The host reads an email sent in from a hater who says, “A year ago, when tickets went on sale, my partner and I made a reservation to take our kids out of the country this Friday morning. … Thank you for creating a safe space with your show.” I start to wonder if Swift might have met her match at the Cliffs of Moher.

But from my drop-off forward, the next three days are like living in a Swift-topia. The mile and a half to Aviva Stadium each night is like Disneyland when it shuts its doors early for an affinity group. Whether stopping in the pubs or walking through the charming neighborhood of Victorian brick homes adjoining the fancy new stadium, there’s that warm feeling of people who are united by one quality: They are all super in touch with their feelings — or else they wouldn’t be Swift fans. And they all are happy to stop on the street or over pints to talk about poetical expression. (Well, except for the occasional taciturn, invariably straight young male who has signified his supportive-plus-one status by wearing a jersey bearing the name of Swift’s Super Bowl beau, Travis Kelce.)

So it is that I end up chatting with a middle-aged gay man in a sequin-covered shirt whose female companion whispers to me, while he steps away to trade friendship bracelets with a 10-year-old girl and her mum, that Swift’s music just helped him through a difficult breakup. The girl then runs off to trade her homemade bracelets with a pair of high-helmeted Dublin policemen loaded up to their own elbows with friendship swag — unexpected accessories for long arms of the law.

All the stories about American Swifties swarming overseas to catch “The Eras Tour” turn out to be true: You couldn’t swing a neon golf club around here without hitting a Yank. Approximately one out of every five fans I approach is visiting from the States — and the jubilation they’re feeling about the night’s impending concert is compounded by the fact that nearly all of them financed a European vacation and a concert ticket for roughly the same amount they would have paid on a secondary ticketing site for a typical four-figure ticket to one of last year’s predatorily repriced U.S. shows.

Remember the venerable stereotype of the Ugly Americans, brusquely trampling over refined Europeans in their travels? Thanks to Taylor Swift, who has a gift for laying out global welcome mats, this is the summer of the Spangly American.

At the stadium on night one, just down the row from me are a group of millennials from New Jersey, several in glam unitards inspired by the “Lover” or “1989” portions of the career-spanning show and looking like they were costumed by Swift’s own designer, with fake jewel-encrusted microphones to match. I ask how many hours went into perfecting these nearly pro-grade outfits.

“About 80 hours for mine,” says Megan McLaughlin. “Hers probably longer,” she adds, nodding toward one of her sisters, Margo Steinberg. “She knows all the glues and the best gems.” Indeed, confirms Steinberg, “I was working on mine since January. And, yes, I did quit my job to finish it!” She adds, when I ask if she cares to share any secrets to a particularly good look, “You have to use the B-7000 glue.” (A third sister, Amelia McLaughlin, admits she resorted to buying her spangly dress off Etsy — “I was doing a PhD, but I had to match these girls’ enthusiasm” — while a fourth, Carolyn McLaughlin, skipped the glitter and went for a red dress that matches Swift’s from the “I Bet You Think About Me” video.)

Certainly, there is an element of cosplay to many of the fans’ outfits. Some have seen footage of the new segment Swift added to the tour beginning in April 2024 — devoted to her most recent album, the 31-song “Tortured Poets Department” — and have managed to manufacture gowns that look like they’re made of paper and feature lyric excerpts printed on them in script, à la Swift’s custom-made Vivienne Westwood dress. I meet a group of American women who became friends as literature majors in college who have “Tortured Poets”-themed outfits, one duplicating the Westwood dress and the other with handmade printouts of the latest album’s lyrics pinned all over her black dress, as if she were literally pulling pages out of Swift’s playbook.

It’s the devotion to lyrics, even more than glitter, that is most impressive about the bespoke outfits fans have concocted for the occasion. There are scores and scores of Swifties wearing homemade T-shirts — sometimes singular, sometimes matching with a friend, like walking Burma-Shave signs. Some of the messages are obvious, like the dozens of laddies wearing “It’s me, hi, I’m the husband/boyfriend/father, it’s me” shirts. (Bet that seemed really original at one time.) But a lot of them refer to more obscure songs or stanzas, as if every nearby street or stadium loge section is full of human Easter eggs, begging to be unpacked. It’s hard to think of any other superstar in the history of stadium tours who could have inspired as much fan-crafted clothing rooted in the power of words.

Combos of middle-aged mothers and their teen or 20-something daughters abound; some of them have seized on Swift’s mentions of her own mother, Andrea, to come up with their T-shirt ideas. On Lansdowne Road, I talk to a mum whose red-on-black shirt says, “Had to listen to all this drama,” accompanied by a daughter bearing the legend, “And here’s to my mama.” (This is a reference to Swift’s song “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”)

Later, in a stadium Guinness line, I chat up a pair of thirsty locals, the daughter’s shirt reading “I call my mom, she said …,” with the mom’s shirt completing the thought: “It was for the best.” (Damn it, I had to Google to recall that’s from a “1989” Vault track that came out last year.) I ask the daughter if she had to explain to her mom what she was wearing. “She’s 52,” she replies. “I don’t think she knows.”

Age is really no guarantor of not getting it — the popular #SwiftieOver50 hashtag on X proves that. Although outnumbered, plenty of older people are unaccompanied by a minor, or by anyone who has been a minor in the past 20 years. I approach a middle-aged couple, Jean Sebastian Conley and Natasha Gagne, again bidden by their matching shirts — “Who’s Taylor Swift?” and “Who’s Travis Kelce?” They turn out to be French Canadians who found their 206-euro SRO tickets to be a steal compared with the extravagant resale prices they briefly considered back home after being shut out of the initial on-sale. I ask what attracted them to Swift since, unlike so many others here, they didn’t grow up with her.

“I really fell in love with her with the ‘Folklore’ album,” Conley says, referring to her low-key Grammy-winning album recorded during the early months of the pandemic. “I think different audiences and older audiences found her through that and ‘Evermore’ because they were more singer-songwriter, a little bit rougher indie music, and that’s what we like most. So that’s how I got hooked.” For her part, Gagne says, “I like everything she represents. And when she redid all her masters, that’s where I thought she was a lady boss.”

It’s a reminder that, for however many mini-narratives Swift packs into the three hours and 20 minutes of an “Eras” show, there are really four or five years of backstory that feed into the audience’s shared awareness. When she sings the ominous ballad “My Tears Ricochet,” accompanied by a coven of stone-faced dancers, at least some fans will understand it as a distant reflection of her very public feelings about the men she considers her business bêtes noires, Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta, who bought and sold (respectively) the rights to her first six albums, spawning much vitriol as well as four “Taylor’s Version” rerecorded albums to date.

When the dancers put their grins back on, Swift plays an ebullient excerpt of a very recent “Poets” bonus track, “So High School,” which every person in the crowd will know is inspired by Kelce. There are some breakup songs of recent vintage too — yes, Mr. Customs Man! — like “The Smallest Man in the World,” which may or may not have cost Matty Healy, the 1975 frontman and former Swift paramour, a night of sleep.

The whole tour is themed around not just the newer records but the rerecordings that have made every older album in her catalog feel improbably fresh. It was, quite possibly, the single most baller move in the history of the record industry … and led to the career-retrospective concept for what is already unquestionably the biggest tour in the history of popular music.

Any discussion of the charms of fandom isn’t meant to forestall discussion of “The Eras Tour” as big business. The numbers are fuzzy because Swift’s camp does not release grosses from her shows, unlike nearly every other artist at the stadium or arena level. Even when the tour wraps after 20 months on Dec. 8 in Vancouver, it seems likely those numbers will continue to be guarded with a zeal on par with the government of North Korea’s. Many industry experts believe the gross will approach or even surpass $2 billion.

What is known for certain — even without a confirmation from Swift World — is that she broke the all-time tour-gross figure when she hit the $1 billion mark, whenever exactly that might have been. The two trade publications that specialize in the touring industry have slightly differing estimates: Billboard calculated a cumulative gross of approximately $900 million when she took a break at the end of 2023, figuring that she would crack $1 billion shortly into the tour’s resumption in April, while Pollstar estimated that she had passed $1 billion by the conclusion of last year. Any way you guesstimate it, Swift took less than a year to break the previous record of $939.1 million, which Elton John grossed with his “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour across nearly three years of shows.

One source close to the production said early in the “Eras Tour” era that her average gross each night is $14 million. Others believe that is a highly conservative estimate, with a possible total that on at least some nights edges closer to $17 million. One remarkable aspect is that this does not include the revenue from any inflated resale tickets — which, as anyone who has tried to get tickets through Vivid Seats or StubHub knows, mostly have gone for several times their face value. It was little publicized, but Swift had “dynamic pricing” turned off for her ticket sales, possibly to avoid the controversies Bruce Springsteen encountered when the face value on some of his tickets leaped to the four-figure range upon their first sale. Swift left money on the table by not participating in the scalping of her own tickets, which had an average price of around $230 and topped out at $499, excepting VIP packages, which zenithed at $899 — all well short of what some other superstars ask nowadays. Of course, neither Argentina nor anyone at Wembley Stadium ahead of Swift’s opening night performance in June will be crying for her when she’s in reach of $2 billion without the resale inflation … not to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars in merch.

(This is extraordinary also because Swift hasn’t done any press to promote the tour, except for when she was selected as Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in December. But she doesn’t need to — the tour is constantly being celebrated on social media with every outfit change. And it’s also become so huge, it’s featured more A-list sightings than the Oscars, from Julia Roberts to Tom Cruise to Stevie Nicks, who had the surprise song “You’re on Your Own, Kid” dedicated to her in Dublin.)

Benson Boone, whose “Beautiful Things” is the most-streamed song of 2024 in the U.S. and the world, says he felt dwarfed when performing as the opening act at one of Swift’s seven shows at London’s Wembley Stadium. He has forever committed to memory the exact attendance figure he was given for the night: “89,497,” he says. “Just her stage alone is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen — 300 feet of it!” he says. “I took in every moment. It was cool for me to experience another artist’s world and learn from it. I want to work that hard and be the captain of my ship.”

Although it’s maddening to a media that likes official box office reports and can’t get them, it’s easy to see the wisdom in not flaunting those figures if you’re a superstar artist who counts on being seen as relatable. Swift certainly is proud of breaking records — she posted a tweet when “The Tortured Poets Department” spent its first 12 weeks at No. 1 on the album chart, one of only three albums in history to do so. But she’d rather count fan impressions than dollars. By the same token, she doesn’t publicize or confirm acts of generosity that leak out, like the sizable food-bank donations she makes in every city she tours, or the $100,000 bonuses that the tour’s 50 truck drivers reportedly got for Christmas.

An addendum to all this is how the “Eras Tour” film — released last fall, less than halfway through the actual tour — grossed just over $180 million domestically and $261 million globally, beating the records set by Justin Bieber’s concert film in the U.S. and Michael Jackson’s globally. Massive big-screen spoilers only heightened, rather than diminished, resale demand for the shows yet to come on the 152-date tour and helped precipitate the movement among Americans to head overseas, to make up for the supply found sorely lacking at home.

“She is the torchbearer for the live industry,” says Andy Gensler, editor of Pollstar. “It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before, and it’ll be a long time before we see it again. Her timing was exquisite: The pandemic created this yearning and hunger for live entertainment like nothing else in our history, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to go out.” Pollstar called last year a “historic golden age” for touring, as the top 100 global tours collectively surpassed $9 billion — up 46% from 2022 — with Swift obviously contributing a significant chunk of that total. (This year, the trade reports that overall tour attendance is down, with flat grosses, representing a slight reckoning for the live industry that, obviously, isn’t impacting “Eras.”)

“What my partners and I talk a lot about is how it’s one thing to have a big tour in North America. It’s another thing to have an equally big tour wherever you are in the world and to do doubles and triples in these markets,” says Bernie Cahill, an Activist founding partner and manager of acts including the Grateful Dead and the Lumineers. “It’s an anomaly. It’s not normal. And don’t forget, you’re going into what I call asymmetric venues, which are venues that are not really built for music; these are venues that are built for football games or soccer games and can be very challenging to do music. And they get it right every time — Louis Messina [Swift’s tour promoter since her earliest days] and his team are world-class.” But for all that globe-trotting, he notes, “there are some artists that you see do a show and you know they don’t even know what city they’re in. I always feel like Taylor knows exactly where she is. She has a relationship with that city or that market and those fans and she’s connected to them in ways that are very authentic, that you can’t fake.”

The one big snafu in the rollout of “The Eras Tour” occurred in November 2022 when the Ticketmaster system melted down after too many North American dates went on sale at once, causing thousands of fans to experience long delays. The on-sale broke the all-time record for tickets sold in a single day at 2 million, but it also nearly broke the world’s largest ticketing platform. Swift herself was Teflon in this situation, as the blame fell on a ticketing system not capable of handling so much of the Swift-loving world at once. And although most of the problems people have with Ticketmaster are different from what fans faced in the “Eras Tour” debacle — mainly, hidden fees and monopolistic practices — it could have big legislative consequences anyway. Dean Budnick, co-author of “Ticket Masters: The Rise of the Concert Industry and How the Public Got Scalped,” believes that the Swift hullabaloo was the main catalyst for Congress enacting reform. “There’s no question that perhaps there’s gonna be some meaningful change in ticketing as a result of what people experienced with that on-sale.”

That sense Cahill spoke about of the singer making it clear to an audience she knows exactly where she’s at is in full force in Dublin. Swift introduces the “Folklore”/”Evermore” segment by suggesting that she had a spiritual locale in mind when she started writing that more intimate material, locked in during the first part of the pandemic. “It keeps me up at night all year long: Which era is the most Irish?” she half-jokes to the crowd. “I’m gonna make a case for it being ‘Folklore’ … This album’s imaginary world had a whole aesthetic — like I lived in this cabin in a really green, nature-y, moss-covered landscape. You see where I’m going?… Another thing that I think makes it more Irish than the other eras is, ‘Folklore’ was all about storytelling. And I know you hear this a lot, but you guys are naturally gifted storytellers, right?”

Later on, Swift will cement the local connection by playing, as a “secret” surprise acoustic song, “Sweet Nothing.” She doesn’t have to give the crowd any explanation for that: From the first notes, Irish Swifties will immediately recall that the lyrics reference to the coastal town of Wicklow. The real cherry on top of the show for locals at any international Eras Tour stop, though, comes with a customized moment each night during “We Are Never Getting Back Together” when the spotlight is put on backing dancer Kameron Saunders for a couple of seconds, as he blurts out something locally appropriate, and cheeky. One night in Dublin, it’s the Irish catchphrase “the neck of ye!”; on another, he yells out “pog mo thoin,” meaning “kiss my ass!”; the massive, knowing laugh that inside joke gets makes it clear this isn’t entirely an audience of American tourists after all.

But the basic theatrics and emotional currents remain consistent from show to show. If Swift is surprisingly reticent to make her “Eras Tour” numbers public, that may be, in part, her desire to keep the focus primarily on a personal fan connection. Music industry veterans are taken aback by Swift’s ability to be giant and intimate onstage. “She’s a master marketer of herself — and she is not afraid to be vulnerable to her fans,” says Michele Bernstein, who runs a consultancy that works with stars like Drake. Bernstein could almost be quoting the lyrics of “Mastermind,” where Swift describes herself in almost comically omniscient terms, then dives into a bridge about how no one would play with her as a little girl.

People like my guardian of the customs gate may complain about Swift’s songs centering on her romantic splits, but that subject matter magnifies her own insecurities and weaknesses, expressed in genuinely eccentric wordplay, in ways that keep the audience in thrall to someone they perceive as a humble underdog as well as a veritable cage fighter. She could do a $10 billion tour someday and still keep the crowd enraptured by how she measures up to, or rallies to exceed, the smallest man — or men, or Kardashians — in the world.

This plays out in the “Eras” show in all sorts of symbolic ways, like the new segment in the “Tortured Poets” section where she seems to have fainted from the vapors of failed romance. Dancers in tuxedos try to revive her while a swing version of “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” plays over the PA. A pair of women dressed as nurses fit her with what looks like a majorette’s uniform — or, with all its off-white stripes, is it really meant to resemble a straitjacket? The resemblance is probably not coincidental. Swift fans know there’s nothing like a mad woman.

The most exhilarating moment that has been added to the show this year has her gliding down the ramp on a platform, appearing to anyone at floor level like she is levitating like the witch she makes herself out to be in “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” Taylor Swift: She was Agatha all along!

Yes, there is much to unpack. But in Dublin and in every other city where “Eras” has alighted, there is also pure inspiration for those who maybe haven’t always felt like they’ve had a voice, whether it’s her LGBTQ+ fan base or, well, women. It’s a modern transmutation of Beatlemania in which Swift manages to be all four Fabs, and a mirror, as well as object, of that gaze. You don’t have to be a woman to experience the explosion of pure female joy that takes place on a mass scale at an “Eras” gig, but for men, it doesn’t hurt to have a healthy sense of where you might sit on the female spectrum.

Outside Aviva Stadium, two young Londoners have formed their own two-woman straight-gay alliance: One is wearing a shirt with the hand- drawn words “You’re obsessive and crazy,” and the other’s shirt has the phrase “You’re gay,” each with an arrow pointing to the other. This echoes the original lyrics to Swift’s 2006 oldie “Picture to Burn,” which was rerecorded after some were offended by “gay” as a possible teen epithet. “I am obsessive and crazy, and she is gay,” laughs Zoe Gibson, pointing to her friend, India Day. “We want to bring back the original lyrics. We never found them homophobic — we want to reclaim it.” Day adds, “We’ve listened to her since we were 4 years old, so obviously there’s the nostalgia factor. But for me, she speaks on quite a lot of issues like gay rights and feminism, and all of her songs perfectly sum up the experience of being a woman.”

Some of the shirts are apropos for Pride Month. Seeing a boy of no older than 15 or 16 wearing a homemade “But Daddy I Love Him” shirt (the title of a “Tortured Poets” fan favorite), it’s easy to imagine some courage was required to don that apparel. Along the same lines, I spot any number of women making their own statement in shirts with the modified exclamation “But Daddy I Love Her.”

Gay or straight, 6 years old or 60-something, female or just female-allied, the crowd inside gets its sway on early in the show, with the arrival of the gentle, waltz-time “Lover.” It’s not one of the big set-pieces of this nonstop Broadway-style production — the spotlight is just on Swift and her acoustic guitar — but it might be the one where the entire audience feels like it’s at a four-minute campfire. No wicked witchiness here, just winsomeness.

Down on the floor, I’m seeing what amounts to a Taylor Swift mosh pit: gangs of two or three or five young women, ignoring the fact that Swift herself is just yards away from them on the ramp. They’re singing and acting out every last line to each other, as if the superstar isn’t even towering right over them. A waste of their euros? Hardly. Swift will capture their full attention again as the show proceeds, but in the moment, she isn’t just a superstar — she might be the world’s greatest community organizer.

#variety 2024 #variety #eras tour #taylor swift

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