But Also Asking For A Friend: Does Anyone Know Of A Hollywood/celeb RP Where Harry Styles FC Is Available?

Closed starter || @thosemalemuses​

Brooke stood outside the male’s apartment, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Dj, her pimp, had dropped her off outside the male’s door a few minutes ago, telling her he’d be back in two hours. That in itself had shocked her. Zach had paid for an extra hour. Maybe this time he wanted to do more than talk. She didn’t like to guess anymore. People were odd creatures - just when you thought you had them sussed, they would do something to surprise you. Zach was more difficult than most. The blonde couldn’t get a read on him. Not a lot of things intrigued her, but he definitely did. She pressed his doorbell once more, growing a little impatient in the cold night breeze with nothing but a small black dress to keep her warm.

Astrid stared at the door, from the couch. Waiting to see if her visitor would disappear. The knocks sent a dull thud through her skull, each one landing like an unwelcome heartbeat. She knew it was Roman.

Of course, it was Roman. No one else cared enough to physically come to her apartment to check on her.

She hadn't meant to disappear—not really. But the weight of everything had settled in thick, pressing her into the couch, into the mattress, into the silence. Days blurred. Maybe weeks. She couldn't remember the last time she responded to a text.

Another set of knocks. His voice, firm but not unkind. Her fingers curled tight around the edge of a blanket she hadn't realized she dragged from the couch as she made her way over to the door, still not opening it.

Her throat was dry. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked. “what do you want?”

- open to: f / nb (mutuals and non-mutuals) - muse: roman serrano, mid-late twenties, twitch streamer who's just gotten pretty popular, lover boy, golden retriever type of guy. - based on this prompt. feel free to dm me if you'd like to plot !!

knuckles wrapped at his neighbor's door. it's out of the ordinary for roman to have the confidence to go to someone's door unannounced. he's always been the type to shoot a text when he's on his way and usually expected his guests to do the same. he was a private guy. roman couldn't help but worry, though, when his neighbor seemed to stop coming around. he hadn't even seen them at the mailboxes or in passing aside from once or twice and they didn't look good. while he used to hear laughter, talking, and more than one voice. he can only assume that there's been some sort of break up. he hates to think the worst, that the other person is dead, but he hasn't ruled it out. roman sighs and slides down the wall beside their door, sitting down. another three knocks. "i don't care what you look like or if there's cups all over the apartment -- can you just open the door?"

Ruby stared at her phone, biting her lip. She had intended to back off, to put an end to this and redirect her focus. But as she stared at the last message from the guy she liked, the one who had asked her out, her stomach twisted. He had left her on read.

So here she was, sitting in this weird limbo, trying to figure out whether she was just going to sit there and wait around for someone who seemed to be ignoring her—or lean into this playful back-and-forth with King.

She hesitated, staring at the screen. Should I just let it go? she wondered, but she couldn’t ignore how she felt now—how the attention from King, the teasing, the compliments, was almost like a balm for her bruised ego.

text: yep... why'd you ask? text: oh... wow, king, I had no idea you paid that much attention

She paused, her fingers hovering over the screen as she tried to think of a reply. She had always found King attractive, she'd even go as far as to say she had harboured a crush for her neighbour, but she had no idea he also found her attractive -- maybe it was just her body he liked. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened to her ... Still, for some reason, she didn't mind playing along.

text: it was a little red lacey number I was hiding under that dress, actually ;)

he wasn't bothered sending a picture of himself. and in his in way it was kind of like him shooting his shot. he knew he wasn't the most muscular guy, but he also wasn't super skinny and un-defined, he had something going on and not just in his pants region. which he knew she would clock. it didn't help that moments prior she'd sent him a photo and it prompted a reaction.

text: so that.. lingerie, is that what you have on now?

he wasn't quite sure what he was doing at this point but he was just completely rolling with it.

text: could imagine you hiding that little set underneath that dress you wore the other day. the one that hugs your curves and makes your legs look really long.

was he trying to sext with her right now? well, he hoped she'd take the compliments because he meant it, she was gorgeous and the dress he remembered IS incredible with her body, so it's not like he was wrong.

Kai watched her leave the set with a smirk, half-amused, half-pushing down his own reaction to the tension between them. He leaned back slightly, eyes following her movements, but he made no move to approach. She’d made herself clear, hadn’t she? He knew exactly what she meant when she said she wasn’t playing games, but the challenge of keeping his hands to himself was something else entirely.

He followed her retreat with a cool smile, stepping away from the set but not leaving her too far behind. He wasn’t going to make things harder for her, not right away anyway.

When she returned to the dressing area and poured herself a drink, he let the silence stretch for a beat, just long enough to make it uncomfortable. "You’re going to have to calm down eventually," Kai’s voice was low, smooth as ever, as he leaned against the doorframe, watching her. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, knowing she felt the heat from him too.

"This set’s about chemistry, right? You want me to act like I don’t already know exactly how to push all your buttons?" He pushed off the doorframe, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her, the hint of something more dangerous simmering in his tone.

"i swear.. if you do anything to mess this up.. kai, i'm serious this is important to me." she gave him a bemused tilt of her head as she smoothed her hair and ruffled the ends that had been curled. there was a coordinator on the set to put kai and pia in their first positions which had to be with pia practically in his lap.

of course any position she was going to end up in was going to remind her of the nights prior where they spent hours making eachother feel incredible. even slipping into his lap and trying to muster up some chemistry like they hadn't already met she could already hear his moans replaying in her head on a loop.

after a few minutes she was a bit stuck, because she couldn't continue anymore. "can i take five? sorry." luckily the photographer was quite understanding and pia wondered back to her dressing area to drink some water. already in a jug for her with ice and lemon she poured herself one filled to the brin as she felt like her body was on fire.

Open to || females only Muse: Casey. 23-27 . straight. he/him pronouns Connection: friends, fwb, anything along these lines

Casey wiped the blood from his lip, the taste of copper metallic in his mouth. He knew he couldn't stay. Not this time. His dad had gone too far. They'd been in fights before -- Casey had experienced broken bones from his father's wrath, but something in the way his dad had looked at him tonight, eyes blazing with a fury that made Casey's skin crawl, was different. His dad had even reached for the knife off of the kitchen table. Casey was sure he'd only been saved because of the knock at the door. He needed to get out, get far away. He thought of his friend, her bright smile and the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. He'd insisted they were just friends, afraid of admitting the truth. But now, with his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach twisting with fear, he knew he had to tell her. "I need you. I need to get away, and I need you to come with me." He didn't know if she'd say yes, but he had to try. The thought of staying, of facing his dad's wrath again, was unbearable.

ofblcssxms​:

Mollie couldn’t help but laugh in response to his comment, arching a brow in suspicion as she peered toward him through narrowed eyes. “So it seems the lies just keep flowing.” She teased, laughing lightly once again. It was rare that she wasn’t laughing when she was with Asher, in all honesty. The two of them just got along so well that it proved difficult to be anything other than happy in his presence. Hence, why he was her first port of call should she ever have any down days. Mollie pouted as he continued on with the affectionate speech. “Stop!” She elongated the word in a childlike manner, covering her face with both of her hands adorably, in hope of hiding just how crimson her face had turned. Turning on her heel, Mollie then wandered further into the apartment before then stopping peering back toward Asher. She could tell his comment had been a buffer, a way for her to leave the subject of his arrival alone, and she had no problems in doing that. Honestly.. Mollie was just happy he was there. “I see how it is. You have no problems spooning me when we’re drunk but when we’re sober its a whole other story. I see.” The girl teased, pouting once again. 

Asher puffed his chest out as he acted shocked. “How very dare you! I can’t believe you continue to accuse me like this. I’m appalled, I really am.” He replied scoffing as he shook his head, trying to keep the smile off his face. A warm feeling settled within him, already feeling better now he was in Mollie’s presence. Things were always just so easy with them. The male laughed as she covered her face, complaining. Her embarrassment just made things even more fun. “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to tell you how much I care about you. C’mon, give me a hug, bestie.” Asher teased, laughing as he followed her further into the apartment before leaping forward, trapping her in his arms as he hugged her tightly. “I mean, I suppose I could let you share the bed with me, but only if I can be the little spoon.” He joked with a wink. 

"No, of course we aren't. I'm mortified that you've even brought it up. Now I'm going to need to sell my house, move country and find a cave to live the rest of my days alone." The blonde joked, a red hue spreading warmth across her cheeks. "Just some new guy I met at a club if you must know."

˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ . open starter: to all ˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

♡ muse: andres ortiz. early-twenties.  ♡ plot: y/m accidentally sent andres their n*des, days later he's bringing it up

"are we really not going to talk about it?" brows quirks as light chuckles falls from lips. leaning in closely towards the other, "it definitely wasn't meant for me, who was it for?"

Who : closed | @amoonlitmemory​ Where : Home When : September 1940 “My leave won’t last forever, y’know? As soon as I’ve healed enough and finished my physio, they’re going to send me back.” Alex broke the silence, keeping his eyes down not wanting to meet their gaze.

Jeyda’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like amusement laced with warning. He took in the fire in Rowan’s eyes, the rigid set of her shoulders. Defiance suited her. A shame it wouldn’t serve her well.

"You wound me, Rowan," he murmured, voice smooth, unbothered. He plucked the champagne flute from her hand, deliberately brushing his fingers against hers, and took a slow sip before handing it back. "I’d at least hoped for a 'darling' before the insults began."

But his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. Beneath the cold exterior was something else—something bitter, something resentful. He glanced around the ballroom, at the watching eyes, at the silent puppeteers who had sealed their fates. His father’s presence lingered like a ghost, unseen but suffocating.

Then, just for show—because they were always performing—he took her hand and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles. His lips barely grazed her skin, but the gesture was enough to earn approving nods from the men who had dictated their futures.

When he looked at her again, his steel-grey eyes were unreadable. "Smile, Rowan," he said, his voice quiet, almost taunting. "The audience is watching."

Closed starter for @littledaydreamers based on this

The champagne flute felt fragile in Rowan's grip, threatening to shatter under the pressure of her clenched hand. The forced smiles, the platitudes about unity, the goddamn wedding cake – it was all a grotesque charade. She caught her father's eye across the crowded ballroom. Sal Price, a man who thrived on fear and intimidation, gave her a curt nod, a silent reminder of what was at stake. Her life, her freedom, her family's future, and more importantly the life of her brothers. Of course she'd never tell Brax the real reason why she'd agreed to follow along with their father's orders, the whole point of this was to avoid the blood shed.

She took a large gulp of champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the burning resentment in her throat. Tonight, she was a pawn. A sacrifice on the altar of peace. Peace bought with her misery. A shadow fell across her.

She lifted her head and met the cold, steel-gray eyes of Jeyda Arslan, her soon-to-be husband, her captor. "Arslan," she spat, the word dripping with venom. "Or should I call you husband? The thought makes me want to vomit."

Spencer can’t look at him. He knows he should, knows Miguel deserves at least that much, but it’s too hard. If he looks, he’ll see the frustration, the disappointment, the hurt—and Spencer isn’t sure he can handle that. Not from him.

So he stares at the floor instead, at the scuffed-up toes of his sneakers, at the way his fingers twitch uselessly at his sides. He wants to shove them into his pockets, but that would make it too obvious how bad they’re shaking.

“I tried,” he says finally, voice quieter than he wants it to be. “I— I did. I asked, and he said no. Told me to get out.” His throat feels tight, but he swallows past it, grips the hem of his hoodie like it’ll hold him together. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

It’s not enough. He knows it’s not enough. But it’s all he has.

He can feel Miguel waiting, expecting something more, but Spencer doesn’t have the right words. The truth is tangled in his throat, too raw, too ugly. He knows what Miguel must be thinking—that he should’ve planned better, that he should’ve just called and asked for more time, that it’s that simple.

But it’s not. It never was.

“I can’t call him.” The words slip out before he can stop them, too sharp, too fast, and he immediately regrets how defensive they sound. He clears his throat and forces himself to steady. “It’s not that simple.”

The weight of it settles heavily in his chest, but he doesn’t let it linger. He can’t. He won’t. He forces a shrug like it doesn’t matter, like it’s all in the past, and he’s fine now. “It doesn’t matter. He’d just say no again anyway.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. Because the truth is, Spencer is terrified to call him. Just the thought of hearing his voice again makes his stomach twist. He doesn’t want to give him any reason to think he still has power over him, doesn’t want to hear the way his name would curl like a warning in his mouth.

So, no. He can’t call. But he won’t say that, won’t give Miguel a reason to look at him like he’s something fragile.

Instead, he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Look, I just—I just need a place to crash for a couple days. I’ll figure something out, I swear. I just—” His voice catches, and he hates it. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He won’t go back to his parents. That was never an option. Not after they told him he wasn’t their son anymore. Not after they looked at him like he was something shameful.

He's already concerned about the fact that Spencer can't quite look him in the eye, though he supposes having to come running back to your ex with your tail tucked between your legs would be kinda humiliating for anyone. And, to be fair, Miguel never expected this------- he'd assumed that Spencer had washed his hands of their entire relationship, even after agreeing to be friends later when they'd broken up. Miguel couldn't deny how badly the sudden disappearance (and knowing that Spence left him for better) had hurt, but eventually, he pretended that it was all for the best, just to snuff out any lingering hope for them. So, of course he didn't know all the right words to say the moment Spencer resurfaced out of goddamn nowhere, homeless and seemingly helpless. "Yeah, you say no," Miguel snaps like it's fucking obvious what should've been done, "you say no so you have enough time to look for a new apartment. Call his ass up and tell him you need more time."