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hyypnotix-writes · 9 months

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Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.

One perfect night.

That’s all it took.

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since.

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.

It's not that you haven’t tried.

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right?

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you.

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.

It was just one night.

It was one perfect night.

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.

“What?”

Oh ..maybe she is!

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?”

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?”

“Do you find every woman attractive?”

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?”

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?”

“No. Not once. Why?”

“Never ever?”

“Y/N!”

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.

“About women?” She queries.

“About ..why women. What it is about them.”

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.

“Stop doing that!”

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!”

“I need your help.”

“I don’t care!”

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.

“Nothing. I was just—”

“Thinking about women?”

“No!”

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.

“Why? For a man?”

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.”

“..and ..was it?”

“Mhmm.”

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.

“Y/N?”

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?”

See what I mean? What the hell?

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.

Did you?

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?”

“..we broke up.”

Shit. She would make this all about herself.

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.”

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.”

“Well, thank fuck for that!”

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!”

“She was horrible!”

“You could’ve said.”

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.”

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?”

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.

“Where are you going in Spain?”

“Barcelona.”

“Why?”

“Football.”

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.”

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.”

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.”

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.”

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.”

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.

But what if it’s a sign?

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.

“You’re still going with that?”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.”

“I hadn’t met her before.”

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.”

“I don’t mind doing that.”

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh.

What’s the worst that can happen?

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.

Mm.

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.”

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.”

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects.

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.

It’s her. It has to be her.

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

“….Hi.”

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from.

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.”

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?”

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.”

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.

“What are you doing here?” She questions.

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face.

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck.

“Mhmm.”

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.”

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare?

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?”

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.”

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.

Alexia.

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again.

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it.

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else?

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.”

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.”

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?”

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?”

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.”

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”

“Uh oh!”

“What?”

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..”

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.”

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!”

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.”

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!”

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.”

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.”

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?”

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?”

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?”

“Hm?”

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—”

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.

“I really missed you too.”

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other.

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit!

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head.

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.”

“Just don’t let her burn it!”

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.”

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her.

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.

“Long day?” You ask.

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?”

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm.

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.

“I was given it.”

“By?”

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.”

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.

“What do you mean?”

“Going for the best player on the team.”

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.

“..What do you mean?”

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible.

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.

No.

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you.

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.

“Who is Alexia Putellas?”

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.”

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele.

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all.

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.

She really is absolutely everything.

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!”

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.

“You can’t wear it!”

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.”

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?”

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.”

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

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cheriladycl01 · 5 months

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I cant do this anymore - George Russell x Wolff! Reader P2

Plot: You are the daughter of Toto Wolff team principle of Mercedes-AMG Petronius, you’ve worked your whole life to become an Engineer. However, your dad has other ideas for you and doesn’t want you to become a race engineer. You start to confide more in the Red Bull racing Team Principle to help you get an engineering job, and see him as a present father figure.

A/N hope you guys eat this up

Credit to russellius for the GIF

“Max, hey bud” Charles says walking up to Max, patting him on the back. The group formed around Sergio, Dani and Max. All of them wanting to know why Y/N was in the Red Bull garage.

“Hello Charles” Max smiles taking a long sip from his team water bottle.

“So why was mini Wolff sneaking around here, is she with one of you, well more likely Sunshine Boy over here?” Alex asks, hoping for his prediction to be right, obviously thinking Dani to be the most likely choice considering both Max and Sergio were off the market.

“Unfortunately no” Dani sighs dramatically leaning against the wall.

“One of your fine engineers then maybe?” He adds, he wanted to be right. Lily and Y/N were close friends and Lily had admitted that she had been acting strange for the last few months. Kind of like when she has a secret new boyfriend who she thinks her dad won’t approve off, just slightly different. He trusted Lily on her judgements and didn’t think she’d be wrong.

“No, not that we are aware of” Sergio admits, looking between Max and Dani to see if any of them had anything else to admit, but they both kept quiet. George and Lando looked between each other, wondering why else she would be here.

“Well I’m sure Toto won’t mind me telling him his daughter was nearing around the Red Bull garage” George admits, a scowl on his face.

“Don’t tell him” Max says, his husky voice deepening, glaring back at George.

“You can’t stop me, he’s my team principle. I can tell him anything” George retorts, George had a crush on you for back in his Williams days, and the minute he moved closer to you in Mercedes it was even more prominent. Toto had learned of this and forbid him from ever actually doing anything about his feelings for you. So anything that affected you, or something that was a suspected harm to you George would for sure be all over trying to help you.

“Look, if you don’t want to hurt her… like we all know you don’t. Then you won’t stay anything alright” Max says getting all up close to George, before tapping shoulders as he walks off into the hospitality of Red Bull. Sergio and Daniel follow after him leaving the four confused at Max’s odd words.

“What the hell was that about” Lando asks, he knew Max struggled with his anger but there wasn’t exactly anything to be angry about. Lando knew Y/N they were very very close. So the fact that all of this was going on was making his head spin.

“I have no clue, but I think we should talk to her” Alex admitted.

“She isn’t going to talk to us though, not with the way she ran off today” Charles offers.

“This is a job for Lily and Alex” Alex admits knowing how close the three girls were. In their free time on race weekends they’d all go for lunch and out for shopping and often had girlie spa vacations together.

Thursday came around very quickly, and you’d made your way to the Red Bull garage in the early hours of the morning, Christian had been there waiting for you and handed you the team shirt that you would wear while you worked here. You guys had joked about potentially making a campfire so that you could burn your Mercedes gear, but Christian said that that was going a little bit too far.

Now it was halfway through the day, and all the team principles were in a meeting, one that was being held on media day by Sky Sports.

“So Christian have you managed to find anyone to be Max's race engineer for this race that is up to the standard of his last who will be out for a long period of time" Martin Bundle asks.

"We have in fact, are we allowed to have her come up on stage for introductions?" he asks pulling his mic a little closer to him.

"Oh woah, how does Max feel about having a female engineer?" a random reporter from the back shouts, making Christian frown at the question.

"Well, he is sad to see his current engineer go as they have been together for a while now, but he's very welcoming to the idea of having someone new" Christian says, currently Max's PR manager was trying to get you to go up on stage and sit in the seat next to Christian but you pulled your Red Bull cap down, trying to stay as low-key as possibly.

"Y/N come on you have to go there!" she offers trying to get you to go up on stage.

You eventually get pushed up on stage, back to the cameras and the cap completely covering your face. Your head stayed down the whole time before taking your seat.

"Show them" Christian whispers to you, you lift you head up looking at all the reporters in front of you. Camera flashes erupt throughout the room the minute they spot you.

"Is that Y/N Wolff?" One of the reporters asks in shock, making Christian look at you with a proud smile.

"I'm extremely happy and proud to confirm that Y/N Wolff will be joining us as Max Verstappen's engineer until further notice" he beams, pulling you in for a hug.

"Toto? Did you know about this?" Martin asks, looking over to the older male whose face was full of anger, disappointment and betrayal.

"No" he answers bluntly crossing his arms over his chest.

"How do you feel about this?"

"Well, I don't think its good sportsmanship at all, I should have been told about this. I have been betrayed by my own flesh and blood" he sneers looking over at you, your head tilting down.

"And Y/N what made you make this change?"

"Let's just say, Mercedes weren't giving me opportunities, that Red Bull now are" you smile, you stay by Christians side for the rest of the meeting before leaving only to find most of the drivers all waiting for you in a communal area.

"Well done we're proud of you. And i cant wait for testing tomorrow!" Max says pulling you into a hug.

"How could you do this to your dad, he's given you everything" George shouts pushing Max away from her and stepping up to her. Lando and Alex come up either side of him to make sure he doesn't actually do anything to hurt his imagine.

"I - I wasn't happy..." you started but get interrupted by him again.

"What, not happy being a golden child? Not happy being born into wealth and not having too do anything because daddy paid for everything. Not happy that your clothed in designer brands everyday, or that you travel in a private jet all around the world. Is that not enough?" he shouts at her, he kept walking closer and closer to her, backing her up until she was against a wall. All the other drivers followed, Lando even trying to pull George back by his wrist was was flicked off the second there was contact.

"George" Alex starts, not liking how close he was. But with all the commotion and all the shouting, Toto also decided to join the group of drivers surrounding you. Shouting and asking why you'd left Mercedes for Red Bull.

In the state of things your mind couldn't keep up with everything that was being thrown at you, your voice was week as you quality started to beg them to stop. Your hands came up over your ears everything getting too much. Tears were forming in your eyes, and your legs gave out as your back slid down the wall, your shaking form now on the floor.

"EVERYONE BACK UP" you hear as voice shout. Within seconds someone is helping you up, while helping you to walk to the garage.

"Hey hey hey, its okay, its okay" Christian says to you as he holds your shaking body, hugging you tightly to your chest while brushing your hair comfortingly.

"I I" you stutter not not actually be able to breath.

"He shouldn't have said that you, and the others should have done more to stop him. I'm sorry i wasn't there. Max came and got me, I told him to come back here" he explained as you sobbed more into his chest.

The thought of someone who was once your friend turning on you saying such horrible and disgusting things about you, was something you didn't think you'd ever have to experience.

"Maybe he's right though" you said in a small voice.

"No he's not and tomorrow with Max will prove that to you" he smiles, getting up and holding his hand out for her.

Taglist:

Just a reminder I am a minor free or minors do not interact blog, if you are a minor please do not interact!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #george russel imagine #george russel x reader #george russell x you #george russell #george russell imagine #george russell smut

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britany1997 · 1 month

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Fate Yields For No One

Chapter Five

Well y’all, it’s been a month so you know what that means:):) Hope you enjoy the next installment in the series! I can’t wait to show y’all how this fic is going to develop even further!

Poly Lost Boys x Max’s Daughter Reader

Comment to be added to my Taglist for this fic or for all my Lost Boys fics!

FYFNO Masterlist

California, 1986

The boys were too stunned to speak.

Until Paul abruptly broke the silence with a resounding “what the fuck.”

You pulled away from Maria’s embrace when a familiar voice shattered your moment. You sighed, pushing your frustration down and turning to glare at the blond menace.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.

The same feeling you’d had when you’d met Paul a couple weeks ago surged through you once more as you met eyes with each of his friends.

The bleach blond one looked disgusted, almost angry, with his eyes narrowed and his mouth fixed into a sneer.

The curly haired one bit his gloved thumb, his eyes skittered back and forth between you, Maria, and his friends. He bounced, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, practically vibrating.

The dark haired one was unreadable. Your eyes narrowed as you took in his expression. You searched for nervousness, anger, sadness, anything. But his face revealed nothing, it was almost intriguing.

Paul looked broken. His mouth slightly agape and his eyes resembling those of a kicked puppy. Despite his pitiful appearance, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel any remorse.

You reminded yourself that you’d always been entitled to make your own damn choices.

The little utterances of “mine” that broke through their lips meant nothing to you. You had never belonged to anyone but yourself. And you had always been your own to give.

You crossed your arms and scowled, daring them to intrude any further on your time with Maria.

You felt a hand slide along your cheek, turning your head slowly until you were faced with your lover.

“Hey,” she soothed, staring into your eyes with a slightly nervous gaze. You softened immediately.

“It’s getting late, we’re already closed, and it seems like you need to talk this out,” she said gently.

You took her soft hands in your own. “No, please don’t go,” you pleaded, “it’s them who should leave.”

When she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.

“We’re working the night shift together tomorrow,” she reminded you, “figure this out ok? I’ll be here.”

She leaned in to kiss your cheek, “I’ll always be here for you ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered back as you stroked her face softly, causing a blush to rise on her cheeks.

Paul cleared his throat loudly and you shot him a glare that would have peeled paint.

Maria’s hand over yours calmed you down just a bit. She reassured you with a smile before she slipped out the front door.

With Maria gone, you were free to feel the depth of your frustration at the four men before you.

“What do you want?” You grit out through clenched teeth.

Paul threw up his hands, “what is wrong with you?”

Your face flushed red, half with embarrassment, and half with anger. You clenched your fists. Nothing was wrong with you. Something was clearly wrong with him because he couldn’t. take. a hint.

The dark haired vampire shot Paul a look that seemed to reign him in. Then he stepped forward to put himself between you and the three other men.

“I’m Dwayne,” he introduced himself gently, his face still devoid of any emotion.

“Ok,” you spat, “congratulations.”

His mask broke a bit, looking slightly taken aback by your hostility, but he quickly composed himself.

“We just want to talk,” he said, his hands up in a sort of surrender, “let us explain some things to you.”

Your eyes narrowed, and without Maria there to diffuse the situation, your arms crossed again.

“Explain things to me?” You felt rage bubbling up inside you, “what could you possibly have to explain to me?”

Dwayne, to his credit, maintained his calm, collected demeanor. The bleach blond however seemed to be seething behind him.

“It’s hard to know where to start…we’re your-”

“I know.” You cut him off.

“You know?”

“I know what you are, and I know what we are,” you flashed him your fangs.

The four boys couldn’t hide their shock. The bleach blond one pushed past Dwayne to stare you down. “You’re not a human,” he mused.

Dwayne placed a hand on his shoulder, “David…” he warned.

David rolled his shoulder to shove off Dwayne’s hand.

“Listen sweetheart,”

You scowled at the pointed nickname.

“You’re ours,” Paul cringed at David’s words.

“The sooner you get it through your thick head,” David tapped your forehead, causing you to bare your teeth, “the better.”

“Oh fuck,” Paul whispered.

You stared David down, your body shaking slightly in anger. “If you ever fucking touch me again I will rip your head from your shoulders and burn your decapitated body you arrogant asshole,” You hissed.

He hissed back, his fangs on full display.

“David please,” the curly hair vampire begged.

“Marko,” David turned to growl, “I won’t tolerate this kind of insubordination.”

You gripped the edge of the video store desk so hard you thought it might break off.

Dwayne yanked David back by his arm. With the way the bleach blond man glared at the him you thought they might come to blows.

“Do you think you’re helping right now?” Dwayne asked.

David rolled his eyes, “she’s disrespecting me, she’s disrespecting us.” he glared at you.

You scowled back, trying to seem unfazed by his egotistical display.

“Is that what she’s doing?” Dwayne asked, “or is she setting boundaries and making choices you don’t like?”

Your hostile face dissolved to shock. You weren’t expecting that kind of support.

“Love can’t be forced,” Dwayne continued, “you know that, I know you know that.”

David stared at Dwayne before sighing deeply.

You tensed when he moved towards you. “This isn’t over,” he hissed.

You scoffed, “yeah that’s what he said,” you hooked your thumb towards Paul, “I’ll tell you what I told him. It sure seems like it is.”

David’s eyes narrowed but he kept his mouth shut.

“C’mon boys,” he gestured for the men to follow him out of the store.

Dwayne didn’t even glance back as he left.

Marko shot you a longing look, but when you looked away, he sighed before following Dwayne out the door.

Paul lingered. He opened his mouth, only to close it, time after time.

“What do you want?” you scowled.

“We could make you happy,” he said in the softest voice you’d ever heard. “I could make you happy.”

You stared at him, his eyes full of hope and desire.

“If you really want me to be happy…”

He moved closer, hanging on every word you said. His fists clenched at his side, desperate to touch you but holding back.

“Then I need you to leave me alone.”

His face fell, any hope in his eyes had shattered and dissolved.

He turned away, dead heart breaking in his chest.

“Ok,” was all he could muster as he too disappeared from the store.

As soon as he’d slipped from sight, you rushed to the front door to flip the sign from open to closed.

Grateful for the solace that an empty store provided, you slunk to the back room to mull over the events of the night.

You slid down the door until you were seated, head in hands. Part of you wondered if it would be so bad to give in. The Dwayne guy seemed respectful and kind enough, and if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t unattracted to him either.

If you were really honest, you weren’t unattracted to any of them. Except that David asshole.

It wasn’t his face that bothered you, but his abismal attitude. He might as well have been Max Jr.

He didn’t own you. No one fucking did.

Then there was Maria.

Her beautiful face flashed through your mind. She was kind, she was brilliant, she was caring, and you could see yourself falling for her one day.

God you’d had your first kiss with Maria tonight and you were thinking about those possessive vamps?

How could you ever consider trading her in for these four strangers with nothing but some kind of empty ‘claim’ on you.

You sighed.

You couldn’t deny that you’d felt the pull. You blamed your stupid, uncontrollable vampire instincts.

But what was lust, passion, and desire when compared with connection, comfort, and love?

Maria was the one you wanted. You chose her, and you’d do what you had to to keep her.

Whatever it took.

FYFNO Taglist❤️:

@sad-ghost-of-garbage @6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @anna1306 @hypocriticaltypwriter @crustyboypix @kurt-nightcrawler @bitchyexpertprincess @arenpath @lostboys1987girl @vampirefilmlover @dwaynedelight @dwaynesluscioushair @ria-coolgirl @katerinaval @royaltysuite @mack-attack420 @arbesa-mind @fraudfrog @rynsfandomsfun @vxarak @f4iryfxies @chiefdirector @ghostedghostie @its-freaking-bats @solobagginses @warrior-616 @softchonk @walmart-cereal @bloodywickedvamp @mickkmaiden333 @people-are-strange-87 @smut-religiously777 @welcome-to-the-hole @simplyreading96 @blenna3967 @justaspeachy @mihawksdemoness @mad-is-sad @pookiesnatcher @jezabella8 @drascilla @ilikechocolatemilkh @charlotteellis @mommymilkerfanclub @lazygrungekid @buzzybee-26 @sarcastic-sourwolf @cocopuffs1450 @jamie-poopoo @kristel1990 @the-lonely-abyss @hxrror01

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objectheadzine · 11 months

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WELCOME TO THE 10TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE OBJECT HEAD ZINE!

In celebration, the 2024's edition will be a Grab Bag - draw whatever object head you like (so long as it fits the guidelines, see below). In Lieu of a theme, all submissions MUST HAVE ASHLEY (the megaphone mascot) in the piece! Feel free to make him as large or as small as you want in the composition. He can be hanging out with your characters or he can be on a flyer, just so long he's somewhere in the picture! Reference of all his outfits can be found here. But don't feel like you're restricted to his previous outfits. Feel free to dress him up in anything you'd like. Content is also free for whatever! You want to date the lil man? Go for it! You want to tease or go on the attack? Also fine! Ignore him and let him live his life? Sure thing.

ALL submissions will be accepted as long as they fit guidelines and each person has a limit of up to 3 submissions. Submit your pieces to the zine email objectheadzine(@)hotmail(.)com along with the email/website/name you’d like to be credited as. (Feel free to omit emails if that is more comfortable). When you’ve finished your piece(s), you are allowed to post them to your blogs as long as you link back to the zine blog! This will be a DIGITAL ZINE ONLY and will be available free upon completion (donation optional).

The guidelines are as follow:

Illustration-quality works in either digital or traditional mediums. Both colour and b/w acceptable; background required. *BG can be as simple as a pattern or colour block! Avoid utilizing a camera to submit your images, please use a scanner.

The default size will be 6″x9″, 300 dpi (1800px x 2700px) but feel free to go larger or smaller, so long as it follows those proportions. Please work in a vertical format.

For consistency’s sake, keep faces to a minimum (You can have eye(s) or you can have mouth(s) but don’t have both in a humanoid arrangement.)

Ashley, the megaphone head mascot, must be included in your piece. He can be small in the picture or a large factor but he must be included. When submitting, if he is not obvious, please point him out to me. References are found here.

Please go for original characters (or fanart of your friend’s characters) and not so much established object heads (e.g. the popcorn and soda heads from No More).

If you want to include humans, that’s fine as well but keep the ratio of people to object heads 1:1.

Content should be at most PG-13: Romance is fine but after-hours business should not be implied, Blood is fine but no gore. In the end, use your common sense.

Feel free to draw a comic or just an illustration! A comic counts as one submission.

Some facts about Ashley that could help with your piece: He's 5'2", he's of Chinese nationality, he's a TV show host, he's a bubbly, happy-go-lucky kind of guy and he has a Samyoed dog named Cotton!

Note that if a submission does not meet the above guidelines, I will either reject your submission or suggest improvements that would help your piece fulfill them. Please email me at objectheadzine(@)hotmail(.)com if you have any further questions and I’ll do my best to reply promptly. If you do not receive a message from me within a few days, please send it again. Final pieces submitted should be either in PNG or a one layer PSD file format.

Want to share your piece as you're working on them? Come on over to the Object Head Zine discord!

THE DUE DATE FOR SUBMISSIONS IS NOVEMBER 9TH.

#object head #object heads #object head zine #objecthead #objectheads #objectheadzine

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bree-cheesy · 1 year

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His Favorite Girl

Eddie Munson! x fem!reader

Part 2 Part 3

A/N: I know, it’s been a minute, I’m sorry (not really). Haven’t been super motivated to write so hopefully this redeems me a little. I wanted to write something along the lines of Drug Dealer Eddie and innocent-ish reader being his favorite client. I tried to make it filthy to make up for not giving you guys any fics for a minute so please forgive me! It is a bit short, but I’m not sorry lol. I hope y’all think it’s good!!

Credit to @eddiemunsonsource for the gif!

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI OR I WILL MELT YOUR FACES. Sort of maybe friends to lovers. Porn with a little plot. (kissing, dirty talk, rough!eddie, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, slight mean Eddie (calls you a slut once), cock drunk reader, choking, rough p in v, bruises formed, (but good ones if you know what I mean) some aftercare), cuddling at the end, language, drug dealing. No use of Y/N. I think that’s it, let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 1668

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“That’s it, baby…. Just like that, fuck!” Eddie groaned and moaned as your mouth wrapped tight around his cock, sucking him for all he was worth. Lip gloss sliding up and down his shaft. His hand gripping your hair in a tight fist, his head thrown back with his jaw hung open and slack.

---2 hours earlier---

You were Eddie’s favorite buyer. He always gave you a discount and even sometimes gave you it for free. You noticed he’d always give it to you for free if you wore that skirt that made him need to jerk off every time you left his trailer. Tonight was no different at the start. Wearing that little skirt, prancing up to his doorstep, sliding on some more “Bomb Cherry” lip gloss you bought at the mall a few days ago. Knocking you heard a few curses muffled behind the door before it swung open and Eddie was in front of you, holding onto the door frame with a white knuckle grip. He looked sweaty and tense. “Hey, sweetheart. Y-You’re early!”

You smiled up at him, eyes beaming. “Yup! I have a date with Jason tonight and he wants to smoke with me, so I wanted it early.” Eddie couldn’t stop that sinking feeling, but kept a smile on his face.

“Of course,” He opened the door for you to come in. “Come on in.”

He shut the door when you got inside and disappeared down the main hallway. “Should’ve given me some notice, sweetheart. Probably would’ve been a bit more prepared.” He came back into sight with a small plastic baggie.

Eyeing the bag you noticed it was more than usual. “Eddie, that’s too much.” You scrambled for your money in your small coin purse. “I-I only brought a 20… That’s not enough for that.” You looked up at the pretty boy standing tall over you, teeth pressed into your lip.

“Babe, you know you don’t need to pay. Don’t even worry.” He winked at you. “Think of it as a gift for being such a loyal customer.”

You shook your head and dug around for more money. “N-No, I can’t… You’d be losing out on money…” Managing to find another 20, you grabbed his hand and thrusted the two bills into his palm. He rolled his eyes and stuffed the bills in the collar of your tank top.

“Sweetheart, I have half the high school buying from me. I raise prices for them because they’re desperate.” He ran his fingers up the side of your neck, causing chills to go up your body, his thumb lightly rubbing against your jaw. “I promise, giving you free weed is not hurting my business.”

You pouted, opening your mouth to argue, but you gasped softly when he pushed his thumb past your lips, making you shut up. He looked down at you with a hunger you hadn’t seen from him before. It made your knees weak and you almost had to grab onto him for balance.

“But, if you’re so desperate to pay for it, you can do something for me…. Only if you want to of course.” He leaned close to you, pressing you up against him. “Ditch Carver and stay here.” You whimpered and he smiled at you as he felt your tongue press up against his thumb. “Ditch the Jock and stay here so I can show you how you deserve to be treated. You come here in this tight little skirt and it takes so much in me to not bend you over the table and fuck you stupid.” He takes his thumb out of your mouth and drops that hand to the back of your thigh.

“Eddie… please…” You whined softly and pressed more against him.

“Please what, baby?” He leaned in and ran his nose up your neck, starting to guide you to the wall.

“Touch me…” Your voice was a whisper and the words barely came out before he shoved his hand up your skirt and dragged your now soaked panties down your legs just enough to slip his fingers between your folds.

“Fuck, baby… So goddamn wet for me.” His middle finger was at your clit in seconds and you whimpered, falling into his chest as he rubbed it gently. You kissed his neck, sucking softly, wanting to mark him up.

He picked you up and carried you down the hallway towards his room, throwing you on the bed and stripping you of your clothes before he swiped his band t-shirt off. You bit your lip and looked at his inked up chest as he admired your body. Soft skin under his fingers. His thumb running over the small heart stick and poke tattoo on your hip. He grabbed your ankles, roughly pulling you towards him and he dropped to his knees between your legs. Gasping, you instantly grab onto his shoulder, feeling slightly dizzy with pleasure. He kissed softly up your thigh and suddenly bit down, making you squeal and tighten your grip on his shoulders.

“God, you smell so fucking good. Wanna bottle it up and wear it as cologne.” You didn’t get a chance to think before his mouth was fastened to your clit. You cried out and grabbed onto his hair, moaning and bucking into his mouth. He grunted and held onto your thighs with an iron grip that will no doubt leave some bruises. Bruises you’d wear proudly. “So fucking good, baby… So much better than I imagined…”

You looked down at him with a grin, a sudden ego boost flooding your brain. “Y-You’ve imagined this?” Still a little breathless from the nonstop abuse to your pussy by his mouth. He nodded and swirled his tongue around your clit.

“Of course, sweetheart. How could I not. S’fucking pretty everytime you come here. Wanna make you mine, baby…” You moaned at his words and licked your lips. He slipped a finger inside you and curled it just enough to hit that spot that made you melt under his hands. Those big hands you’d imagined wrapped around your throat every night.

“I-I’m yours, Eddie… Promise.” You gasped and felt another finger go inside you. He grinded against his face, the feeling of your orgasm getting so close. Just as you were about to, he stopped and kissed up your body. You whined and he kissed your neck. “Eddie…. Come on, I was so close…”

“I know, baby, but when you cum, it’s gonna be on my cock.” He kissed you hungrily, commanding your lips. You kissed him back and wrapped your legs around his waist. He pulled back and wrapped his hand around your throat before pulling his pants and boxers off. You whined and reached out for his cock, your mouth watering with a sudden need for it. He chuckled and let you up. Your lips instantly attached to it and he groaned, fisting his hand tight in your hair.

“S’it, baby… Just like that, fuck!” He threw his head back as you took him in all the way and gagged on him. He thrusted his hips against your mouth and you moaned around him. Tears filled your eyes from his tip poking the back of your throat and they streamed down your face. He lightly slapped your face and held onto your head with both hands before roughly fucking your face. God, you were in heaven. The need to please Eddie filled your every thought. “Such a good little slut for me. Yeah? You like my cock deep in your throat? F-Fuck…!” He pulled out, letting you get a gasp of air before going right back in. You tapped his thigh a few times, signaling him to stop. He pulled out. “Are you okay?” Sudden worry filled his eyes.

You nodded and laid back on the bed, sniffling softly. “Yeah. I just need you inside me, now…” Whining softly you spread your legs wide for him.

He bit his lip and looked around for a condom before pulling it on. “Fuck, my favorite girl ruined under me… Never thought I’d see this outside my dreams.” He grabbed your neck again and you smiled, loving the feeling of his rings digging into the sensitive skin on your neck. Another bruise you’d wear with pride. “Gonna go in sweetheart, M’kay?” You nodded and he slowly slid inside you, groaning at how tight you were wrapped around him. You moaned and squeezed your eyes shut, getting used to how big he was inside you. He started to thrust in and out, slowly at first, letting you get used to him. After a minute or two, he went fast and rough, wanting to ruin your pussy for every other man. He grunted and groaned, still holding onto your neck. You reached up and dug your nails into his back, no doubt scratching it up. “Mine. You’re mine, now, baby. All mine…! Fuck!” He let go of your neck and leaned his head down, sucking hard on your nipples while fucking you harder.

“Eddie! M’gonna c-cum!” You cried out and came hard around his cock, squirting out as he kept rubbing your clit. You sobbed in pleasure and buried your face in his neck. He groaned and came inside you after a few quick thrusts. You both breathed heavily and he gently pulled out of you, making you hiss at the empty feeling. He threw the condom away and came back to your limp figure on the bed with a wet washcloth to clean you up. He rubbed at your hips.

“Sorry baby, got a little carried away.” He eyed your neck, the red spot forming a bruise matching the ones on your hips. You shook your head and sipped the cold water he gave you.

“S’okay, I like them…” Your voice was scratchy and he smiled at you, kissing you once on the lips before getting in bed with you. You snuggled up to him and shortly fell asleep before he could say anything else.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fics #Smut #friends to lovers smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x fem!reader smut #eddie my love <3

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historicallyaccuratecheese · 3 months

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I know this isn’t very in line with the usual “haha magnus archives worm lady” posts I usually make, but this is very important to me and I want to spread as much awareness as possible.

One of my favorite games of all time is Dead Cells, a fantastic indie roguelike developed by Evil Empire. Recently, it was announced that it’s upcoming 35th update would be the last one for the game. Now, let me start off by saying that on its own, this isn’t what I’m upset about. The fact that Dead Cells has gotten as much support as it has over the years is quite frankly incredible, and 35 updates, most of which have been free and very high quality, is an amazing amount of support. Rather, I am more concerned about the circumstances behind this announcement.

The announcement was…off, for a number of reasons. For one, Update 35 has been in Alpha and Beta on Steam for a while now, and it’s not exactly an update you’d expect the entire game to end on. Still quality, but not exactly a “grand finale.” Also strange was how long it’s been in alpha and beta, as it seems to have been in development hell for over six months. And finally, it’s clear that there was so much more planned for the game. For example, 2023 was said to be the biggest year for the game, and yet we only got two updates. Granted, one of those updates was very big, but not nearly big enough to really live up to the title of “biggest year so far.” By all accounts, it definitely seemed like there was some sort of internal issue that cut the planned lifespan of the game short. If so, that would be very unfortunate, but I would have been willing to accept there was probably nothing that could be done. However, recently some information about what actually happened has shown up, and….yeah I’m pissed.

For those who didn’t know, Dead Cells was originally made by a team named Motion Twin, but after the fourth update, most of the people working on the game left to form their own team, Evil Empire. Evil Empire has developed every update for the game since that split, and yet, they are rarely credited as the makers. Motion Twin is the company that promotes all of the new updates, as if they made them, and unfortunately very few people know which company actually makes the game. Recently, Motion Twin announced a new game called Windblown (proclaiming it was made by the same team as Dead Cells, when it certainly wasn’t), and based on recent interviews with Evil Empire, we learn that Motion Twin pulled the plug on Dead Cells against Evil Empire’s wishes. Evil Empire loved making the game, and planned to continue updating into 2025, expanding the gameplay and lore, yet Motion Twin decided to pull the plug, either to promote Windblown (which if so…why? You can have two games?), or simply out of spite towards Evil Empire, which seems unfortunately possible due to the fact that the devs do not seem to have the best relationship. And to add insult to insult to injury, Motion Twin straight up lied by saying that Dead Cells stopped development because they “don’t want the game to feel bloated”. ….THEY DON’T EVEN MAKE THE GAME WHAT THE HELL?!

So yeah…this is a really terrible situation. Dead Cells is a game that means a lot to me, it’s helped me through some very tough times and there are many other people who hold the game dear to their heart. So please, anything from a simple reblog to making your own posts about the matter goes a long way. Spread awareness about what’s going on. Tell people about how Evil Empire has put so much hard work, love and dedication into the game, and wishes to continue. Tell people about the lies that Motion Twin have been telling. Pressure the two teams into splitting away from each other entirely, so that Dead Cells might get a chance at continuing development. (Be respectful about it though, don’t commit any forms of serious harassment.) It would seriously mean a lot to me and many others, and I would greatly appreciate it :).

#dead cells #indie games #evil empire

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bryngmemoney · 3 months

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✁FASHION FLIRT✃

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

⭑story masterlist link

Writing at the end!!

🪡Chapter Twenty-two: Fraud

You leaned into Megumi’s arm, trying not to laugh as you sat next to each other in the theater. Both of you decided that while you waited for the movie credits to end you’d post just for fun.

“How far do you think is too far with this?” you asked, looking over to see him check his notifications to be filled with Maki, Nobara, and Yuji.

“Honestly, I’m about to cave in, I feel like this is annoying me more than them.”

“I think you made them more mad than annoyed.” You replied, beginning to get up from your seat, standing next to Megumi as you guys grabbed any stuff left behind.

“WE made them mad,” he said while grabbing your hand, leading you to follow him out.

As you two were about to reach the end of the row, a sudden flash of light caught you off guard. You turned in reaction towards it, trying to see where it came from, only to see a head of white hair, with none other than Sukuna next to them. “Fakes!” he shouted, while the other person you now recognized as Uruame held up a phone, most likely also the one used to take the photo. You both just stared back at them, not knowing what to do. That was until Megumi responded with a shush motion, then proceeded to tighten his grip on your hand before he hurried down the steps of the aisles, dragging you with him.

Author’s Note: got caught alr

hope you guys enjoyed!

Taglist below, feel free to comment or dm me to be added!!

TAGLIST

@iridescentrays @gumimegz @maya-maya-56 @mamafly @lunavixia @swissy23 @coltsgf @m00nglad3-mp3 @etsukis @xosren @qtnfer @oengleli @harek89 @y-sabell-a @morgyyyyyyy @getolvr @liliumaraneae @k3lbade @aiieera @dancedancey @get0sfav @chuyasthighs0 @hyssoplampflickers @kpopanimen @sad-darksoul @vivi-loves-penguins @kasumitenbaz @talkingsperm @nymphsdomain @inlovewithlondonn @rzcnlb @enchantingkitty @fuyuzemi @lysaray @ni-ki-ismyluv @renemy @frumira @mixzimi @miralunaela @dreamxiing @p3achiee @anianurst @nishii28 @arguendo @samutoru @hallothankmas @invisible-mori @aiserex @all-in-the-fandoms @milza12

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wereallydobevibing · 2 days

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Oh, the Privilege of Growing Old | Simon Riley x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write you’re ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: None that I can think of, let me know if I missed any, though.

His eyes peel open under the beam of sunlight, which peaked menacingly through the window – Simon’s neck hurts, a crippling pain that came back every few days just to remind him that his youth was long behind him. He didn’t mind the reminder much, it was pesky and painful, but it was a humbling reminder that he’d made it much further than he ever believed he would.

Despite the pain, he cranes his neck to the opposite side of the bed. These days, you often awoke long after him. Simon had always been an awful sleeper, that part of him never left even after retirement; but when you were younger, you often stressed being awake before him; a competition you never won.

With a tilt of his head, there you were – you in all your glory, sleeping soundlessly right beside him. He reckoned it was all the beauty sleep you got that kept you aging well. At the rippling age of seventy-three you had few wrinkles, excluding the smile lines around your eyes that would especially be exaggerated when you beamed up at him, even if you no longer recognized him.

At least, you didn’t recognize him as who he was now.

“[Y/N],” He later called out to you from the kitchen, “Breakfast is ready.”

“I can’t eat right now,” you cried, running around the bedroom with a million things craddled in your hands; hairsprays, makeup. “My husband will be home soon, I need to do my hair!”

Over the many years of you being together, Simon never considered that your day to day activities revolved around him even while he was on deployment. Alzheimer’s would quickly reveal your hidden truth for him, though. At first, he found it endearing how you would unknowingly reenact your younger days, bustling about the house and stressing over decorations and “I need to go buy a new dress for when I get Simon from the airport!”.

No matter what day you thought it was, Simon would relive that day with you, watching you fret over the smallest details; “Oh, this is so cute, but Simon doesn’t like orange!”

He would spend everyday listening to you talk about himself – your smart, strong, loving husband who’d done so many incredible things while serving his country. Your Simon who’d given you three sons and everything else you ever wanted. Simon Riley, who you were so proud of even if he thought lowly of himself. You were just so in love with him.

Overtime, he began to feel his heart ache. He never thought before that maybe you’d spent every minute of every day trying to decipher something as little as whether Simon preferred you in a pale, light shade of purple or a blush, baby pink. He never cared as long as you were still here when he came home. But it seemed that making sure the house was comfortable and that you were dolled up and pretty for him was essential to life for you.

It made him regret back in your twenties, when he’d left you for six months in fear that if he died, you’d be left with the responsibility of cutting all his strings for him. It had broken your heart, and for a time you believed he’d left you for another woman and covered it up with such an excuse, the easiest excuse. He hadn’t ever known another woman after you – he just didn’t want you to live out the rest of your life kneeling over his grave if he died.

He finally gave in and brought you back home when he ran into you in the city, still wearing the wedding ring. When he asked why you would still wear the damn thing, you said, “I took my vows, Simon. I’ll keep them.”

The thought of leaving you never crossed his mind again, even if it was to save you your heartache. Clearly, it would ache whether he was dead or alive when he left you. It took time to fully regain your trust and restore your broken heart, and he didn’t blame you.

You became his motivator, then – the reason to always make it home, if only to protect your mental well-being. The idea of you writhing in pain, sleeping in a cold, empty bed, is what kept him alive all these years, and he swore by it. He would never want that for you.

“[Y/N],” Simon says, now entering the bedroom, watching you lay out all your cosmetics and self-care products.

“Not now,” you huff impatiently, “Simon’s gonna be waiting for me at the airport.”

Simon’s gazing down on you warmly, “Simon will want you to eat, love.”

“Do you even know him enough to say that?” You scowl, “Don’t touch me, he’ll kill you.”

He wants to laugh, but there’s in itch in his brain that reminds him not to. It seemed you were quite . . . fanatical when it came to him. After almost forty years of marriage, you gave him reason every day to love you more, and more, and mor–

“Believe me, love, I know him well,” Simon sets the plate down on your vanity, the one he built for you many years ago. “Eat. You get restless when you’re hungry.”

Simon leans over to kiss the top of your head, and he laughs when you swat him away, angry, saying, “Watch! Just watch when he gets home, you’re done!”

With the empty threat of total destruction hanging over his head, he collapses himself back on the bed and flickers on the TV, a small smile playing at his lips as he watches you out the corner of his eyes.

This lifetime had not been enough time with you. But deep down in his soul, Simon knew he’d find you again in the next.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #john price #john mactavish #kyle garrick

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bcyhoods · 4 months

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could I request [ rest ] sender lays their head on receiver's shoulder and falls asleep there with shy!reader and steeb? 🫶🏼

posting this before the scary lady in my head tells me to delete it! ily thank you for the req <33 | 0.9k gn!reader

“I am not tired, Steve.”

It was a complete lie, and he looked at you with a poorly-concealed grin like he knew it, too. The inside of his cheek is bitten between his molars, lips still curling up at the ends, and it makes you want to sink into the cushions of the loveseat.

Steve never gets enough credit for how observant he is. It really only increases tenfold when it comes to you, so he knew you were sleepy as soon as you crossed the threshold into Nancy’s apartment. He noticed every abnormally slow blink, every stretch and readjustment of your posture, every swallowed-down yawn. He knows you too well.

An arm is thrown over your shoulders as he dips his head to speak quietly into your ear. “Are you sure? ‘Cause we can leave whenever you want.”

When you lean back to look at him, his eyes rake over every feature of your face. The pools of honey make the journey from your lips, across your nose and cheeks, to finally land on your own eyes. Any mischief you thought you’d find in his gaze is replaced by something much sweeter, softer. His arm slithers from its place around your shoulders so that he can cup the back of your neck, gently massaging the knots so that your shoulders relax.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. You can smell the licorice candy still on his tongue.

It almost made you concede. Almost.

While you would’ve loved nothing more than to leave and spend the rest of the evening hidden underneath the covers with Steve, it felt too much like an imposition. It’s only so often that everyone’s free at the same time, you don't really want anyone to suffer at the hands of your lethargy.

And the implication that you were bailing on movie night for other reasons would earn groans and whistles that you don’t think you’d ever live down.

A nervous giggle bubbles up as you push at his chest with your growingly clammy hands. “I promise. I couldn’t be more awake.”

“Really? That true?”

“Mhm.”

He challenges you with a hum of his own, furrowing his brows to look more stern. But that same infectious grin from earlier threatens to crack and spill the fondness underneath the surface. When you nod, with a cute big smile on your face, he’s a goner. He leans over to press a kiss into your hairline and pull you closer into his side before turning back to the tv.

You think he’s given up. It was just one movie, it really wasn’t supposed to be that difficult.

But then his fingers kept brushing shapes and swirls into the exposed skin of your arm. In between the occasional forehead kiss, he’d whisper his commentary into your hair. At some point he’d picked up your legs and thrown them over his lap — something that lit a fire in your chest and had the flames licking your face. Then he’d started scratching your back, caressing your calves.

It was all his fault. Your head just inevitably became too heavy to bear on your own, and now you’re effectively drooling on his shoulder.

Steve is having a really hard time holding in the I told you so that sits so impatiently on the tip of his tongue. But he’s managing. Equal parts because he thinks you’re adorable and because he wants you to be fully cognizant when he says it.

“Baby,” he coos, pushing strands of hair out of your face. A quiet noise of acknowledgement comes from your mouth, but you only push further into his hold. Steve’s face starts to burn at the snickers from the kids that you’re blissfully unaware of. At the moment, anyway. He tries again, “Baby, the movie’s over. Ready to go?”

You stir, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your palms. “Huh?”

“The movie ended.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, still disoriented. It isn’t until you see Robin and Eddie’s smirks of amusement from across the floor that an anchor of embarrassment sinks into your stomach. You lift your head up and immediately wipe at the dampness on the corner of your mouth.

“Good morning,” Steve pokes fun. He tries to rub soothing circles into your back, but it’s entirely too overwhelming, and it makes you move to sit properly and hide in your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. I swear I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I was just so drowsy, and now you have drool on your shirt and it’s…it’s so embarrassing, I'm sorry.”

He chuckles, “Hey, no it’s not.” He decides to double down when you stay quiet, “I promise, it’s not. Don’t be sorry.” His voice is soft, touch gentle as his hand rests on your knee.

You turn to peek at him through the space between your fingers and just as you suspected. His smile is easy. Warmth radiates off of every bit of his being and it makes your embarrassment slowly begin to melt away. Your hands fall into your lap and reach out for his own, intertwining your fingers.

“You know I would’ve taken us home, right?” He asks. The word home slips from his mouth so easily that it makes your heart bang relentlessly against your rib cage.

You bite your lower lip to contain the smile that mirrors his own. “Yeah, I know…that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Wh…That’s fair.”

#eighth time’s the charm !!#this ending sucks but we ball!!!#you also sent this a very long time ago im sorry <33333 #ᝰ cece’s scribbles #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington hc #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things #joe keery

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poohsources · 5 months

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🐝 * ― 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝟎𝟐𝟓: 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒. ( as pretty much always, this started off as something for myself until i decided to change some things and make it a template that can be used by anyone and includes fewer elements so more people can have access to it. it's a new multimuse template, and you can find the preview here. it includes a landing / navigation page, a rules page, a muse page, and a connection page. because i changed it from its original form that i may or may not use for myself in the future, it has less than fifty elements and is, therefore, base account friendly. if you want to upgrade anyway, feel free to use my referral code KB4W13V3 because it helps me out. )

― HOW TO USE

please don’t claim this as your own, and don’t delete the credit. you can change it’s size or color but it should stay where it is.

of course, you can edit all the colors, sizes, fonts, etc. however you like.

to get this template please click here. it’s on a pay-what-you-want basis, so it is possible to get it for free if you set the amount to 0. ( if you’d like to leave a little tip, i'd very much appreciate it, though. )

when you first open this template, it might look a little weird because carrd deletes the images i’ve used so there will only be empty spacers of sorts that may look a little out of place. just upload images and this will fix itself.

actual image sizes don't matter since carrd scales them to fit but you can see examples of the image sizes i’ve used in the demo to get an idea for the dimensions. or just try your own and play around with the settings to get the desired outcome.

if you have any questions on how to edit it, just send me a message, and i'll try to explain it to you.

#carrd template #carrd templates #carrd rp templates #rp template #carrd #free rp resources #free rp template #rp resources #rph #type: template #type: carrd #template: multimuse

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royallyprincesslilly · 6 months

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Title: What We Did In The Dark {2}*

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: Language, 18+ Mature Content, Angst, Time Jump, Flashbacks, Preggo Talk, Pregnancy Trope, First 200ish words are NSFW

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Neither of you planned any of it. You’d met by chance, and everything that happened after had to have been predestined. Now back to your own life, you find you have a special souvenir from your time in Mauritius.

Note: Italic text above the photo insert symbolizes a memory/flashback. The first 200ish words are NSFW so be aware.

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it!

As you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

What We Did In The Dark {1} |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Comes To Light

-Y/N-

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for hours. Hell, I think I’ve wanted it since I first saw you between the flames of that bonfire. Can I?”

The feel of his fingers across your cheekbone sent sparks all through your body making you want him more than you’d ever wanted anyone in over two years. It was wild. Once his body pressed to yours, it responded immediately. The feel and taste of his lips only made the moment better. You’d never been a huge fan of kissing but with him, you never wanted to stop.

“Shit, you’re perfect,” he said.

His hands were impressively soft but still held some roughness that could be credited to hours of gripping a steering wheel. It was an interesting combo that made you shiver though it was over 80 degrees. His thumb glided over your nipple, making it pebble painfully from the need for more. Him rolling the bud of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger was the more you needed until his teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“You look good with this cock down your throat.”

Your mouth felt fuller than ever and the feel of him lodged in your throat should have scared you because of his size but your boldness came through instead. It took everything in you to suppress your gag reflex and it looked like he was trying everything to make you gag because it wasn’t until one slipped that he slowly pulled himself from your mouth. The look in his eyes said it all and ignited a hidden fire within you that you didn’t even know was lying dormant.

“Mmm, ride this tongue, Y/N. Show me how bad you want me.”

You felt wild, as if you’d been barred by chains your entire life with everyone you’d ever encountered, and now—this one night—this one moment you were free and completely unrecognizable. Your hips bucked against his mouth and your only thought was your pleasure and how gorgeous he looked with his lips and nose slick from your juices. You wanted to cum all over his face then kiss him until you lost consciousness.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!?”

The loudness of your name being called made you jump. Looking around you found four pairs of eyes on you.

“Uh--,” you began before clearing your throat.

“Are you here with us?”

“Of course.”

You sat up straighter then gave them a gentle smile hoping that would smooth things over. You needed to leave them with a good impression of you.

“Okay. So with all of this, I see no reason to not move forward with the series. Since you are on board with incorporating some family-friendly content to draw in families with children I think this will be one of the best moves for not only your brand but the series. Does anyone have anything else to add?”

You glanced at your friend, and personal attorney, Villie, who lifted her notepad to you, showing you a scribbled note.

Are you all right? You majorly zoned out again.

You gave her a subtle nod and wrote your own note back.

Is everything still in my best interest?

Villie nodded and gave you a thumbs up.

“I have a question,” one of the men in suits breached.

You smiled and leaned forward giving him your full attention.

“Your brand thus far has been geared to singles and partyers who want to travel for the fun of it, you know those who are interested in drinking and living carelessly. How confident are you that you could pull off being just as interesting and entertaining to those who aren’t looking for those things and even those with children?”

You nodded, fully understanding his concern.

“Good question. Simply put I am 100% confident I can draw in a more family-friendly audience. I think one of the reasons I have such a following is because of my personality. I find a way to live carelessly doing almost anything. It really is dependent on the experience. I don’t see a reason why it would change because of my audience. We all want to have a good time and it’s possible for everyone to get a slice of what they crave while traveling.”

He nodded and looked amongst his colleagues who also nodded.

“I understand his view. I guess he sees you have no children so he is wondering how that audience will relate to you,” another exec pointed out.

This time it was Villie who spoke up. “If you gentlemen have seen a lot of her streams you can see how Y/N approaches travel. She is practically a big child herself. She easily relates to children including her nieces and nephews and even while traveling children gravitate to her. I don’t think it will be any problem at all for the shift of audience to relate to her.”

The men once again looked at each other speaking with nothing but eyes. You glanced at Villie then gave her a quick fist bump. Ever since high school, she’s had your back, which is why you didn’t think twice about making her your professional and personal attorney.

After a few more minutes of discussion, a consensus had been reached. Once you’d signed the contract and shaken the hands of the three men opposite you the meeting was adjourned, and you were now in a completely different pond. No longer would you be this travel influencer who predominantly posted on the internet you were now a travel influencer who was signed to one of the biggest travel channels on television. You were moving on up.

Your excitement was on 100. After the men left the room you and Villie did your victory dance in your seats and quietly screamed.

“Oh my god! This is a great deal for you, Y/N!”

“Couldn’t have done it without my badass attorney!”

Villie smiled then flashed imaginary hair behind her shoulder.

“I am pretty badass huh?”

“Bet your ass you are! Thank you Villie.”

You hugged each other and then stood. However when you stood an intense wave of dizziness washed across you making you drift backward.

“Woah!”

The next thing you knew Villie was beside you holding you close.

“Are you okay?”

“Wha—what happened?”

“You looked like you were falling.”

“Oh. I—I don’t know what happened. I must have stood up to quickly.”

“Are you all right? you’ve been—off for weeks,” Villie inquired.

You straightened up and pressed your hands down the front of your skirt. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I’m probably just tired. It’s been a lot of work convincing these execs that I could do this show while keeping up with my posting schedule and the work for the travel catalog.”

Villie didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “Things are only going to get more hectic you need to take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“I know, I know. I will. I promise.”

The two of you walked out of the room and toward the elevator discussing the plans to celebrate this major accomplishment. Once downstairs you and Villie went your separate ways with plans to meet up that night for dinner and drinks with the girls. As you drove through the city on your way downtown, you made a call to your artistic team to get updates about your catalog.

You’d worked your ass off for it, putting in the long hours of planning and the meticulous schedule you’d kept in order to hit every destination and the exhaustive list of hot spots wherever you went. That was just the tip of the iceberg though. This catalog was a multitude of months’ labor of love.

“I knew you’d call me again today,” Zavier said with a hint of tease in his voice.

You scoffed, “Of course, you’re taking lead with the team for the catalog.”

“Boo. Here I thought you just wanted to hear my voice.”

You smirked. While he had a great voice, one that was deep at the right moments, but level and clear every time he spoke, his voice was not the reason for your call. Deciding to tip-toe around Zavier’s usual banter you focused on the real reason for calling.

“How are things?”

“They are about as good as they were the last time you called to check—yesterday.”

You made a last-minute right turn and was met with a barrage of horns. Raising your hand as an apology, you focused on your conversation. “So everything looks right for launch?”

“Y/N, everything is on track. I know what I am doing, I promise. I wouldn’t have you out in these streets looking foul.”

You smiled and sighed. Zavier had been with you from the beginning of this crazy idea to put together this catalog—2 years. He’d been the one to push you toward it the whole year you’d procrastinated with it then was your number 2 cheerleader after Villie the whole last year you’d actually taken it seriously. You knew his work was solid as was his skill. You trusted him, which was something rare for you.

“I know Z, thank you. I’m just--.”

“A bit obsessive and compulsive and a whole lotta stressed? I know. What have I told you about your stress levels? Someone whose whole career is traveling and unwinding shouldn’t be as stressed out as you. Your life is literally one long vacation.”

You rolled your eyes because a lot of people thought that. They thought your life was one big party and good time and while 40% of it was the remaining 60 was anything but. It took a lot of work to be on vacation all the time. However, you never corrected anyone when they brought it up. You didn’t want to sound pretentious or ridiculous.

Just as you were about to open your mouth to say something in response, another wave of dizziness washed over you. This time you found yourself drifting sideways in the car which sent the car gearing to the right into the next lane. Before you knew what happened you’d slammed into something sending your head banging into the steering wheel and turning your vision black.

~~~~~~~

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep.

The first thing you recognized was the steady beeping tone. You recognized the steady, rhythmic beeping. The second thing you recognized was the sudden rush of pain you felt in your head. Panic filled you and the once steady beeping turned erratic. You darted upward and immediately regretted it. Dropping back to the bed you groaned and held your head.

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy.”

“W—what—where am I?”

“You’re at Mount Saini Medical Center.”

More panic filled and you tried to sit up again but hands pushed you back down.

“Calm down. Lie down. You’ve been in an accident and have a mild concussion. You need to remain lying down.”

“Accident?”

Your vision finally steadied allowing you to take in the woman standing over you. Her long black hair fell around her shoulders that were clad in a lollipop printed top.

“I’m Mariah, I’m one of your nurses here.”

“How—how long have I been here?”

“Not too long, 5 hours give or take.”

You looked around and took in the hospital room you were in. The tans, clays and camel colors decorated the space giving it an earthy and Zen vibe.

“Am I--,” you attempted but the tightness in your throat prevented further speech.

“You must be thirsty,” Mariah said before walking a few feet away. When she came back she held a cup for you to take. “Water.”

You took the cup and only meant to take a small sip but instead downed the entire cup.

“Good. Remaining hydrated is important.”

“What happened? Why am I here?”

“When you were brought in the paramedics said you’d rear-ended another car and was found unconcious behind the wheel.”

You squinted your eyes trying to remember. It took several attempts, but bits and pieces came back to you confirming those details.

“Oh my god, is anyone hurt?”

“Just you. The other driver wasn’t in the car, they were parked. They were the ones who found you, got you out of the car, and called the paramedics to bring you here,” Mariah explained.

“Oh my god. I have no idea what—wait—I was dizzy all of a sudden and I must have accidentally—oh my god.”

“Dizziness is normal at this time. Because of your condition, you were immediately admitted and checked out.

You paused rubbing your temples to look at her. “Huh? My condition? What condition?”

The nurse studied you for a moment. “Yeah,” she began taking up your chart that rested in the slot at the foot of the bed. You watched her flip through the pages. “Yeah, it says here that you’re pregnant.”

Suddenly, the ringing in your ears increased until it was the only thing you could hear. Pinching the bridge of your nose you shook your head trying to clear the increasing fog in your brain.

“W—what are you talking about?”

Your voice sounded foreign to you, muffled, and stretched as if in slow motion.

“You’re pregnant. You didn’t know?”

You shook your head again ridding your ears of the ringing but that was about it. your head still felt heavy.

“P-pr—preg—no. You’re wrong.”

“On the contrary. It’s routine with everyone who comes in to run a panel, with women it includes pregnancy. It allows us to treat you better. It was a good thing we tested before running you into a CAT scan. The test was positive and after a consult with OB-GYN, it was confirmed with a Doppler,” Mariah filled in.

Your head was spinning now. She could have been speaking another language entirely because your brain was not connecting the dots.

“I—I’m--.”

“Pregnant. Congratulations.”

Once again your vision went black, and everything slipped away.

~~~~~~~

Your surroundings looked familiar when you opened your eyes. The rich earthy colors gave you a sense of calm but also warmth. To your right the view outside your window was dark and to your left you found Villie dozed off. You groaned as you tried to sit up, your head still pounding.

“Fuck,” you croaked.

The sound of your voice made Villie jolt upward her hair half slayed and half sticking up thanks to her awkward sleeping position.

“Oh my god, Y/N!”

She rushed to your side and took your hand then fired off a series of questions that your brain couldn’t quite understand in its current slightly traumatized state. On the 7th rapid-fire question, you clasped your head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Valenza my brain is like a cracked egg right now. Slow down.”

She cotched at the edge of your bed then took a breath. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel okay at all. my head feels like I was Humpty fucking Dumpty.”

“They told me you got into an accident. Oh my god, babes.”

“I don’t know what happened. One minute I was fine, the next--.”

“You’re not taking care of yourself. I knew this would happen eventually,” Villie said.

She took a deep breath then squeezed your hand. “I’m glad you’re okay. They say they’re keeping you for observation mainly and if all checks out tonight they can release you tomorrow night.”

“It’s just this headache that won’t go away.”

“I got everything Villie.”

You looked across the room and saw Zavier walking inside with his hands full of bags, balloons, flowers, and other items.

“Oh god. Did you call everyone?”

“No. You were on the phone with Z when this happened. He was the one to call me,” Villie explained.

“Are you okay?”

Zavier filled in on your right side and took your hand.

“I’m all right. Little damage done.”

His hazel eyes bored into you scanning every inch of your face. His brows were creased with worry and he looked less rested than he usually looked.

“You look like shit.”

Zavier scoffed. “You’re the one to talk. Your head is wrapped like a pinata.”

You smiled but immediately regretted it.

“I brought all your favorites. I don’t know if you can have caffeine, but I brought your fave latte, and the sweetheart rolls you love from Oishi with plenty of ginger dressing.”

You gave Zavier a small smile not wanting to trigger the pain in your head.

“Thanks Z, that’s sweet of you.

“Oh you’re awake. Good. How are you feeling?”

You squinted toward the new voice, a voice you recognized from earlier. “Uh—pretty much the same.”

“Oh. How does your head feel?”

“Like it’s splitting.”

“Okay. I sent a message to your doctors to see if they can narrow down any pain medicines they can prescribe to help due to your—condition.”

It was then it all came back. Your eyes met the nurse’s and an unspoken understanding passed between the two of you.

“Condition? What condition?”

You looked at Villie then Zavier and closed your eyes. “The concussion.”

“How is she really nurse?”

“She has a mild concussion. She did bang her head pretty good, so we just want to watch that to make sure it doesn’t escalate. Oop, is that caffeine?”

All your eyes roved over to the bedside table where Zavier had placed your latte.

“Yes. A vanilla, cinnamon, caramel latte with nutmeg,” he replied.

“Oh, sorry. No caffeine for now and no sushi if it has raw fish, mercury levels you know.”

Mariah gave you a look but you didn’t quite understand it.

“Don’t worry guys, we will get her some food shortly and take good care of her.”

“Mariah?”

Another nurse dressed in traditional white scrubs entered the room.

“What is it Brooke?”

“Um, there is a man at the desk asking about one of your patients. He says he was told the woman who rear-ended him was admitted and he wanted to speak with her.”

“How did he find that out? Did you--?”

“No. HIPPA, of course not,” Brooke defended.

Mariah sighed then stood. “I’ll be right back.”

“Am I the woman?”

“Don’t worry I won’t let him near you.”

“No it’s okay. I feel horrible. Let him know I’ll cover the damages, and any medical reimbursement he may need. It is my fault after all.”

“I’ll go with you nurse. I’m her attorney. Let’s see what his intentions are showing up here,” Villie said standing and rearranging her dress.

Once the nurse and Villie left you were alone with Zavier, who pulled his chair closer and gave you his best reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, Valenza is a shark. She’ll have this guy reimbursing you after everything is said and done.”

“Yeah, I bet. It’s my fault though. I’ll take responsibility.”

Zavier nodded. “One of the things I love about you is that you’re fair in everything you do. I’ve never known you to try to swindle someone out of something if it’s rightfully owed to them. You’ll even pay vendors who show us around destinations 5% more than their rate just because you know most tourists are assholes and don’t tip or care about their footprint in these people’s native countries. It’s—admirable Y/N.”

“Thanks Z.”

A few moments of silence passed and in those moments your brain tried to piece together everything from the last few hours. However the more you thought the more pain you felt and whenever one word echoed in your head, you had the urge to throw up. so as quickly as you began to think you stopped and went the route you were good at—distraction.

“Did you bring your laptop?”

“Nope.”

“What about your tablet. Come on, I know you don’t leave home without that thing. Show me the--.”

“Nope. There is no way in hell I’ll let you work at a time like this. Rest, Y/N.”

You sighed and pouted which had Zavier laughing.

“You look like a petulant child.”

You stuck your tongue out at him in response, ignoring everything else.

“Y/N.”

Villie’s voice drew your attention to the door where she stood with a very tall light-skinned man.

“Uh--.”

“This is Miles. He wanted to make sure you were all right after the accident,” Villie informed.

You pushed yourself up some more and fixed your gown a little as the man crossed the room.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Oh god, I’m so sorry. I feel terrible,” you began.

“No, it’s fine. I got the details from the paramedics and from what the doctors revealed. You had a medical emergency it wasn’t on purpose. I understand.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Thank you for understanding but I still feel like shit.”

“I was worried when I found you unconscious across the steering wheel. I’m by no means a doctor but I tried the best I could to stop the bleeding.”

“That was you? Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Miles added.

“Look I will pay for the damage done to your car and anything else.”

He scoffed. “You weren’t kidding Ms. Chord. She really is self-sacrificing.”

“To a fault,” Villie teased.

You recognized a glint in her eyes as she spoke to him and made a note to bring it up later. Was she shooting her shot out there to smooth things over or was this real interest? You looked over the man taking in his tall, lanky frame that looked muscular but not obsessively so. The tattoos on his hands hinted that there was more to the picture though he dressed in a mix between street and business casual. He looked just like Villie’s type.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist. Please give Ms. Chord your information and we’ll talk once I’m released, or the two of you could work things out,” you wing-womaned.

Miles smiled and looked back to Villie who also smiled while twirling the ends of her hair. Oh, she was feeling him alright. Villie motioned her head to him and the two of them left together.

“Villie would be the only one to find a date from your accident,” Zavier joked.

You couldn’t help but laugh even though seconds later you regretted it.

2 hours later brought the end of visiting hours and it was then you were truly alone. The silence in the room was deafening. So deafening the voices that spoke in the silence all said the same thing.

“What the fuck!?”

You were pregnant. Not suspected pregnant, or possibly pregnant. You were confirmed, definitely pregnant. How in the hell had you missed this? You thought back over the last weeks trying to recall if you had a period. You thought you had but how could you have had one if you were pregnant now. The more that word came to mind the harder you worked trying to ignore the massive elephant in your head, the culprit, the other major factor in this scenario.

“No,” you said shaking your head.

You couldn’t go there. You weren’t ready to go there. You needed answers.

“Okay, so we have some meds for you. After your OB and attending huddled, they came up with something that was safe for you during early pregnancy. They also reviewed some of your bloodwork and found you severely lacking in several vitamins which could explain the increased dizziness you’ve been experiencing. So we are going to hook you up to some iron, and vitamin B12 with a mix of B complex which includes zinc, magnesium, Glutathione, Calcium, some electrolytes, and folate.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Don’t worry it’s only these two bags plus the pain medicine we will give via tablet form,” Mariah explained.

“When can I talk to the OB? I have some questions. I’m just a little confused. I had a period, or I think I did and I—I don’t know how this is possible.”

Mariah nodded. “No doubt, I paged her about an hour ago. She usually makes rounds before she leaves for the night so she should stop in tonight hopefully.”

“Hopefully is definitely. Hi, I’m Dr. Olumici, it’s nice to meet you Y/N.”

A woman of color approached you with a kind smile on her face that instantly reassured you.

“Thank God. Hi.”

She pulled up a chair but before she sat she flipped through your chart and studied the machines. “Your vitals look good, that’s reassuring. How are you feeling?”

“Apart from this headache okay I guess.”

“Good. No abdominal cramping or bleeding?”

“No.”

“Wonderful. While I don’t think anything would be wrong with the fetus I like to be safe there, especially after any car accident.”

“That’s the thing I don’t know how there is a fetus. I had a period, I had 2 actually.”

“When?”

“Last month, and this month.”

“Were they normal for you?”

“Yes. 4 days, lite to normal flow. It was all normal.”

“Hm. Mariah, can you bring me a portable ultrasound please?”

“Right away Dr. Olumici.”

Mariah walked out of the room leaving you with the doctor. She approached and proceeded to examine your abdomen. She felt around applying pressure to different parts then she moved down to your pelvic area. As she did it she didn’t speak but every so often she made an “mm-hm” sound. You didn’t know what to make of it, so you kept quiet and watched her like a hawk.

In a few short minutes Mariah returned with an ultrasound machine that she set up on your left side.

“How many times did we run blood work Mariah?”

“Twice from the same sample. Should we take new samples?”

“Let’s hold off for a moment. Okay, Y/N. We’re going to get some definitive answers right here and now. I can understand how confusing this must be and the need for even just a sliver of certainty I can understand is overwhelming,” Dr. Olumici began.

You nodded finally feeling seen and heard. You fought the tears pricking your eyes and took several deep breaths.

“First let me ask a few preliminary questions. LMP you said you’ve had them for the last two months. Okay. What about sexual activity. When was the last date for that?”

You swallowed and saw his face in your mind’s eye as clear as day.

“Um—this month would be 3 months ago.”

“So—August, okay. None since then?”

“No.”

“Was there protection in August?”

You hesitated because you knew if you said the truth—no, that they would look at you as if you were crazy.

“No judgment zone Y/N. I’m here to help you not judge you,” Dr. Olumici reassured.

“No.”

“Okay. Have you felt any pregnancy symptoms?”

“What are those?”

“Nausea, vomiting, food cravings, breast changes, fatigue, increased urination, backache, dizziness, bloating, maybe cramps, or constipation.”

You thought over the last month or two and noted several instances where you’d felt at least 4 of those symptoms but you’d chalked it up to you working so much and getting less and less sleep. You explained your circumstances to Dr. Olumici who made some notes in your chart as she nodded her head. Once the questions were finished, she sat behind the machine and prepared to get started.

After she explained what was going to happen she squirted the cold gel over your abdomen then moved the Doppler wand across your stomach. You took a few centering breaths then turned your attention to the screen and watched as the image came to life. the black and white images were unrecognizable to you. It was crazy to think you were looking at imagining from inside your womb. Technology was truly fascinating.

The room was completely silent as Dr. Olumici slowly moved the wand over every inch of your abdomen. When she dipped lower getting closer to your pelvic region the image cleared up and then your world came to a complete stop. You didn’t know what you were looking at, but you knew you were looking at something.

“Okay. Here we are. Mariah please the volume.”

Mariah tapped a button on the dashboard a few times then the room filled with quick rhythmic pounding that sounded like a heartbeat. When you realized what you were listening to, you gasped.

“This is your baby, Y/N.”

“Holy Shit!”

You’d said it louder than you’d intended and now your voice was echoing off the walls.

“Calm down. It’s okay. I’ve gone through this first moment with a lot of women. Take a few breaths. Mariah, some water please.”

Mariah poured some water from a dusty rose-colored plastic pitcher into a matching cup then handed it to you. You drank it all down as your eyes remained on the screen at the little blip that was front and center. Once the cup was empty you tried to keep your breathing steady.

“So—I’m—I’m really--,” you paused closed your eyes, and released a slow breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“Yes. You’re pregnant and looking at the fetus, I’d say you’re—currently in your third month, nearing the end of your first trimester.”

“What!”

“Interesting. You don’t look to be showing at all. There is a percentage of women who do not have symptoms or growth which hinders them from ever knowing they are pregnant. We call them cryptic pregnancies. Most women who experience them usually go their entire pregnancy never knowing because they don’t have symptoms, they continue their cycles, and they never show. It could be the same for you. Time will tell.”

Suddenly the image on the screen split in two and you sat up.

“What just happened?”

Dr. Olumici leaned closer to the machine then moved the wand lower over your pelvis and pressed for firmly.

“Huh, would you look at that.”

She tapped a few buttons then moved the wand again and repeated the series of movements 3 or 4 times.

“Someone please talk to me.”

“Yes, I’m sorry Y/N. I was so focused on making sure I didn’t miss anything or anyone. So it looks like we’re dealing with a twin pregnancy. This little one was hiding behind their sibling.”

“Twins?!”

“Twins. I want to say that they are in separate amniotic sacs which indicates fraternal twins, but I have seen identical twins in separate sacs. Depending on what you decide to do we’ll do a thorough check at your first official prenatal appointment.”

All this information was really taking its toll. You’d begun this discussion with very little pain in your head but as things progressed the pain intensified. Right now you felt as if you were having one of the worst migraines you’d ever had in your life. It was all too much, way too much at once. You’d just signed a deal for your own travel show which would mean more travel, long hours, and plenty of work, you were also doing a swimsuit and vacation wear line and a travel catalog and now not only were you currently pregnant but you were also having not one but 2 babies and all of this from 1 one-night stand where you allowed yourself to be the freest you’d ever been—the happiest you’d been.

“Fuck my life!”

This was the consequence of letting yourself live without inhibitions. This was the consequence of forming connections. This was the consequence of being carefree, the consequence of carelessness.

The consequences of what you did in the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x reader #what we did in the dark series

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cheriladycl01 · 2 months

Note

Could you do oneshot for Checo with wife pregnant!reader? She accompanied him to the race and he had a crash during Monaco GP 2023 and she's afraid that he will never get to see their child and everyone in the garage tried to calm her down. But he's fine. And she just grateful that he's still alive. I don't know if it make sense. Add something you'd like though. Tag me later!! Thanks!!

Monaco: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly - Sergio Perez x PregnantWife! Reader

Plot: Sergio Perez gets into a nasty crash in Monaco, where his wife attends to support despite being uncomfortably pregnant. However, with the rainy weather conditions Monaco GP is looking more dangerous than ever!

A/N: this is a little shorter as I struggle to right for Sergio more than others!

Credit to adisillusionedauthor for the GIF

This year, you hadn’t really been to many races as you’d got pregnant during the winter break. You’d spent Christmas avoiding people asking why you weren’t drinking before letting everyone know after the first doctors appointment you had.

By the time the Monaco Grand Prix rolled around you were coming up to around 7months of your pregnancy and boy could you tell.

However, because of what Monaco was Sergio had asked you to come considering that’s where you both resided now that he was in Red Bull.

You agreed to come as long as the days weren’t too strenuous on you, and that you always had a seat available as it was hard carrying another human inside of you.

When you arrived at the garage you’d never had so many compliments from well pretty much everyone. Everyone in Alpine had congratulated you, as it was Sergios old team and there were people there that still held a lot of love for the both of you.

When you came to Red Bull Max and Kelly couldn’t help but praise your looks and how you were glowing. And it went on like that for most of the day, people complimented how you looked and it made you feel better about any insecurities you held.

The only thing making you anxious now was the race itself.

You of course loved to support Sergio in what he did but you couldn’t deny that your husband driving round tricky tracks at over 200mph scared the living daylights out of you.

And Monaco, we’ll it was one of the worst. It’s the tightest street circuit ever, and you have to be very precise when it comes to overtaking and gaining places.

Through the whole weekend it had stayed relatively nice, when it came to the weather and the vibes. Everyone was cheerful and excited about the race at one of the most iconic tracks in motorsport. After some great times tested in all the free practices and getting into Q3 in Qually, Sergio was in P8 having locked up on his flying lap.

You were currently in the garage sat watching the race with the mechanics next to you.

“It’s going to be hard for them to get ahead of both the Ferraris and the McLaren” you say to the mechanic next to you. Seeing Charles in Pole, Lando in P2 and and Carlos in P3, Max in P4 and Sergio behind 2 Mercedes, and an Aston Martin.

You watch the lights turn off once all five had lit up, and listen to Cofty commentating. You watch as Charles manages to keep the lead, Lando falling in nicely behind him while Carlos managed to defend from Max quiet nicely.

Sergio had an amazing start, meaning that he moved up past George in the Mercedes, sitting comfortably in P7. Over the radio all the drivers were let known it was going to start raining within the next 3 laps, most of the drivers pitted.

Max pit for Red Bull first while Sergio stayed out moving up to P2 with Lewis now in the lead. Ferrari having made a double Pit stop worried about their drivers with the oncoming rain.

The rain started to come down heavily, you watched on from your husbands car camera seeing how low the visibility was.

You saw his mechanics preparing to have him come in and change to intermediates. You watch on seeing him struggling for grip until he slides forward having something jolt him from behind.

His car, flips as the Aston that bumped his rear also lost grip forcing itself around his car. They are both sent into the barriers both cars getting a massive shunt.

There’s debris everywhere and his car is no-longer race worthy.

Your mind goes haywire and your hand reaches up to your mouth to cover it as it opens in shock. Tears built in your eyes as you watch no movement from both cars.

“Oh my god!” You breathe, one hand still covering your mouth the other resting on your stomach.

What if this was it? You questioned to yourself.

Would your husband never be able to meet his child? You wondered watching as the medic car is released and sent to go help Sergio and Lance.

Some of the social media girls in the garage come up to you, holding a hand out to you to grip in shock. One of them is whispering that he’ll be okay but you are only listening to Crofty and his soft commentating about the incident.

Mechanics soon come up to you realising what has happened trying to block your view and make you take a seat as they can see you are getting breathless.

Red Bull was like one big family, they’d know you since before Sergio had joined as you were good childhood friends with Kelly, so they all felt a high level of protectiveness over you.

You were the sweetest person in the Red Bull family, always bringing them health boxes, full of delicious yet healthy snacks, and then on Sundays coming by with post race goodies that they could class as part of their cheat day, and you were always willing to listen to each and every one of them.

“No no no” you cry more tears spilling as neither driver continues to communicate or make movements.

Some more of the mechanics rushed over to you, pulling you away from the cameras and the screen. Kelly follows holding your hand in a comforting manor. They sit you down in Sergio’s drivers room. The TV in there is on and playing the crash and Kelly goes to turn it off but you stop her before you can.

“No I have to know!” You say watching on as you see the red flag given, all the drivers coming into the pits.

Lance manages to pull himself out and is able to communicate back to the Aston Martin team who all cheer as he is presumed okay, where he pulled himself out and is walking.

He walks straight over to Sergio, there’s some kind of communication which makes you sigh in relief that your husband is able to talk. Nods of heads show that they’ve agreed on something and Lance helps as Sergio pulls himself up on out the car.

You sigh in relief seeing that he was able to get himself out the bashed up car wreck. He wobbled around before collapsing to the ground which only had your heart rate spiking even more.

Lance called the medics over, pointing for Sergio to be helped into the van first. A stretcher was brought out from the back. More tears falls from your eyes, however your husband knew what you’d be looking like right now.

And frankly he’d never liked seeing you cry.

So he pulled himself up, and walked towards the medical van despite what the Marshalls were telling him.

He explained to them he wanted to show his wife and team he was doing okay. Lance clambers in the back after him and they are driven round the last bit of the track to where he would be taken to medical tent for evaluation.

A knock on your door sounds and in walks Christian Horner himself. You smile lightly at him but the tears only come out a little more as he looks between you and the TV.

“He’s going to be okay Y/N” he promises and you nod.

The wait for him to come back and be cleared by the medics was painful, you waited for so long it felt like hours but in reality it was only 30 minutes. There was no damage in the crash, only a mild concussion that would be okay within a few days of rest.

“Hello mi Carina” he smiled sheepishly at you.

“You had me so worried!” You cry as you pull him into a hug, he hugs you kissing all over your face before bending down to the height of your round belly.

“Im so sorry, to the both of you! I can’t imagine the stress I just put you both through!” He offers kissing your clothed stomach and rubbing it lovingly.

“I was so so scared that you’d never get to…” you stutter and choke on your words finding it hard to admit what was so worrying to you, what you’d feared for a long time now.

“Id never leave you both” he smiles standing back up to his full height and pulling you into a chaste kiss that you melt into.

“I love you so much” you sigh sinking into his hold strong hold .

“I love you too, I’ll never put you through what I did today again!” He promises holding into you tightly.

He wouldn’t admit it, but today really was a change of perspective of racing for him.

He’d never been that apprehensive getting into a car and driving it as quickly as he did, but he knew he would have a new found patience and carefulness driving the car after todays events as he too had been fearful he wouldn’t make it back to his two best girls.

Taglist:

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#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #sergio perez x you #sergio perez imagine #sergio perez x reader #sergio checo pérez #sergio perez #sp11 x reader #sp11

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readingcoco · 4 months

Text

Mood board credit: @rivetingrosie4

So after months of reading everyone else's work, I finally got round to finishing this one shot inspired by the wonderful @rivetingrosie4! It's the first thing I have ever written so any critique will be highly cherished. This is hopefully a good practice run for a longer story I will be working on for the rest of the year.

Taglist: @photo1030, @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr

🍑PEACH FLESH🍑

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI | 5067 words | Ao3 Link TAGS: Plus-Size Reader, Oral Sex, Fake Marriage, Internalised Fatphobia, Squirting

The door almost swings off its hinges as you and Arthur stumble into the second-best suite Strawberry’s Welcome Centre has to offer. Despite being a dry town, you were both half cut and giddy from the two bottles of brandy shared over dinner with the newlyweds you hoped to rob blind first thing in the morning.

The room is womb-like, lit dimly with low wooden ceilings and dark red baroque wallpaper lining each wall, in the centre stands a grand four poster bed adorned with more blankets than you know what to do with, set diagonally facing a little wood burner that radiates out heat that stings slightly against your mountain chilled cheeks. You haven’t been around such finery in years, the excess of it all feeling somehow grotesque when compared to the simple pleasures you’d now learnt to love.

“My Lady”, Arthur bows as he raises his arm, gesturing to the empty room.

“Husband”, you giggle, door closing behind you. The ridiculousness of that word still not losing its novelty.

“I’ll be sure to let Hosea know we’ve got a regular little con artist on our hands.”

Your body is vibrating with energy, the thrill of the past few hours still coursing through your veins; how you’ll sleep tonight, you don’t know, even with the promise of such a comfy mattress to lay your head on. You’d been terrified of letting everyone down ever since Dutch had summoned you to his tent to inform you of the job he had lined up for Arthur and the role he expected you to play. You were sure there must have been some mistake, but when he explained that your upbringing made you the ideal candidate, you couldn’t see a way to protest. So now you were here, just you and Arthur, and things were surprisingly going to plan for a change.

“I can’t believe how naive they were. Was I really so soft when you first met me?”

“A little”, Arthur smirks as he sits on the oak trunk at the edge of the bed, pulling roughly at the puff tie around his neck, eager to free himself of the restrictions of such formality. You had been shocked at how naturally he found getting into character after spending half the ride there grumbling about it. “Suits you, though, a bit of softness. Glad we ain’t fully sullied that good name of yours just yet.”

You bristle a little at the mention of your name, all the good it had done you when you’d drifted from town to town, relying on the goodwill of others to keep you from starving. Your name hadn’t saved you then, but the Van der Linde gang had. It was them to whom you owed a debt, not your family.

“We best get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You nod as Arthur moves to hang his dress coat in the wardrobe, and you catch sight of him over your shoulder in the large cheval mirror that stands to the side of the bed. He looks different somehow, here away from camp, more at ease maybe, less burdened by thoughts. This was the longest you and he had spent one-on-one, and you had found it surprising how quickly you had both fallen into an easy rhythm. You had always got on well in camp. You shared a closeness with him more akin to one of the girls than any of the other men; he’d bring you fresh peaches whenever he could, knowing them to be your favourite, and you would craft tonics and bitters for him to take on his travels. A trade between friends. Truth be told, if it wasn’t so implausible, you might have wanted to take advantage of the sleeping arrangement that now presented itself - Karen or Mary-Beth wouldn’t have given it a second thought! But as it was, that was a delusion, and Arthur had already courteously agreed to sleep on the floor.

Your reflection distracts you then as you compare the neat up and down of his form to your own inelegant roundness in the mirror. What was the word Grimshaw had used? Fleshy? And more on display this evening than you had ever elected to show to the gang.

When Trelawny had taken you to the dressmakers, your eyes had almost bugged out of your head when you saw the mannequin donning the dress he had selected for you. An off-the-shoulder, deep emerald gown with a swan-like bust made from velvet. Quite possibly the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You begged Trelawny to allow you to wear something, anything else. But he would hear nothing of it. To con an heiress, you would have to look like one. The ridiculousness of that notion forces a snort of laughter to escape your mouth. Arthur turns to you, lips preemptively curling upwards, expecting you to share your private joke.

“Somethin' tickle you?”

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

But his face doesn’t let up. You hesitate, trying to find a way to make him understand without sounding foolish.

“It’s just, I didn’t expect any of this to actually work. I went along with it because… because I wanted to be useful. I didn’t actually think anyone would believe that we were married.” You laugh, but Arthur looks confused.

“Why not?”

You giggle, gesturing back and forth between you like it’s the plainest thing in the world, but he still stares at you blankly.

“Don’t play dumb, Arthur! Look at me, and then look at you!”

“I’m lookin'.”

Your smile falters a little, realising that he is going to make you state the obvious, that unspoken truth that you have been biting your tongue not to scream out loud since Dutch revealed the con two weeks previous.

“Arthur, please…” Your voice is quieter now, traces of humour all but evaporated. “There ain’t no way a man like you would ever take someone like me as a wife. It’s just not the way of things.” Your eyes are now firmly rooted to the ground. Shame coursing through your body for putting such a dour end to a fun evening. Wishing desperately to go back to the teasing and lightness of moments before. “You're deserving of a fine woman, not a stout, plain thing like me.”

Arthur rears back on his heels as though slapped.

“Ought not to speak about yourself that way or judge whose hand is or isn’t deserving of mine, calloused and scarred up as it is.”

You laugh quietly at that and lift your head back up at him, where he hooks you in with a look so serious it catches you off guard, brows knitted together like he is weighing up some great debate. He sniffs-

“You looked beautiful tonight, Mrs Callahan.”

He steps towards you slowly, as one might approach a spooked horse, head tilted and low, looking up at you with sparkling pools of tranquil blue. You feel the overwhelming urge to bolt, but something about the assured look he has on you keeps you tethered to the spot, unable to move as the space between you grows smaller.

“Don’t tease me, it ain’t kind.”

“I’ve not been able to take my eyes off my pretty wife all evening.”

You search his face for some small hint of insincerity, half expecting him to rear back at any moment and mock you for not seeing his obvious joke. But he doesn’t pull back. Unyielding in his approach until he is close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your crown. The smell of brandy and tobacco smoke wafts deliciously in the air. You hesitate to look up, not sure you could withstand the heat of his gaze without melting into the rug.

“You know, I’ve not seen you wear anything like this before,” Arthur gently raises a hand up to your exposed shoulder and fingers some of the lace appliques around the rim, his chapped knuckles lightly grazing your skin. Your eyes close, and a faint sigh escapes your lips as you lean into his touch. “Caught myself thinkin’ about how much more of your loveliness you’ve been hidin' away.”

You are still unable to lift your eyes higher than the buttons on his shirt. But then he’s tracing a line up your throat, resting his thumb on your chin and gently manoeuvring your face to meet his. To be invited to view him up so close and personal this way is a delight you want to savour. The white lines around his eyes from squinting in the sun, the crook in his nose, badly set, smattered with freckles, the chip on his frontmost tooth, the face of a man who has only known hard work and fresh air. But the exchange of looks goes both ways and suddenly, you are reminded of the indolent, dumpy girl he must view.

“Arthur-”

His lips press into yours so keenly that your overthinking brain only has room for the sweet sensation of his insistent kiss, opening you up to him, coaxing you deliberately with his brandy, rich tongue. A needy whimper is spilled from your mouth into his, which he drinks from you, like a man parched, tasting your lips and then deeper, lapping you up. Your shaky hands find purchase on the plains of his broad chest, and you fist at his shirt to pull him closer.

As though that were the signal he was waiting for, Arthur grunts out a low groan before dipping his head to kiss at your neck and cushioned collar bone, hands running along the stiff shape of your corset, reaching around your sides, your back, searching blindly for some hidden opening. You have never seen him this feral.

You pull backwards, struggling to catch your breath, lips swollen, hair all but falling down.

“Wait,” You gasp. “You’re drunk, you don’t really want-”

“Woman, if you don’t stop tellin' me what I do and do not want.” He laughs, but there is a seriousness that underpins his tone. “Now, if you don’t want it, that’s different.” He lifts an eyebrow in question.

“It’s not that. I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.” He offers you a look that could almost read as exasperated if it wasn’t so filled with fondness. Your chest is pounding, you're not sure that you have ever wanted something, someone, so much in your entire life. Your eyes dart around the ornate room and land on the glowing gas lamp behind Arthur’s head. “Maybe if it were dark?”

He laughs dismissively. “You’re still not gettin' it,” He pulls his hand down his face before interlocking your fingers in his as though trying to work out how to explain something simple to a small child. “You think I would be here kissin' on you, actin' a fool, if I weren’t attracted to you?”

You don’t know how to answer him, so you remain silent. Chewing a loose strip of skin on your lip.

“You think I ain’t noticed you're bigger than most?” Your cheeks burn red at the acknowledgement of your body, something you have taken great pains to draw attention away from for as long as you can remember - modest clothing, intricate hairstyles, humour and helpfulness. His thumbs rub soothingly on the pulse point of your wrists.

“Ever considered that might be something I might like?” In truth, you hadn’t because how could it be? You had never seen images of women who looked like you in catalogues or advertisements unless it was to market some magical cure for the ailment of looking like you, never read about them in books unless they were some wicked aunt or old crone. How could Arthur be attracted to such a thing?

“Turn around.”

A command given so soberly that you find yourself spinning without thought. He pulls your back flush to him as he scoops the fallen tendrils away from your left ear, lips pressing into newly revealed skin. Your eyes find each other in the mirror as he trails a path of wet kisses down your neck to the tip of your shoulder. Unfolding you in his arms as if to show you off to the two figures staring back longingly, enjoying their own embrace.

“You see?” He traces the length of your arms with his rough fingers, ghostlike as they make their way down the curve of your arms, one wrapping tightly around your waist while the other seeks out your breast. He finds you heavy and full in his palm, and your bodies roll together in a languid moan released in unison.

You observe Arthur’s eyebrow hitch momentarily in the mirror, and his eyes darken as you feel a tug from your side and realise too late that he has found the opening of your dress. He wastes no time unhooking each clasp one by one, your breath coming in heavy as you watch him work, peeling the right side of your wrapped bodice away from your corset, the swell of your breast revealed, covered only by the thin cotton of your chemise.

You lift your hand to help with the clasps on the other side, but Arthur nudges you away as though this is his solemn duty to bear alone. He reaches around to your left-hand side until you are fully enveloped in his arms, and you can feel his heart pumping in his chest. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head falls back to meet his firm shoulder as you feel yourself going weak at the knees, like it has been the rigidity of your clothing holding you together this entire time; one more loosened clasp, and you are liable to break.

“I want you to see what your body does to me”, Arthur rasps out as he unwraps the left half of your bodice, leaving your chest fully bared, apart from your underthings. You watch as his fingers delicately trace their way up your corset, and he takes each of your full breasts in hand, rolling your beaded nipples with his thumbs. The sensation courses through your veins as your arms shoot behind you, grasping blindly in an attempt to ground yourself for fear you will float away. One hand meets his left hip, while the other finds the tight muscle of his thigh before something more protruding grazes the pads of your fingers. Arthur lets out an involuntary grunt as he bucks into you.

You run your fingers along his length more deliberately then, and the fire it ignites in him is enough to rival the sun. Eyes still locked firmly onto yours in the mirror, he pulls your bodice from your arms with two rough jerks before throwing it to the side to begin work on your skirts.

“Face me.”

You turn, as he pulls you into a deep kiss, fingers hooking behind you to undo the ties at your waist. His hands glide down your back, over your ass and hips, skinning the fabric away from you until it bunches up and falls to the ground. Catching his breath, he steps back, panting, taking in the curves of your now semi-exposed form. You have never been looked at this way, hungrily, like your ripened flesh is the only thing that could save this starving man.

“Goddamnit”, He hisses, more to himself than you and backs away from you further.

Without the solid touch of him to reassure you that the last few minutes haven’t been some momentary lapse in sanity, a wave of self-consciousness pulls you outside your body like some sort of uninvited voyeur, looking down at the scene, struck by the implausibility of it all. Here is this man - Adonis, even, who could have his pick of women, not just in camp but in polite society too; you had seen how the newlywed wife had looked at him over dinner, and then you, dimpled and misshapen like a bruised peach.

Sensing the sudden shift in your demeanour, Arthur quickly steps back to you, resting his forehead on yours, blue eyes burning intensely, cupping your cheeks with both hands.

“You still don’t believe I want ya?”

You stare back at him, his lips so close you must hold back the urge to nip at them.

“I’m sorry” you whisper. Softly, Arthur removes a hand from your cheek and finds your own covering the curve of your stomach. He hooks his fingers into yours and guides your hand lower down to the hard line of his trousers.

“My whole body’s achin’ for ya, Darlin'.” His arousal is undeniable now, and for a moment, you start to believe that he could be true to his word. Perhaps certain tastes are only acquired by a few. Your thumb reflexively works up and down the solid ridge of him as he presses his lips to yours and lets out a groan.

“Now-” He’s struggling to maintain his focus as your fingers continue to stroke him. “I’m going to sit down right here, and you are going to show me what I’ve been wantin' to see.” He huffs out and pulls himself back from you again and sits at the edge of the bed, eyeing you eagerly in anticipation.

For a moment, you stand there, tethered to the spot, brain failing to remember the motions one must go through to undress, as though this was something entirely new and not the most ordinary of tasks.

You close your eyes and breathe deeply to gather yourself before loosening the ties of your petticoats and allowing them to fall to the floor like the heavy skirt before it. A rumble of approval from the bed forces your eyes to open. When you are met with a look so full of adulation, it’s hard to stop the grin from spreading across your entire face. You step over the crumpled petticoats with a little skip before marching to the bed and lifting your heeled foot to rest between Arthurs's legs.

“Care to do me the honour?”

“My pleasure.”

Arthur takes your stockinged ankle in his large hands, pressing a flurry of kisses to your knee as he peels the silk down your leg before unbuttoning the pointed-heeled boot and tossing them aside. As you lift your other leg up to him, he hooks your knee and carves his hands upwards underneath your bloomers, fisting a handful of the meat of your inner thigh.

“Patience,” you say, fully enthralled by this new sense of power you feel in your core like you could tell this man to walk through hot coals, and he would thank you for the privilege. You flick the point of your shoe towards him to undo.

Heels removed, you step backwards again, fingers tracing the shape of your body slowly, tantalisingly, noting how each swirl of your thumb, each flick of your wrist registers like a shockwave on the gunslinger’s slack-jawed face. You press your clothed breasts together, lifting them experimentally and letting them fall. And then once again. Arthur lets out a hiss.

“Woman, you don’t know what I have planned for you.”

Your fingers ghost the eyelets of your corset, the moment you have been dreading. The barrier moulding your shape into something deemed acceptable by society. You feel without it, you may fall apart. But if his face isn’t goddamn begging you to take it off. Who are you to disappoint him?

You pull the top clasps together, and then the bottom and your lungs fill with air as your body relaxes in kind. You stand there in only your chemise and bloomers, near transparent, backlit by the light from the fire. You hitch your chemise to your waist, inch by inch, as Arthur leans forward, almost salivating. Your fingertips slide under the waistband of your bloomers as you shimmy them down to your ankles with a wiggle, exposing the thatch of hair at your sex for a split second before your chemise falls back into place.

A thought comes to you then, and you're not sure if it’s in part to delay the inevitable shame of baring yourself to this man so completely or if part of you is starting to have fun, but you realise the power you hold stood before him in nothing more than your chemise. What would he give up to see your exposed flesh? What trade might he offer now? A peach for something saltier perhaps? You toy with the frill at your hem.

“Planned? You sound like you’ve been dreamin' on this for a while, Arthur.”

You step towards him again so that your scantily covered breasts are now at eye level. He reaches out to touch you, but you shoo him away.

“You ‘been having indecent thoughts?”

“The worst”

You cock your head to the side in mock outrage. The giddiness of dinner, playing dress up, and make-believe comes flooding back with full force.

“What thoughts?”

“Takin' you in my tent… spreadin' you out… all pretty for me.” He can barely get his words out as your finger lifts the corner of your chemise.

“You ever done anything about those thoughts, cowboy?”

The rush of crimson to his cheeks surprises you as you imagine him alone in his cot with only daydreams of you to keep him company. You have so many other questions: When did this start? Why has he only chosen to act now? But they will have to wait. You glance down at his lap.

“Show me.”

Like an eager puppy, he springs from his seat, towering over you, but you don't step back. Arthur’s disrobing is a much more efficient affair; suspenders are shrugged from his shoulders, shirt unfastened, trousers kicked haphazardly across the room until he is in a comparable state of undress, left in only his union suit. If you’re not mistaken, a similar wave of trepidation pumps through his veins, too. You eye the proud ridge of his length, straining the stretched cotton as Arthur unbuttons his union, first revealing the coarse blonde hair at his chest, which darkens with each new release, lower and lower. At the juncture of his groin, thick brown curls frame the base of his shaft, and as he steps out of the suit, cock springing free, filling the space between you, you're not sure you have seen beauty like it.

“Show me.” Your voice is a whisper now. Arthur takes himself fully in hand and slowly strokes himself while holding your gaze. You watch him intently: artful and precise like every other task his expert hands carry out. You almost lose yourself watching him before you remember your own throbbing need and push him back to his seat on the bed. You are ready now. Confident.

You raise your chemise up your strong thighs, the curve of your hips, swell of your belly, higher still to meet your heavy breasts that fall as the fabric catches them momentarily; you pull the cotton above your head, over your plump arms, until you are stood naked as the day you were born, goosebumps adorning your skin, like velvet. They prickle as you smooth your hands across your belly, as though touching it for the first time. Maybe you are touching it for the first time with gentle hands? You smile at this private realisation and then towards the cowboy, who is near cross-eyed with want, stroking himself vigorously at the sight of your unveiled form.

“Am I what you expected?”

“Git over here already. I’m tired of just lookin'.”

Before you can protest that you don’t want to crush him, Arthur is pulling you onto his lap, the ripe head of him grazing your clit and pressing between your stomachs. You try to hold some of your weight from him by awkwardly balancing yourself where your shins meet the mattress, but then he’s grabbing two firm handfuls of your ass and lifting you up with him. Reflexively, your legs wrap around his waist as you are suspended in the air. It feels like flying. You have not been picked up like this, cradled, since you were a child, and even then, by the time you turned 7, your papa had started to groan that you were too big. But Arthur lifts you effortlessly, kissing into your mouth as he spins you round and lays you out on your back, his body curving over yours.

His knuckles tenderly graze the shape of your cushioned ribs, rising and falling in time with his own. He slowly lowers himself down your body, taking care to kiss an open-mouthed trail down the centre of your sternum, between the valley of your breasts, palming each on his journey. Your body arches up hungrily in anticipation of each kiss, eyes drifting shut as you feel the warmth of his breath waft against the moistened curls of your pelvis, already sodden with want.

A flash of ecstasy pulls the air from your lungs as your eyes spring open, and you grasp wildly to pull him back up to you. He can’t. It’s too much. But the cowboy holds firm. You peer between your legs in horror as Arthur begins to feast greedily at your cunt. From the depraved sounds from his chest, you intuit that this must be another of this man’s acquired tastes. Still, the sight has you scandalised in such a wickedly licious way you find yourself biting your lip as a drawn-out groan rasps itself out of you.

A wave of impossible pleasure builds first in your chest. Then it permeates outwards, sending vibrations down your arms and neck, catching in your cheeks, forcing you to huff out pathetic little pants. You begin to writhe and wriggle under the pressure of his tongue, brazen as it dances along your slippery folds. Long, languid licks, lapping you up.

“Ohh-”

Your legs pull together reflexively in a vice-like grip, ensnaring his head. Still, if Arthur fears suffocation, he shows no signs of stopping, sucking you wholey on the clit until your body is quivering like that of a bow fully drawn.

“Arthur…” You beg as another wave has your head rolling back into the mattress. “Please… I can’t.”

“You can.” He rumbles as he pushes a finger inside you, and your legs start to tremble violently, loosening their grip around the cowboy’s head. Jesus Fuck. You jut your pelvis forward involuntarily as your whole being seeks out a deeper penetration. Sensing your rising need, Arthur slides a second digit inside you and curls them in an upward motion as if coaxing your climax to come quicker, harder. Don’t be shy, it’s alright. You're doin' so good for me.

You feel it then, pressure, unlike anything you have experienced from your own hand. Like you are a jug being filled from a fast-flowing river, you feel yourself reaching the brim and then spilling out, overflowing. Water gushing from within, swirling you up in its current and washing you out to sea. Clear liquid streams from your cunt, coating Arthur’s face and neck. As your body resurfaces the only way you know you have not drowned is through the heartbeat you feel pumping in your ears.

“I’m so sorry” You gasp, as you pull off him and quickly try to cover the sodden evidence of your release, fisting desperately at the blankets, distraught by all the new and mortifying ways your body seeks to humiliate you. But then you hear Arthur’s chuckle as he wipes his face with the back of his hand, grinning from ear to ear.

“I ain’t never made a girl come like that before. C’mere.” Arthur takes hold of your frantic hands and pulls you towards him, scooping you up in his sturdy arms, resting your cheek against the soft curls of his chest and looking down at you adoringly. “You got nothing to apologise for. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You silently shake your head, certain you will never be able to look at the man in the face again. He frowns then, trying to work out how to bring you back to him.

“I hope you're not ashamed on account of me? Ain’t nothing prettier I’ve seen, lettin' go for me like that.”

“But I made a mess.”

“Just as well Grimshaw ain’t here to scold us about laundry then. ‘Sides, if we hang them by the fire, they’ll be dry by the mornin'. No harm done.”

You feel his rough palm tenderly cup your cheek, angling your face to his and placing a light kiss at the end of your nose. “I hope you won’t see me different now, Arthur.” Your voice is shaky as it suddenly strikes you how exhausted you feel, body totally spent, laying heavy like lead in his arms.

“I sees you for who you are; that ain’t changin.” He says earnestly, “We should rest, though; we've got an early rise.” You can still feel him hard as a rock against your hip and wonder if it causes him discomfort. As your eyes trail downwards, he lets out a knowing laugh. “Plenty of time for that after tomorrow.”

After tomorrow?

He lifts you up to sit on the chair in the corner of the room, wrapping one of the unsullied blankets around your shoulders, another around his waist as he strips down the bed. Thankfully, your release has only soaked through the quilted throw, leaving the linens underneath untouched. He pulls back the sheet and beckons you over.

As your head hits the pillow, you feel the pull of sleep dragging you towards it, but then you realise Arthur has yet to follow suit. You sit bolt upright, eyes searching around the room for him needily.

“Hey, I’m just here. I weren’t sure if you’d want me in the bed or not. I didn’t wanna assume nothin'.” You practically roll your eyes at his honorableness, as if he wasn’t buried tongue-deep in you no more than five minutes earlier. You reach out a sleepy hand towards him.

“I couldn’t rightfully allow my husband to sleep on the floor now, could I?” you smirk as Arthur finally makes his way over to the bed and tucks himself in tight beside you, wrapping you up underneath his chin. It’s not long before you are drifting off into a deep sleep, with thoughts about what happens after tomorrow filling your dreams. 🍑

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