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the-90s-music-colosseum · 5 months

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Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

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your-nanas-house · 2 months

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"Good night, love"

◇ Pairing: Cillian Murphy X wife!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, handjob, blowjob, fluff, slepless Cillian

◇ Summary: Cillian can't sleep and Y/n is turned on by his latest photoshoot.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Didn't re-read it and wrote it quickly in the bus. Based on @r1errr 's idea!

A soft sigh left Cillian's lips, he was lying in his bed enjoying silently the warmth of the covers which were brushing tenderly against his bare skin and his pajamas fabric.

He had been having some troubles to fall asleep even if he had a long day ahead the day after and he was really craving some hours of sleep.

The empty cup of camomile was resting on his night table, since he had finished it sip by sip as his baby blue eyes read a book in an attempt to fall asleep.

Luckily his wife was still awake, her eyes busy scanning a magazine after she had put her book aside... she was quite focused and it looked pretty funny.

He didn't even know what she was looking at, not that he minded though.

"Can't sleep" the older man rasped out as his hands rubbed his face tiredly, in an attempt to relax his whole body to get some sleep. His gaze remained on the ceiling for little time before he turned towards her after not receiving any response.

"Love" Cillian called out, brushing her bare should with his fingertips to catch her attention before repeating himself.

She barely turned around before moving under the covers as if she was in mission. The serious and focus face still on which made Cillian chuckle softly not really knowing what to expect now.

He kept staring at the bulge created by her crawling body, before glancing at the magazine she was previously looking... filled with pictures of his latest photoshoot for GQ.

The older man was about to reach for it when he felt his wife mouthing on his covered crotch. Her tongue daring out to lick and tease the fabric of his pajamas pants making his patience grow thinner pretty quickly.

His fingers moved away eagerly from the magazine to pull down his attire and expose his half-hard cock. His back arched slightly and his hands moved quickly back out of under the covers as he waited for her next move.

His baby blue eyes pierced the ceiling as the anticipation made his breath hitch in his throat. The need to just grab her hair and push her head against his cock and balls was pretty high but he didn't dare to do anything... opting to stay frozen in place.

Little time passed and he felt her soft breath against the tip of his length, her wet tongue started to travel from the base to the end and then down to his balls so that she could wrap her soft lips around one and suckle while licking.

"Fuck...love" Her husband cursed as his breath got heavier, his teeth caging his bottom lip as his fingers twitched before grabbing the sheets tightly.

Her lips started to leave wet kisses up till the lip, her tongue tasting his precum as her hands worked on it all to get him fully hard.

Then.. she stopped suddenly, making him frown in confusion and anticipation. What was she planning? What exactly was running in that dirty mind of hers? He wondered silently before he saw her next movements.

His eyes rolled back, he stopper breathing and a cracked whine left his body at the new feeling of being squeezes and deepthroated without warning.

Cillian could feel her hands work on his balls as she relaxed her throat not yet moving... the waiting was becoming almost painful though. So the last crumbles of self control in his body completely disappeared and his hand moved nearly on his own.

He pushed her head down as he tried to take a hold of it above the covers, opting to keep his hand there as his hips snapped upwards so that he could fuck her throat at the speed he craved.

The loud sounds of slurping made his body shake even more, till it tensed... hot ropes of cum filling her mouth and down her throat making her swallow everything.

"Goodnight, love" Y/n hummed out, popping out of the covers with a naughty smile on her face "Really love your last photoshoot by the way" she added, kissing him softly as he relaxed slowly a lazy decorating his handsome face.

Taglist:

@hanawrites404 , @r1errr , @ll4n4 , @calmingmelody96 , @neonpurplestars89-blog , @emilyrosier , @notstefaniepresley , @nela-cutie

#cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy #cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fluff

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usedpidemo · 6 months

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Acquainted (Red Velvet Yeri)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.)

You’re just about ready to head off to sleep when you check the group chat. This is your nightly tradition. These strangers, now your closest friends despite the anonymity, are active and in good spirits, as usual. Outside of your weekday 9-to-5, these few moments are the most interesting parts of your day, and you just so happen to join during a particularly lively conversation:

> [22:48:01] yerimiese: (posts a link to a red velvet album article)

> [22:48:14] flutter mane: :sanapog:

> [22:48:23] silksong sulker: k-pop is saved

> [22:48:33] wonyoung cockjuicer: ew red velvet

> [22:48:37] wonyoung cockjuicer: wonyoung can peg me tbh

> [22:48:39] irene’s tokki: Bae J:floshedjiggle::floshedjiggle:hyun

> [22:49:06] milf hunter: :floshed:

> [22:49:11] milf hunter: gape sugalo

So of course, you chime in as well.

> [22:50:12] You: lets get it, new rv fancams

You’re in no mood to chat for longer than five minutes, but before you head offline, you receive a private message from your closest friend:

> yerimiese: so when are you in korea again?

> You: Next week, why?

> yerimiese: nice. why don’t we meet up, that would be dope as fuck

> You: You’re in Korea?

> yerimiese: yeaaaah? why wouldn’t i be?

> You: I thought you’d be doing other schedules abroad

> yerimiese: nah sm definitely won’t fly us out to film an mv. cheap ass bastards ㅋㅋㅋ

Yerimiese then sends you a video link. It’s a Yeri fancam, her weapon of choice. Your conversations began with small, intimate talks about your personal life, soon transpiring into open fapping, degrading, and casual lewdness with each other. Despite the usually depraved nature of your messages, you both continued sharing snippets of your day to day lives. That’s how close you’ve grown as friends.

> You: Well i’m very tired, today was a long day at work, had to work overtime. No time to lewd, sorry

> yerimiese: it's alright. you did well today

Yerimiese sends you a pic this time. It’s an event; the internet can’t load any quicker. You’re hungry, impatient, dying. Whether it’s intentional or not, the photos she sends whenever you’re tired or stressed out are hotter than her usual swimsuit or photoshoot reel. You’ve shared enough about your daily routine to her that a camera crew might as well be recording you.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary; a simple candid pic of herself lying in bed, her face perfectly cropped out of the background, showing nothing but her body on full display in front of the huge mirror, dressed in skimpy black panties and a white shirt that accentuates her shapely breasts. As usual, she’s not wearing a bra; you can clearly see her hard nipples demanding all of your attention.

> yerimiese: no need to send a dick pic tonight if you don’t feel like doing it

You can’t help it. Tired as you are, you feel obligated to send her one. Luckily, every pic she sends is more than enough to make you instantly hard. It feels more guilty not to be turned on, rather.

It’s a mostly quick and painless affair, powerful enough to put you out of commission within minutes. Even though you’re mentally checked out, Yerimiese’s sexy body is too hot not to crank one out. Taking a pic of your erect cock as you pump yourself to her is second nature; sending it on sticky fingers after you’ve spurted all over your phone and blankets is a different story. There’s no other way to put it, she was the perfect reprieve from the day’s exhaustions—a perfect high note to go out on.

> yerimiese: fuck you’re THROBBING THROBBING tonight :ningasm: your dick looks so damn nice. i can taste your cum through the screen

> You: Happy now?

> yerimiese: more than, and then some. I wish you were here right now so you could feel how wet I am

> You: Just wait. I can’t wait to fuck you hard. Goodnight

> yerimiese: goodnight

> yerimiese: :tukkwithkiss:

—————

The next time you’re able to communicate with her, you’re one day away from being in Korea. In that period, you’ve been inactive in the group chat because work. What welcomes you back is a barrage of lewd photos and Yeri fancams.

> yerimiese: see you tomorrow :chuupeek:

It’s an open secret that you know she’s Kim Yerim. Yes, that Kim Yerim of Red Velvet fame. It was a giveaway right from the first explicit photo she sent you; those tits in a tight, petite package couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than hers. That, and the fact that her username is the same as her Instagram handle, and that she has a photo of herself in the group as a display pic. How she would end up stumbling into your private K-pop server objectifying her body and her profession is one of life’s biggest mysteries, yet here she is, giving you a very personal look into her shapely figure, better than any fancam and photoshoot could ever provide. To others, she’s merely a casual acquaintance, but to you, she can freely open up herself.

Mainly because you’re one of three people in the group chat that still cares about Red Velvet.

Her latest sent photo is relatively tame; a tight fitting white silk sundress, and the skirt is virtually nonexistent, her panties practically out in the open. Luckily for you, she seems to be sitting down, but not in her usual living room. The notion that this is what welcomes you to Korea, that you’ll be balls deep inside an idol’s pussy right when you land—it ruins you.

Almost.

An airport guard manages to break your deep train of thought. “Sir! No phones please,” he sternly commands, saving you from total disaster; you’re inches away from walking straight through a metal detector with your phone in hand, the belt around your pants, and some spare coins lying deep in your pocket after you bought some traditionally expensive bottled water. Luckily, no one manages to see the photo—and even if they did, she’s still smart enough to cut out her face, leaving nothing else to your imagination.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about immigration and airport security, it’s that there’s little need for repetition. You go through security four times. At the entrance, after the check-in counter, then within your departure gate, and even before boarding your flight—repetitive. It’s frustrating enough to tell Yerim, to which she responds with more lewd photos of herself.

> yerimiese: yeah ive been there before ㅋㅋㅋ

> yerimiese: how long’s ur flight?

> You: About 13 hours

> yerimiese: cali?

> You: Yes

> yerimiese: kinda random, but seulgi misses los angeles

> You: How come?

> yerimiese: something about an ex-boyfriend that i didn’t know about until the other day ㅋㅋㅋ i bet she’ll be jealous when she hears about you coming over just to clap my cheeks ㅋㅋㅋ she’d wish it was her bf instead of you

> You: does she know about this?

> yerimiese: of course not LOL i bet you’d rather fuck her instead of me, so she’ll never know. smh.

> You: That’s not true ur my RV bias since day one!

> yerimiese: stop lying LMAO i don’t blame you tho seulgi has some really toned legs and a nice slappable ass XD anyway, i’m gonna send you something to pass the time while ur onboard

> You: If it’s a masturbating clip i swear to god

> yerimiese: fuck you got me LOL

> You: Goddamit if anyone finds out on a plane of all places…

> yerimiese: i still can’t get over your clip of you jerking to me. i can taste your dick. you’re depriving me by leaving me out to dry for a week ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’ve been touching yourself to that clip for a week??

> yerimiese: can’t help myself, album prep has been tiring and i haven’t really found any opportunity to relax in the meantime

> You: I’ll be there soon, just wait a bit longer

> yerimiese: can’t trust me with that, i’m very close to making a huge mess of my hotel room ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’re in a hotel?

> yerimiese: just to meet you! I won’t be able to meet you at the airport (duh, idol dating shit), so this is the next best thing. just message me when you’ve landed here, okay?

> You: Sure

—————

It’s ingrained deep within Yerim’s mind. A core memory. If her phone could present count how many times she’s played the clip, it would be over a thousand.

It’s very straightforward. A 45 second clip of someone masturbating between the sheets, pressing their erect cock against their phone with a brightened image of a scantily clad woman on the screen. But it’s not just any woman, it’s her. She’s pleasuring herself to the idea of a man jerking off to her. She’s following his rhythm, timing the pace her fingers rub her clit to the tempo of the man’s cock pumping to her zoomed-in breasts.

And she’s mere minutes removed from a conversation with that exact same person.

Slumped against the hotel room walls, her bliss spirals out of control rapidly. Her legs are instinctively spread wide, juices already leaking through her panties and spilling to the floor; that’s how used they are to Yerim’s impulses to pleasure herself. In those brief moments, she imagines how the next few days play out, skipping past the formalities and pleasantries and going straight to the fucking. She moans and shouts as if that very man’s cock is penetrating her pussy hard at this very moment. Her other hand bashes the wall, tongue screaming streams of profanities, as if he’s manhandling her, using her to his personal delight.

“Fuck! Suck those fucking tits!” she screams, slipping one strap of her sundress down to pinch her own tit, enhancing the illusion. Her phone rings; in her mind it's functionally a vibrator. He’s come fully prepared, and she’s riding high knowing that this person is doing exactly what he said in their private messages from the very start.

Yerim drags her fingers along her clit violently, desperate to reach climax, the realization that this is her third orgasm of the day way beyond her. The evidence can be found everywhere: on the soiled bed sheets and in the smell of the shower; she envisions herself getting railed in those parts of the room, and then some—essentially turning the entire hotel room into the backdrop for all of the things he’d do to her: fingers around her throat, sunk into her ass, until it’s red and hurting, the way she’d quiver and cream all over his throbbing cock. Her neediness has no limits; it even breaks past her very own personal quarters, the loudness of her own self-induced pleasure drawing concern from occupants nearby.

Only after the blissful haze of orgasm does everything fall back in place. That repetitive knock on the door is a huge wake up call. Yerim’s eyes widen.

“Shit.”

She checks her fingers—they’re coated in copious amounts of slick—and after a little further inspection, she realizes the aftermath.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

—————

Being honest about yourself, you couldn’t have asked to feel hornier at a worse time than this. Thirty thousand feet high up in the air, stuck in economy class because you don’t get paid enough to deal with the bullshit back in the office. Using your one of two allowed leaves in the year for a trip to see a girl you’ve mostly known online, and it isn’t even paid. To make things worse, there’s no layovers—just a point-to-point flight from San Francisco to Seoul. 13 hours.

And boy, is the ride absolutely miserable.

By what you might as well call divine intervention, you’re conveniently seated between a nun and a little girl—the two worst kinds of people to be alongside with. No, not because they’re annoying or anything like that; aside from the girl getting up every thirty minutes from her window seat to get something from her parents across the aisle, you’re practically barred access to your glorified archive of lewd Yerim pics. Opening them up with a kid barely in the first grade beside you is openly asking for trouble.

And the few times you get up for a lavatory break, you can’t get yourself going. There’s always someone at the door every five minutes.

Eight hours deep into the flight, you look over your shoulder, catch one of the male flight attendants sneak inside one of the vacant lavatories with a fellow stewardess while everyone’s fast asleep. Fucking sickening. That should be you with Yerim right now.

When you arrive on the other side of the planet, you’ve gotten only a couple hours’ worth of sleep. You almost fumble your passport at immigration, getting them mixed up with a slew of business and membership cards. Then there’s your forgetfulness working against you, remembering you need some kind of pocket Wi-Fi, and now you have to spend a little more to get back online. It’s a mess, and it wasn’t that long since you were in Europe for a seminar, where these things were merely second nature to you.

At least you remembered that VPNs exist. You message Yerim on the taxi ride out of the airport, unsure of where to begin.

> You: Just got out of immigration

> yerimiese: fuckin finally!

> yerimiese: you got a place to stay here?

> You: Not yet

> yerimiese: don’t bother, lemme send you my hotel address, you can stay here

Of course you don’t know Korean, despite the constant back and forth with Yerim for months. Learning’s been on the backend of your itinerary, and has never been your top priority, even now. You show the cab driver the address, who merely looks at you and the phone with a particularly vacant and dumbfounded expression, as if you’re stupid for not planning this out—which, in that regard, he’d be correct.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, only one message stands between you and finally meeting Yerimiese, once and for all.

> yerimiese: I’ll be at the poolside, third floor. can’t wait to meet you :P

And that’s exactly where you end up going. Forget that you’re lugging two whole bags and a traveler’s backpack on your shoulders; you drop them off at the front desk, expecting the staff to have a clue of what’s going on and what’s about to happen.

Stepping out into the poolside, it’s a completely barren sight. It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday; most people probably aren’t even booked, let alone in this supposed five-star hotel. You don’t really question whether she’s being serious or not, the evidence was in the previously sent photos; you’re dying to meet her at this point.

And as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, a woman emerges from beneath the waters, shaking off the wetness from her damp hair.

Yerim casually swims over the deep waters’ edge, without a care in the world, let alone your presence quietly shadowing over the large pool. Even halfway submerged, you can make out the outline of her shapely bust and hourglass figure, tightly hugged by a pink swimsuit. She was sultry and intoxicating to gawk at from candid photos, but seeing Yerimiese herself in the flesh, that’s when the realization hits you: this is happening.

And you can’t move a muscle, let alone react from the actualization that you’re right in front of her. Even as the waves of water splash on your new loafers, you simply observe. It’s creepy, it’s morally dubious, but it’s one in a million. You’re taking in every moment, every second; soak it all in, you’ll never get an experience like this ever again.

You should be friends by now, if your definition of friendship means sharing explicit body photos and exchanging devious intentions about how you’ll fuck each other online or how much cum you’ve given to each other. But when she turns in your direction—catching you casually observing her, your hands tucked away in your coat’s pocket, grinning like a little kid— it’s back to square one.

Like the very first time.

Yerim takes all the time in the world to wade over from the other side of the pool, her smile growing closer as she approaches you. She lifts her eyebrows, expecting you to make a first move, to which you barely open your mouth, and ultimately only a deep breath, a stilted sigh, comes out.

Well, this is awkward.

Yerim giggles. You’ve previously heard her loud moans and cries, but a genuine laugh—this was your first. She never hops on calls in your group chat, most likely because idol shit, as she often refers to her line of work. Her laughter, her energetic expression—it’s as perfect of a translation to real life as it is online, and embodies the idol Yeri you know on screen.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, trying—and failing—to suppress more of her laughter.

Your answer is concise, but doesn’t seem quite right. “A while.”

In reality, about five minutes. You probably won’t be there any longer when she props herself out of the water with her strong elbows. Water cascades down her shapely figure, thicker and meatier than it's ever been, more than what the cameras and pictures present. She’s truly the entire package, through and through.

She walks over to her sunlounger, granting you a nice peek of her ass peeking through her skimpy swimsuit before she wraps herself with a towel. Apart from that, your only other notable observation is that she’s soaking wet, even bundled up. That, and also: she’s barefoot. No sign of slippers or any footwear—she willingly walked on what appears to be scorching cobbled floors.

“I would give you a big hug right now, but you know—” she comments, looking down at her drenched self, pool water endlessly dripping down to her feet. Even if she isn’t soaking wet, you’d still be frozen in place, or even worse, some eagle-eyed stranger or Dispatch reporter catch you in secret and you both end up on national news the very next day.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you say, trying to dodge Yerim’s eyes. “I left my stuff at the front desk. I should probably go and grab them.”

“Smart.” Yerim sizes you up, nodding in amazement at how you’ve managed to get yourself past the entrance. “See you upstairs, then? Room 1015.”

—————

The difference between you and Yerim couldn’t be any more obvious.

Granted, you’re fresh off a 13 hour flight, followed by an hour's travel from the airport to a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul. Yerim had all the time in the world to prepare, and yet when she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a modest bathrobe and her dark hair bundled up, she’s never looked better.

Facing an idol in such a haggard condition, it gives you an underlying feeling of shame. And if you’re being completely honest, if not for your cock, she’d probably be repulsed and call security on you.

But there's no security in sight. Just you, just yeri, the two of you standing in this room - which is, for the most part, quite nice. Multiple bedrooms, a lovely view of the city beneath you, and all sorts of amenities and features you’ll never get to use—you half expect her members to come in later, but perhaps for your sake, you’re better off with just her and her alone.

When Yerim begins to talk, she rambles. She goes on about the status of the next album, discussions about a possible solo debut, her relationships with her members—conversations about topics that you never really had online. It was mostly dirty talk and lewd captions. At best, you knew each other at a surface level, but here she is, sharing everything from her heart like you’ve been lifelong friends since day one.

You let her. She’s as charismatic as what she portrays on screen, and her sass is no different than the private messages she sends you. There’s not a single dull moment whenever Yerim speaks. Though you know her mostly for her body, her personality is what has you sticking around.

You wonder if she feels the same way about you.

“So, how’d you find out about us?” Yerim asks, after blabbering for a while, and you genuinely believe she’d keep going till nightfall. Close enough. Five minutes away from five in the afternoon, and you’d already spent the last hour and a half listening to a personalized podcast from her. You hope she doesn’t notice the plate of bulgogi on the table now completely empty.

“Well, a friend was a K-pop fan and had an extra ticket when you toured here,” you say, casually, slumped on the sofa. “Forgot how long that was—” you pause, “five years ago?”

“Five years? Five years since we went to America?” Yerim appears flabbergasted, face in utter disbelief at the passage of time. The realization causes her to stand from her chair. You’d be too after listening to her drone on endlessly. “Fuck.”

“SM! Give us a fucking world tour already!” she screams, pretending she’s inside the company building and you’re an executive in the room. Watching her snarkiness come to life never ceases to amuse you. You’ll let her go on for as long as she needs to; she’s entertaining in such a unique and charming way that it disarms you.

“Argh, sorry, you know me.” She suddenly stops, faces you, arms crossed, mocking up a pout. “Look at me suddenly losing my shit for no good reason.”

“Are your members used to this?”

That didn’t come out right.

She bats an eyelid. On her face is a mild, blank look of displeasure. That didn’t come out right.

“Used to what?”

“Well, uh, I—I mean—”

You gulp your throat.

“Stop.”

Then, an air of awkward silence. Her eyes quickly scan you, lazing on the sofa.

“Let’s just get to fucking each other right now.”

—————

It isn’t that you’ve forgotten the one purpose you’re there to begin with, it’s that Yerim is very, very impulsive. One moment, upset at her company for doing the bare minimum for her group and her career, the next she’s using you as an outlet to release her frustrations. It’s a good thing your first impression of her was that she was very busty, because otherwise, the other description you had of her was—simply put—bratty.

You’re on your back, plopped against one of the beds, completely caught off-guard by her show of strength. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you find Yerim already at the bed’s edge, loosening the belt around her waist, quickly disrobing herself within seconds. It’s nothing new; you’ve seen glimpses of her nude figure in pictures, imagined many scenarios where you’ve got your hands on her, but this—to see her completely bare in the flesh—is new.

This is different.

“Just so you know,” you mutter, frantically panting, your heart jumping, as Yerim undresses in front of you, “I haven’t actually had sex before.”

Just like that, the mood instantly changes. She stops. Abruptly.

“What?”

Her mouth drops—again. Might as well stay agape.

You consider retracting your statement. It was a joke, you’d say, something to get her even more aroused, fired up. The sex would be wilder, hotter than anything your fantasies would conjure. Then again, you wouldn’t be in this exact situation if you weren’t so chronically online, simping over pop idols like a kid about to enter puberty.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she comments, snarkily, grabbing the edges of your pants, daring to rip them off you. “That’s fucking life, baby!”

If you were in her shoes, obsessively waiting for someone with equally unhinged horniness, expressing precisely how you’d get fucked every single time you’d send a remotely lewd photo, you’d feel just as disappointed. You can tell by her partially scornful expression: she’s been fantasizing this moment as much as you have, too. You can’t blame her, but you kind of expected her to anticipate this; after all, you connected in a private group chat that’s been sexualizing her, of all places.

Surely the signs of virginity were right there.

“At least this is real,” she says, leaning her head forward while cupping your growing bulge poking through your trousers. Your tip, at full mast, mere inches away from her chin, instead of a little phone screen. She’s pushing you around, growing slightly more mischievous and uncontrollable with the prospect of throwing someone like you around instead of the opposite. Something her members may have taught and ingrained in her.

It isn’t quite the picture you expected from all the erotic snapshots and clips she’s been sending you. Every photo and video, designed to rouse the filthiest and wildest of your thoughts, was an act, a ruse to let your guard down, to give you this fixed headcanon that you can toss her around like she’s your personal plaything and object of pleasure. Instead, she’s using you for her own desires and wants.

It’s not that you don’t want her to use you and fuck you like this, it’s how completely in control she is that has you reeling, leaves you in a dizzy spell.

“I was gonna let you use my pussy and fuck me to ruin,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, teasing and mocking. Her hand grips around the denim of your bulge, and it fucking stings. You’re sucking on loose air. “But since we have a virgin over here, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

The implied connotation is what terrifies you, and no, it isn’t the revelation that Yerim isn’t a virgin—you assumed that much—but the notion that you were gonna have free reign over her cunt that has you contemplating some deep, long forgotten life decisions that set you back years. Their consequences are now starting to show.

She releases her ironclad grip on your pants, frees you of your obstructive clothing, both trousers and boxers down to the floor. Your hard cock springs free, terribly aching, already red and sore from her suffocating clench, and already leaking bursts of precum. The last day and a half hasn’t been kind to your cock.

To add insult to injury, she makes this licking motion with her tongue, aimed at your tip, but relents at the last minute. It leaves your throbbing cock aching harder, without any point of relief. The teasing sight almost renders you unconscious, and sends Yerim into a laughing frenzy.

“Remember when I said I could taste your cock?” she says, chuckling. It’s not playful in the slightest—quite the opposite, in fact. It’s sinister. “I’ll wait a little longer to taste it. Don’t worry.”

Not the most reassuring of words, especially when you’ve got your hands tied—at least, not yet. Actually, you appreciate that she isn’t going to milk your cock dry just yet; when you finally look past the situation at hand, you come to treasure her chest. Her shapely chest, freely bouncing while she bounces her thick body on your lap—keep doing that, you say inside your mind, letting your wandering gaze soak in the unreal scene.

She notices your intrigued eyes, rising and falling in rhythm with her tits. Subtlety was never your intention, and she probably knows from experience, as she says she does. Fixated attention is how she gets herself off, based on how she seems to respond to the lewd messages you’ve sent her in the past, and it shows when she repeats some choice remarks back to your face:

“I’d kill my boss to fuck those tits right now, you’re so goddamn sexy.”

She grips a hand around your throat, another down to the buttons of your shirt, pulling them apart.

“Let me be your personal titty towel.”

Halfway there.

“I’d suck on your tits first, go down on your delicious pussy, then fuck that wet hole of yours three times straight.”

Just like that, you’re both even. Equal in nakedness.

You’re unsure whether it’s the sight of Yerim asserting her dominance over you, tits all up in your face with a devious smirk as she bares you down to your essentials that’s leaving you short on air, or if it’s the hand cautiously coiled around your neck. Either option seems sensible enough. This is how she lives in your head rent free, just being her sassy, sexy self. Even repeating some of the same particularly questionable lewd things you’ve written to her sounds hot with her brazen tone.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning her head close, as if demanding an answer.

Really, there’s no multiple choice here. Of course you nod.

She rolls her hips upward, inches her body across yours little by little, til her dripping pussy completely shadows your view. Her hand grabs the back of your head, meaty thighs pressing between your face. Now you’re truly suffocating. Even with the rather shameful admission, she rolls her crotch on your lips, expecting you to know what to do. No words, just the expectant grind of her crotch on your face, her wet folds opening up for you to take them.

Then, she begins moaning.

Admittedly, the closest you’ve had to trying out oral is using your phone as an outlet for your tongue whenever she sends a boob photo. Thankfully, your inexperience doesn’t show when you first dip your tongue inside her folds, getting your first taste of pussy. Saltier than you expected, but fuck, you’d be lying if you think it wasn’t completely intoxicating—everything you hoped for, and more.

It incites a few expressive reactions from Yerim—some loud, others quieter—with the end result usually a sharper, deeper grind of her waist on your face, splaying her cunt for you to devour. You’ve got one hand pressed on her ass, holding her plump flesh down while the other is at her mercy, pulled by hers, forced to squeeze her breast. You won’t complain. Not when her cries of pleasure motivate you to push yourself harder.

You repeat this addictive cycle, stretch moments into minutes, minutes into hours. Even when you’ve drained her completely, you’ll still be craving for more of her; that’s how hungry she’s made you. Your tongue meets her clit, and it draws out this especially sharp whine that she’s never hit once. Not on a track. Not anywhere. She swears up a storm, juxtaposed between soft, gentle pleas of “yes, more, and you’re so good.”

In return, you take more of her, soak yourself in the continuous downpour of her slick juices freely flowing all over your mouth and tongue. As her pleasure escalates, her fingers tighten their grasp on your head, grab your tousled hair. You add soft, intimate kisses between streaks of licking her folds, and they send the young idol writhing, shaking atop you. Her words have been reduced to nothing but short, needy bursts of “please.” Even in this uncontrollable state, she gyrates her hips around you, rhythm steady, but more determined than ever to let herself go.

By the way her pussy throbs, you’re certain she’s a few critical points away from climax. It doesn’t change your plans, not one bit. You continue to lap at her sensitive folds, bask in her intoxicating heat, purposefully teasing her clit. She won’t demand that you end her —not this quickly, not when you’ve magically learned the art of giving oral to a woman under short notice.

You slowly work her through it. Your tongue dives into her slick entrance, deeper than it's ever been so far. The overpowering sensations send ripples that reach even the foundations of the bed, unlike anything it’s ever felt. Even in the wild throes of bodily pleasure, Yerim has enough willpower to stay in character, delivering a demand in her usual playful, fast talking tone. “Please do it! I’m going to cum!”

You contemplate the thought, completely drunk in her divine taste yourself, but you oblige.

Your tongue sticks to her bud, and it causes this instantaneous, elaborate chain reaction. Yerim cries a sharp cry, waves of orgasm washing down all over her body. She stops in her tracks, completely rigid, mouth wide open, and this torrential gush of slick and orgasm swamps you, drowning you so deep that it's nearly fatal. Her thighs involuntarily clench tighter, too, and you’re temporarily trapped in your own pocket dimension, impossible to clean with all the cum left behind, especially on the sheets.

The most surprising observation from her orgasm is how suddenly calm it becomes. Only the sound of your tongue licking her clean can be heard, and it’s nothing but a gentle rustle. She hangs her head up, face completely flushed, catching needed oxygen in her lungs, letting the aftermath of her climax pass over.

While her breath normalizes, she lifts herself up, moves to the side of the bed. In her wake, she’s left behind a drenched lake of slick around your face, leaking down to the muddled sheets beneath you.

“Well,” she says, panting and pausing for air. “There goes the other bed.”

It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what she meant. Even when you’re still mindlessly occupied by the sticky residue around your lips. You let out this muffled exhale, designed to be a laugh, but it backfires in your face. Amused, she giggles on your behalf.

“Not bad.” Yerim smiles at you. Charming and cute, a contrast to what had just transpired. “I thought you said you never had sex?”

It takes you a moment before you answer back, “I haven’t. You just taste really good.”

“You still have some left on the edges of your face,” she comments, her eyes mesmerized by how much she’s cum all over you. “Let me help you clean that up.”

And she helps, but not in a conventional way. She lifts you from the bed by your torso, then submerges you again, this time at the mercy of her bosom. You’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist while you’re kissing and sucking on her Yerim’s tits, not exactly tidying up, but creating a larger mess that no amount of tongue cleaning can resolve.

In the meantime, she whispers in your ear some of your more—questionable—comments:

“They need to give her a solo debut with a very sexy concept and trust me, I’ll be the guy who breaks the world record for jerking off if they do that.”

“It must feel heavy to carry them all the time. Let me lend a hand to you.”

“The only thought I had inside my mind when I saw her is every member would milk her 3x a day so that they don’t have to go outside and buy milk to eat cereal to the point they would just drink it from the source.”

You stop. You give her this strange, confused look. Even you couldn’t believe you said that.

“Did I actually say that?”

“Yes!” she replies, quick and straightforward, unable to hide her enthusiasm, while brushing your hair. “Not gonna lie, that sent me to the floor. I was laughing so hard, Irene ran in to check up on me!”

To make things worse, she flashes this wide, toothy grin that makes you regret your life choices.

“God. I don’t wanna drink anymore.”

“Hey, if there’s any consolation, you wouldn’t be sucking on my tits and eating me out now if you never made that comment,” she says, caressing your chin and giving you a peck on the lips. As if it’s still not one of the most out of pocket comments you’ve ever made about anyone, let alone a celebrity—and you weren’t fully yourself.

“Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” Yerim pushes you back down to the bed, crawls atop you, meeting your lips again for an intimate kiss. Your hard cock, which has been left unattended for quite a while, captures your attention—and especially hers. “Lean back for me, will you?”

You comply. Involuntarily, your legs straighten, but Yerim pushes them apart, places herself at center view, seemingly ready to take you in her mouth. It makes sense; a woman with a mouth that runs like hers probably only stops when there’s cock stuffed inside them. The theory proves to be plausible when she gives your sensitive tip a delicate, yet dangerous lick, her eyes glinting at you with renewed vigor and lust.

“I told you I’d have a taste of that cock,” she says, half smug, half seductive, gloating with her brows. Your tenseness slightly recedes—until you realize your cock’s moving past her lips, in the direction of the space between her cleavage. “I didn’t say I wanted to suck on it.”

And she was right—not once has she ever expressed her desire to choke, gag, deepthroat on it.

You grit your teeth, watching your cock disappear between her shapely tits, with Yerim personally making sure you comfortably fit like a glove. You fold. It’s snug. Hot. Breathtaking.

“Fuck, Yeri,” you mutter, closing your eyes as her inviting warmth leaves you weak in the knees, trembling. You don’t realize you’ve used her stage name over her real name. “God—”

“Does this feel like everything you wanted?” she asks, tone sultry and triumphant. A little slide up sends you into a frenzy.

You nod—even though there’s no other available options. The erotic image in front of you is permanently seared into your head: Kim Yerim, popular idol and to an extend, your ‘friend with benefits,’ grinning like a maniac, slowly fucking your cock between her tits, coated with your saliva, sweat, and copious amounts of precum. To think your little crude messages on a random forum would have such long term and drastic consequences such as this.

Not that you’d want to make sense of it all, especially when she gets into a rhythm. Sliding her breasts up and down, she’s delicate, intentional, and masochistic; you’re on the receiving end of how she felt when you were slowly eating her out. She’s dangerous, teetering between the line where your cock can be safe between her bosom and where she can break you in half. You’re already falling apart—and fast.

“Holy shit, Yerim. Fuck.”

Each word you deliver is long and drawn out, especially the profanities. Heavenly music to her ears. She’s out of reach where you can pull by her hair, so you settle for the sheets instead. Your gaze wanders, travels everywhere but in her direction, because you don’t need to see the tortuous scene happening between your legs. Looking at the descending sun, this is probably the last time you’ll see the sun set in your life.

Her eyes challenge you to look at anywhere from her. Panting frantically, you find yourself at the mercy of Yerim’s whims, your cock fading and swelling into view, sticky and wet, gushing cum all over her tits. The sight drives you further mad, has you making sounds that have never been recorded—ever. She takes you in, delights in your suffering, eager for you to say the magic words.

“Ready to cum? I know you want to cum.”

Even under duress, you’re not ready to fold just yet. There’s a little stubbornness inside you fighting back, pulling all the stops to keep you from surrendering to Yerim’s demands. You close your eyes, grip on the sheets even tighter, control your breathing, but it’s too little too late. You can only do so much with two hands.

“Cum for me.”

You hold onto a particularly deep breath, desperate to cling to whatever dying vestiges of control there is left, but your fate has already been sealed from the moment you’ve allowed your cock to enter her chest.

“Yerim, I—”

The exhale you release is the most relieving and satisfying. With it, comes out a rope of thick, creamy cum splashed all over her neck and chest. The aching, violent sensation doesn’t stop; more seed spills between the warmth of her cleavage. In one fell swoop, you feel all of your energy sapped from you, leaving you completely weak and powerless.

In the gap between your climax and post-orgasm haze, you wonder if she’ll take some of your cum in her mouth, with the way she looks at your cock as it throbs beneath her chin. No. She lets it drip down her perfect naked body with a sticky white sheen that glows under the natural light piercing through the hotel’s window.

“Just like that, hm,” she comments, casually flicking the last of your withering orgasm and cum with her wrist. She lathers the slick on her fingers on her shoulder, then places some into her mouth for a taste.

After you regain a semblance of normalcy—after Yerim’s finished entertaining herself with your cum, staring at her coated body and fingers with curious interest—she rests her elbows on your knees, in the process of relearning how to bend. You sink back against the headrest, watch as the fading sun glimmers on an idol like her, destined to shine for every occasion possible—on the stage and under the afterglow of sex. She smiles, bright and wide, taking you in, as you are.

There’s something brewing, especially in the tender few minutes that follow. Something special, something more than just a spark.

“So—” Yerim runs a sticky finger on your knee, dangerously close to stirring up your cock again. “You wanna try anal with me next?”

You pause. Widening your eyes, staring back with a look of disbelief. Just when you’re about to open your mouth to reply, she adds:

“Kidding. You do know that you’re gonna have to delete those tweets and comments, right? If they find out you’re here, you’re fucked. And I mean, a thousand times worse than now.”

—————

(A/N: This was an absolute joy to write. The nature of the request meant I could go very meta with it. About time we get a proper Red Velvet full album, so perfect timing! If you're able to figure out some of the references and easter eggs, then you, my friend, are too engrossed in the Tumblr K-pop male reader smut lore. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #yeri #red velvet

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dirtyvulture · 12 days

Note

Can you make like...How do you think the avengers would react if they found a Flashdrive witn Y/n modeling pictures... after she forgot in a table

I’m not technically taking requests right now, but I’ll give this one a shot:

“I thought you said we weren’t supposed to stick unknown flash drives in our laptops,” Steve points out as Tony spins the silver flash drive with a coating of chipped red paint towards himself.

“I said you guys aren’t supposed to,” he says, “But I can do whatever I want.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re still putting everyone at risk if–” Steve continues, as Natasha rolls her eyes next to him and wonder why he’s even putting up an argument.

“What do you humans keep on those tiny sticks anyway?” Thor asks, his entire hand shoved into a nearly empty box of Poptarts.

“We’re about to find out.” Tony connects the flash drive to his laptop. He opens the drive to reveal a single folder. Steve, Natasha, and Clint crowd closer to him to get a better view, while Thor discards his box of Poptarts and goes hunting through the cupboards for another snack.

“It looks like a bunch of pictures and some videos,” Tony says, reading off the file names. But the thumbnails are too small to tell what they are, so he double clicks on one, opening a very high-resolution photo of you in black lingerie, posing by a stripper pole on some kind of stage.

“Oh no,” Steve squeaks, turning away as if to protect your modesty.

“Hell yeah,” Clint says in approval. “Go Y/N.”

Natasha feels her mouth go dry as she stares at your hardly covered body.

“Is this what Y/N does on her days off?” Tony says, clicking through the photos. The photoshoot seems to have no end, as you move from posing on the stage to lying out on a couch, progressively losing more and more of your clothing until–

“Yep, that’s enough for the day.” Tony shuts the lid of his laptop. “Someone should tell Y/N to at least password-protect her flash drive.”

“Let me make a copy first,” Natasha mutters.

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

AN: This is a Nat x R blog after all, so hopefully you didn't expect anything less. :)

#anon ask #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #avengers react #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader

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goldsbitch · 4 months

Text

Right? p2

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

That is until a photoshoot gets out of hand and there is no way to go but forward.

part 1

You almost started this day with a shot from the minibar. Contemplated faking a flu. But the qualifying was too important, the sponsors seemed to love this track and your boss was very clear that he needs every photographer, even if they had a broken arm.

With a sigh, you entered the common area of the paddock, quickly heading for the media office. Sure he won't be there, he must be having some prep time now. You were not ready to face him.

Nothing happened, you tried to calm yourself down with every shiver that came around every few minutes. It was just a kiss in the heat of the moment. No one would ever know.

Oh, but if it had only been just a kiss.

You were a bit shocked when he closed the distance between you two, put a hand on your cheek and his lips on yours. This was no light romantic kiss. Your body reacted immediately, faster than your mind, which shut down completely. Butterflies in your stomach flying over the roof.

Lando pulled away few centimetres. "Is this ok?"

You nodded. Nothing else for you to do, you were hooked.

"Use your words. I want to hear it."

"Yes," you whispered and went for more.

Lando pushed you down, you were now lying on the backseat with him over you. Your bodies seemed to speak in their own language, it was all so natural. Your hands in his hair, his lip biting yours. You'd do anything to stay locked in this moment for ever. How can someone have lips so soft? You roamed around his perfect body, and he did too. His hand quickly found a way under your crop top. And it was right when he was about to touch your breast when your phone rang.

It felt like being caught by a teacher. Except you were technically not caught. Your boss was just asking if you were going into overtime or if the photoshoot was wrapped.

The ride back to the hotel was silent from both sided, reality kicking in. It was probably the longest drive you've ever experienced.

You had a strict deadline. Editing photos from last night was the last thing you wanted to do right now, but duty calls.

Your heart sank after you skimmed though them. Not because they would be bad - on the contrary. The last photos had Lando with the hottest look on his face you have ever seen on him, dynamic close ups and him literally eye fucking you via the picture. These can't get out. You were almost jealous at the thought of anyone being able to see him like that. Somehow, you managed to dig yourself even a bigger hole than before.

Professional, right?!

You didn't see Lando until few minutes before the start of qualifying. Focusing on taking photos of Oscar was your strategy to survive today, because the butterflies were unbearable yet again. Lando's nonchalant presence was something you were not able to tune out this time.

Taking few snaps of Oscar made you seem busy. You'd take only few pictures of Lando today. But almost as if he could feel you the same way you felt his presence, he managed to look into your lens right at the moment you were taking a picture. You could melt right at the spot.

Lando seemed less chatty than his usual self today.

Third in qualifying, fourth in the Grand Prix. Podium slipped through Lando's hands. But nevertheless, great weekend for McLaren. Lando beat himself up, but made sure to highlight the job of the people at the factory and the whole team.

You danced around each other all weekend, always busy, never alone and without company. It was probably for the good, right?

Days rushed over and suddenly you were sitting at the usual Tuesday PR catch up. The team was analyzing the response of the fans in their usual matter. Lando and Oscar were due to join in.

You sat rather quietly, waiting to be addressed and not trying to join in - very unusual on your part.

The whole room was watching stats and analytics, talking about the boys as if they were not human, but some sort of character. You always found that strange.

You both successfully avoided eye contact until the moment where the growing female fan base of Oscar's was discussed. This being a subtle hint that Lando is getting side tracked. Once you locked eyes, it was hard to look away. The room went silent for you, could not stop focusing on his look and the way he subtly licked his lips.

"Merch time!" This way your cue.

"Yes, let's see the latest photos," you stood up confidently to take over. Fake it til you make it, right?

As you went over the selected 15 photos and explained the idea behind them and how you believe these might work for the targeted audience, Lando seemed to be more intrigued than usually.

"Thank you, y/n. Lando, can we approve these for the launch?" asked his lead PR.

"Um." Lando seemed to be lost for words, fascinated look on his face. The room paused for a second. "Can I see them again real quick?"

What was he playing at? Your heartbeat skipped a beat.

"Yeah, sure," you skimmed through each of them again, putting them on a replay.

Lando put on a fake serious face, as if he was thinking something through. "Yeah, I think these are great," he replied, making everyone in the room relaxed again. Then he turned to you and gave you a smirk. " I think we should do more of this."

That fucker.

part 3

______________________________________________________________

@i-wish-this-was-me

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #ln4 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris angst #mclaren

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reqxxyt · 11 months

Text

the minute i fell

pairings: charles l. x f!reader

summary: in which Charles and Carlos make a bet to get with the photographer of Ferrari, a reserved introvert, but finally getting the chance to speak to her, Charles realizes he already lost.

warnings: i had no idea how to end this.. very rushed ending

wc: 2.1k

masterlist requests are open!

[unedited]

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The duo sat on the paddock floor, laughing along as others passed them in the ferrari garage not taking into consideration of their conversation.

“I’m telling you, I am amazing with the women” Charles claimed while Carlos gave him a non convinced look, not accepting his claim. A familiar figure caught Carlos’ eye ready to prove Charles wrong.

“What about y/n?” Carlos said, a bit quieter as the two turned analyzing her movements as she was adjusting the camera settings, ready to pack and leave. Charles’ gaze longed as he was about to reject the proposal before he heard the spaniard next to him say “Or you could always prove yourself wrong”

Charles competitive spirit flamed as he just nodded, turning his gaze away from the girl towards Carlos just nodding his head making the other just smirk, already loving the idea of how this would turn out.

It was well known in the garage that y/n didn’t like to be bothered, very quiet and reserved to others. Everyone at some point tried to be friendly towards her but her blunt responses would cause them to turn away, thinking she didn’t like them, didn’t like anyone.

So when Charles got up he automatically crossed off all of his starter questions knowing it would only end the conversation in 2 seconds. On the other end, the girl was exhausted, having dealt with trying to capture the best moments of the weekend with a constant headache and jetlag. But the job overweight the cons everytime, she was only ever quiet because she was too focused on her job, not allowing anyone to interrupt her during her time. Yes, she already knew most saw her as rude, but she didn’t mind that, at least they stopped pretending to be nice the first week.

“Capture all the good moments?” at first she thought Charles wasn’t speaking to her, still focused on tuning some camera settings until she heard him clear his throat in front of her finally making her look up. He waited for a proper response but all he received was a tight smile and a barely noticeable nod. The girl was about to gather her belongings, thinking the conversation was done but instead he kept talking to her, “Maybe I’ll get an early preview?”

“Yeah, maybe” she said simply, getting her tote bag and ready to walk out, but Charles didn’t seem to give up almost blocking her exit before she scurried next to him and squeezed outside.

“What are you doing later tonight?” he ran up to her, catching up to her fast pace clearly catching the hint but refusing to give up this early after Carlos doubted him. Y/n simply shrugged mumbling a soft “don’t know”

“What if-” he was interrupted with y/n turning and catching him off guard as she finally grew annoyed and said “What do you want, Charles? Seriously, do you find it entertaining to talk to someone who doesn’t want a conversation right now?”

Charles stood, stunned at her questions, finally gathering his thoughts after a couple of moments, commenting “This is the most you’ve spoken. Improvement” the corners of his lips twitch upwards as she sighed, growing more irritated that that was the portion he focused on more. Before he could say anything more on her ‘improvement’ she turned saying a simple “Goodnight” leaving Charles to think to himself while his teammate was trying not to laugh a few feet away seeing Charles’ failed attempt with front row seats.

A couple of days later

Y/n would be lying if she said she didn’t hate the plan for today, it consisted of having to do a photoshoot with the two drivers. She was hoping to not have to interact with Charles but the way the past couple of days had gone he would definitely try something.

She had finally finished adjusting the lighting on the scene, seeing the two drivers walk up to their designated areas and before she could even wrap around the strap on my neck, she spotted Charles with messed up hair. The photographer looked around, hoping to find their hairdresser but found them nowhere near, with a heavy sigh she walked to Charles and trying to keep the most distance, leaned upwards and adjusted the strands that stuck out not daring to make eye contact or take a smell of his fresh cologne.

Charles tried his best to keep her in that same position, praying her gaze would lower to his own, thinking eye contact could help him with achieving this stupid bet he already began regretting and having doubts of his own, but he refused to accept defeat. Seeing her simply turn around after finishing made him internally frustrated, trying to come up with another idea while she was still here.

After the first set, Charles subconcecially ran his hands through his hair, not realizing he had messed it up until he heard her steps forward him replacing his hand with her own as she ran through it, trying her best to fix his mess. In that moment, Charles felt his own heart speed up, realizing just how pretty the girl was from up close, with a focused gaze having her nose scrunch before leaning back down. This time, she glanced back at him, making direct eye contact but stepped back forcing herself away from him.

“Fix your shirt Leclerc” she commented, waiting on him as she walked back to her original position. Charles looked down only seeing it tucked in slightly. His innocent smile grew with curious eyes as he asked

“Why not fix it for me?” he immediately noticed the way her cheeks got pink, whether that be from the bright sun or his question he doesn’t want the answer to, wanting his own delusions to be the true meaning but she just glared at him, ignoring how the sun somehow made his eyes look perfect at the current angle.

“That would be considered inappropriate” she said, looking back down, ready to take the next set right after he could fix it but she just looked up at him seeing his innocent smile. She turned to Carlos, asking him to fix it and he did with no obligation, she just smiled to herself afterwards before taking another couple of photos, checking them afterwards ready to take the final set at the next location.

The two followed the girl to the next location with a safe enough distance where she couldn’t hear their whispered conversation.

“No luck?” Carlos asked even though already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him and finally admit to defeat but Charles only refused, saying “it’s only been a couple of days”

Carlos just hummed before the two finally caught back up to the girl, waiting for them by the two cars. She instructed them where to stand, giving them simple instructions thinking it shouldn’t be that difficult completely forgetting she was dealing with an irratating Charles today. He stood a couple of feet away from his position,

“Can you scoot to the left a little, Charles?” she asked, trying her best to appear polite and surprisingly he did as he was told with no obligation. She took the first picture, making sure there was no odd glare anywhere before finally getting back down to take more shots. Taking the final picture, she concluded the day with a simple ‘perfect’.

The girl was looking through them all, making some adjustments not appearing to notice the Monacan driver walking up to her, only managing to spook her with a simple greeting, only earning a glare right after.

"Do you need something else" she asked, putting her camera down to face him and while the gesture may have meant little to the photographer it meant an advancement to Charles, making eye contact was his specialty.

"Just making sure I look good" he said with his charming smile, she only nodded mumbling a barely audible "You always do" but Charles had heard, not so clear but he could make up the mumble, making his smirk grow just by a millimeter.

"Is it too late for you to fix my hair" he asked with a hint of mischief in his tone but she only stared blankly, not the slightest amused, ready to walk away from the conversation but he grasped her wrist before she could take a step holding her back, sending a strange sensation to both.

"Terrble joke" he apoligized, knowing he was giving her a hard time. He sighed, debating the options before finally admitting, "Truth is, me and Carlos had this bet going on for the past couple of days, now thinking about it, it was stupid. I won’t bother you again, just please don’t hate me"

"I already knew" she shrugged not appearing the slightest suuprised meanwhile Charles nearly had his whole jaw agape of the reveal. "I was waiting for when you would tell me"

"You knew? Since when?" he didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or stupid. Definetly both.

"The first day" she said ready turn now before saying "Don’t worry, I could never hate the prettiest driver"

The next day had been quite normal, considering Charles stopped bothering the girl, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The girl he couldn’t get, had started off as a bet where he would have her fall for him, turned to him falling for her.

“Hey, Charles?” Her voice made his heart spike up, turning to see her with a small smile. “Mind helping me with something?”

He nodded, waiting for her request as she fiddled with her ear, taking out a single earring.

“I lost my earring earlier, mind helping me look of it?” he noticed her earring, one similar to another he had spotted not too far, a golden stud with diamond specs. He just nodded, observing it in her hand before replying with a simple sure. Without saying much else, he headed to the last place he saw it last with the girl trailing behind him.

“I think I saw it earlier around here” he informed, starting the search with her. “I’ve never seen you wear jewelry before” he attempted to make a conversation and while the girl hesitated, she decided to reply with interest, “I don’t. Normally I am not allowed to, I only wear them on formal occasions really. But the one time I tried wearing it, i seemed to have lost it”

Charles only chuckled, searching the area with more detail. “It sure looks pretty, gift, I assume?” he wanted the conversation to last a lifetime, hearing her voice made him both comfortable and on suspense.

“Yeah, my mother gave it to me. The only gift she gave me and I’ve lost it” her voice filled with sorrow and Charles immedietly filled terrible, ready to apoligize for even bringing it up but all she gave him was a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, I just need to find it is all”

The search continued, lasting an hour before the girl gave a tired sigh, feeling her eyes trickled with water but she refused to cry, at least not in front of someone. She was ready to give up, clinging onto the one that she hasn’t lost yet hoping to anyone that could hear to allow her to find the gift. Meanwhile, Charles refused to give up not needing her frowned expression to be the appearance she gives him everyday because he couldn’t find her precious item. Not too long afterward, he finally spotted it, underneath a rug, he immediately grasped it letting out a soft yell, enough for her to hear him

“Found it!” immediately, she went to him observing the earring before confirming it and thanking him, excitement struck her as she leaped forward grabbing the sides of his face pushing her lips to his.

Charles arms fell to his sides, still needing time to react before closing her in his embrace wanting to deepen the kiss, eager for more, still ensuring to keep grasp of the earring. The kiss only lasted a minute before the girl finally brought herself back, bringing her hands to her sides, no longer looking at the earring but needing a positive reaction from the driver she as well was having a headache about the past couple of days.

Seeing no reaction, she immediately grasped the earring thanking him silently but before she could turn away, he grabbed the sides of her face pulling her back in for another taste, she immediately melted in his arms, almost dropping the earring. After the two separated, their eyes wouldnt dare leave each other for a second, Charles lifting a corner of his mouth, feeling all types of adrenaline while the girl in his arms tried her best to calm down not sure if she was liking the rapid pace her heart was going.

“Hope this isn’t part of your plan Leclerc” was all she could let out, with a shaky breath. Charles only smiled, reassuring her

“I lost the minute I started falling”

#charles leclerc #f1 #f1 x you #f1 reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #reader insert #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #fluff

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dark-fics-4-you · 9 months

Note

Ahhh you knocked it out of the park!!! Thank you for doing my request (somno step bro Rafe). Would love if you did more or some virginity loss or something :) I feel like reader would catch Rafe being hard around her accidentally and get innocently curious

Saving the spicy stuff for a main chapters but I was inspired by this ask so here’s a lil blurb 😏

Rafe sat on the couch, scrolling through your instagram feed. Pic after pic of you at parties, past halloween costumes that were much too skimpy for you to be posting for just anyone to see, and photos of you posing with friends filled your profile.

He paused on a beach pic that you had posted a few weeks ago. Sarah was an excellent photographer, and you two frequently did little photoshoots together for each other.

You were in the sand, lying on your back on a blue beach towel, propped up by your elbows with your legs stretched out. The white bikini you were wearing barely covered anything, and Rafe could see your hardened nipples poking through the thin material.

His tongue darted between his lips, pants tightening as he grew hard. Rafe took a screenshot, saving the pic to his folder of his favorite pictures of you.

When he heard the door open behind him, he quickly pocketed his phone, glancing over his shoulder to see you bouncing in with a grin.

“Hey Rafey, I was looking for you!”

“C’mere bunny.” He gestured for you to come closer.

He wasn’t expecting you to climb into his lap for a hug.

You threw your legs over his lap, wrapping your arms around his chest and squeezing him in a hug.

Rafe tensed, trying to think about anything other than his adorable lil step sis sitting in his lap. Despite his efforts, he could feel himself getting harder as you squirmed.

“Do you think we could make a liquor run soon? I have that party with Sarah and John B and the other guys tonight!” You were clearly excited about the get together, a little too excited for Rafe’s comfort.

“You’re actually going to that?” Rafe asked in annoyance, trying to focus on something other than your bare thighs so close to him.

“I mean yeah, they’re my friends! I like hanging out with John B, Pope, Kie, and JJ!”

At the mention of JJ’s name, Rafe’s jaw tightened, jealously flashing through him.

He knew that JJ was just like all the other Pogues. No good trash from the Cut, who would steal and lie to get what they want. But Rafe’s qualms with JJ went beyond just Kook vs Pogue war.

Rafe knew that JJ liked you. It’s not like he had to be an genius to notice, he had seen JJ staring at you so many times that he had grown accustomed to hating the other blond even more than the rest of the Pogues.

JJ was nothing but bad news. The type of guy that slept around and broke new girl’s hearts weekly. The type of guy who would eat you alive if given the chance.

And the thought of JJ putting his hands on you, or even thinking about putting his hands on you, made Rafe want to explode with rage.

“You’ve been hanging around those pogues a lot recently,” Rafe spat out, jaw clenching.

“Ugh lighten up, Rafey. I’m here now, aren’t I?” You asked in annoyance as you rolled your eyes, shifting on his lap.

Rafe bit back a groan at the motion, passing it off as a cough.

“Damn Rafe, you gotta stop smoking, it’s already affecting your lungs,” you teased lightly, completely unaware of what he was hiding from you.

“Mm, hmm, you’re right bunny,” he said, distracted, mind somewhere much different than yours.

Suddenly, he remembered your plans for the night, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to keep you from going out, “you should stay in tonight, Y/N/N. We can watch a movie, one of your favorites. Plus I’ll make you all the drinks you want.”

“Mmm,” you considered his offer for a moment before making up your mind with an excited smile. “Okay! That sounds nice!”

When you shifted again, you noticed something poking at your ass.

“Rafeyy, do you have something in your pocket?”

“Oh uh, yeah, just my phone, Y/N/N,” Rafe lied.

And like the dumb, trusting little sister you were, you believed him.

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #stepbro!rafe #stepbro!rafe cameron

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outsideratheart · 9 months

Text

Helium (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: This is chapter 6 of The Legacy Series.

You laid on your sofa debating whether or not to call Alexia. This seemed to be happening a lot recently but given that you had been out for breakfast together you wasn’t sure if she would want to see you again.

Things had been going really well between the two of you, both on and off the pitch. On the pitch you had officially found your groove having scored 11 goals in the last 7 games. Off the pitch you find yourself in an unfamiliar state of happiness. Days off were never spent alone and you no longer made table reservations for one as Alexia joined you in your goal of eating at every restaurant and drinking at every coffee shop in Barcelona.

Your thumb hovers over Alexia’s contact before hitting the call button. It rings 4 times before you get her voicemail. You see this as a sign that you should get an early night so you do just that. Besides, you have training in the morning so you only have to wait a few more hours until you can see her again.

Only the next morning you arrive at Joan Camper and a certain midfielder is missing.

“Oh Y/N” Mapi grabs your hand pulling you towards her table in the canteen “You know why Alexia is late don’t you? The two of you are always together so she will have told you something”

You could think of many words to describe Alexia but late is not one of them, especially not when it came to training. This was reason enough for concern but you didn’t want to worry the rest of the team so you chose to lie.

“She had a photoshoot this morning but don’t worry she’ll be here in time for us to destroy her at the fitness test” you hoped your joke would help cover the lie and to your relief it was.

Alexia did turn up to the facility albeit it 2 1/2 hours after training had started. The rest of the team didn’t think twice about it given you told them she was going to be late but you on the other hand wanted to know why she was late.

The two of you partner up for the next drill and it gives you the opportunity to question her away from the other girls.

“Is everything ok?” You ask her.

“Thank you for covering for me this morning. It won’t happen again” she dodges the question and you recognise the avoidance technique all to well.

“Ale” you grab her hand and pull her to the side of the pitch.

“What are you doing? We are in the middle of training” Alexia looks around and sees that you have caught the attention of a few staff members.

“And we will go back to that in a minute. Talk to me? Has something happened?”

“I’m fine. I overslept”

“That’s a lie” you call her out without hesitation.

“It is” Alexia mumbles as runs back onto the pitch where the rest of the team are waiting for you.

For the rest of the session it felt like Alexia was avoiding you and only you. Every so often you would catch her eye, she would hold the gaze for a couple of seconds, flash a quick smile and then turn away. At least you knew she wasn’t ignoring you.

Alexia’s behaviour continued for the next couple of days and every time you asked her about it she found a way to change the subject. You started to worry but after talking to Mapi & Jenni you learnt that sometimes Alexia does this. She goes quiet and pulls away but it doesn’t last longer than a week.

“Alexia please wha—“

You don’t get the chance to ask her what is wrong yet again because you are interrupted although this time it isn’t by the Spaniard it is by Lieke.

“Y/N your mum keeps calling me because you won’t take her calls. Care to explain?”

This gets Alexia’s attention. Over the time she has known you she has learnt that you are very close with you mum so that fact you are ignoring her calls is a concern.

“It’s fine. I’ll handle it” you try to keep your response as short as possible.

“Is it about the thing?” Lieke speaks in code given that you are not alone.

“She just wants to check in and make sure I’m behaving here in Barcelona. You know how she gets” you joke.

“You’re lying” Alexia know you well enough to know when you aren’t telling the truth.

You found it ironic. Here Alexia stands calling you a liar when she has been lying about what’s been going on with her for the last week.

“It’s what we do, no?” You want to get a reaction out of her. You want her to admit she that has been keeping something from you but she doesn’t. Instead she mumbles something incoherent before walking away.

“She wasn’t calling to check up on you Y/N. She wants to go if you plan on going back to Amsterdam for the event” Lieke didn’t speak up when Alexia was around but she did want to talk to you about it now.

“I’m not going. I’ve told her this multiple times but she keeps pushing. I’ll tell her to stop calling you”

“I’d go with you. I know its been a few years but I had fun when you took me to the last one”

“I’m not going Lieke and you know why”

You went home that night in a much worse mood than you wanted to. Something was wrong with Alexia and you just wanted to help her but she was determined to shut you out. Then there was your mother who took the word persistent to a whole new level.

The team had the next 4 days off, now normally you would have made plans with Alexia but you hadn’t had the chance so you try to call her to see if she was up for doing something only her phone goes straight to voicemail. One ring and she declined the call, it stung.

The next morning you text her to tell her you’re free if she wanted to do something. By doing this the ball was in her court, all you could do is wait and hope that she replies. Hours pass by before you admit that Alexia isn’t going to call but you’re not willing to waste the day at home so you decide to go to the training ground. You had a lot on mind over the past couple of days but your mind was calm whenever you were on the pitch.

You’re not sure how much time has passed but you know it must have been a few hours because the groundsman turns the flood lights on. When you arrived he told you that you could stay as long as you want, the man was a saint and often helped you sneak into the grounds when you weren’t suppose to be there.

Out the corner of your eyes you see two people and you can tell they are female by their silhouettes. You are in two minds as what to do; go to them and possibly get in trouble or pretend you didn’t see them and hope they go away. When you see them walking over you prepare for the worse but as they get close you recognise them.

“Y/N” Eli says as she gets closer.

The sight of the two Putellas women causes a pit to form in your gut. Alba stands quietly to the side of her, her eyes red from recent tears.

“Hi. Is everything ok?” You ask fearful of an honest answer.

“Have you seen Alexia? We have been trying to get in touch with her all day. She always comes here when she needs an escape”

Why would Alexia need an escape? Could this have something to do with her recent behaviour?

“I haven’t. I tried calling her last night and texted her this morning to see if she wanted to something today but she didn’t answer. Eli, is Alexia ok?”

“We don’t know” this is first time Alba looks directly at you and the heartbroken expression is enough for you to reach out for her.

“Are you ok Alba?” Your hand rests on her shoulder in hopes it would bring some kind of comfort. You hadn’t spoken to her since that day at the stadium but she was Alexia’s sister which means you cared for her.

“I need to find my sister. Will you help?”

“Of course. How about you go back to her apartment to see if she has come home and I will see if I can find her, I can think of a few places”

“Gracias Y/N” Eli says.

This sounded a lot worse that you original feared. At first you thought you had done something to Alexia or that she wanted space like you did a couple of months ago. Now you knew this wasn’t the case and it in fact had nothing to do with you.

As you drove home your eyes scanned the streets hoping and praying by some miracle that you find her but it was wishful thinking. You enter the code to the gate and what you are met with isn’t something you expected. Alexia is sat on your door step, her knees tucked into her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. She looked so small.

“Alexia, what are you doing here? You mother and sister are worried about you” you scold her but instantly regret it when she looks up and you see her face. Tears were falling down her face and given the puffiness of her eyes they had been for quite a while.

“Come here” you hold your hands out and pull alexia into your arms. Her body shakes as she seemingly lets go of the emotions that she has been bottling up for god knows how long. “I’ve got you”

In order to open the front door you have to let her go but you keep a hold of her hand. Once inside Alexia is back in your arms. You care deeply for this woman but only in this moment did you realise just how much. Seeing Alexia this broken breaks your heart.

“I’m sorry” Alexia pulls away and tries to wipe away her tears only for you to stop her. She didn’t need to hide her pain, not around you.

“There’s nothing to apologise for Ale. Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just want to know what I can do to help”

“You’re already doing it” the smile that appears on her face is weak but nevertheless it is a smile.

With her hand in yours you lead her to the sofa and wait for to be ready to talk about whatever it is that has her so upset.

“It’s the 10th anniversary of my dad’s death”

“Oh Alexia” you rubbed her thigh soothingly.

“I didn’t want to come to you because I knew that it would bring up feelings for you too, how could it not. I know I’ve been cold towards you but I knew you’d recognise my pain and I wanted to try and get through the week. I just wanted to be alone, I always do”

It’s moment like this that you realise just how similar you and Alexia are. You both had the same coping mechanisms for your grief, as unhealthy as they might be.

“Yet here you are, with me, in my house, after sitting on my doorstep waiting for me to get home”

Alexia cannot help but laugh. Her actions and her thoughts did not align in the slightest. Deep down she knew why she came to you, today but she wasn’t ready to admit what it meant.

“I just needed to escape”

It’s as if a light bulb goes off and you cannot believe what you are about to suggest.

“How much of an escape?” You ask her.

“This city is too much right now so I’ll go anywhere, why? What do you have in mind?”

“Something I hope not to regret”

You could feel Alexia’s breath on your shoulder as she watches you open your contacts on your phone. She doesn’t see who it is you call but the opening sentence of what you say next gives her the answer.

“Hallo mama. Ja ik kom. Ik heb twee kaartjes nodig.”

The call is short and sweet for two reasons. One, you wanted to give Alexia your full attention and two, you didn’t want to answer you mother’s endless amount of questions.

“C’mon, I’ll help you pack”

“Y/N wait” Alexia runs after you as you make your way to the front door “Where are we going?”

This is why Alexia came to you. You knew what to do to help her when she didn’t know what to do herself.

“I’m taking you home”

“No, I’m not ready for that yet” Alexia’s grabs your hand and pulls you back into the house.

“Not your home Alexia, mine. You showed me Barcelona through your eyes and now you get to see Amsterdam through mine”

This time Alexia’s smile is wide. You were taking her to Amsterdam, the place that you told her so many stories about.

Only 24 hours ago you were adamant that you wouldn’t be attending the annual Johan Cruyff foundation gala yet here you are on your way to Alexia’s apartment so you can help her pack. You may not want to go but you knew this is exactly what Alexia needed.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni one shot #barcelona femeni imagine #espwnt x reader #espwnt imagine #espwnt one shot

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