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stylesharrys · 7 months

Text

private show

summary: you miss harry’s concert but half of it isn’t your fault.

warnings: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, swearing, kissing, teasing, unprotected shower sex, dirty talk, fingering...

word count: 3,938

a/n: i literally wrote this about four years ago, but it’s all been edited and freshened up a little for you guys! i hope you’re staying safe and if there’s any writings in particular you’d like to see, send me a message! anyway, enjoy this smutty piece:)

The car broke down. You weren’t sure how it happened, or why, but the engine wouldn’t start and your dad suspected the battery died.

You’re in London with Harry for a few days, Harry performing and you visiting your family in a small town a few hours out of central London. You’d come by late afternoon yesterday and now you’re stuck.

You’re meant to be going back to London in time for Harry’s show, but with no car and none of your family having one to lend, you’re shit out of luck. You didn’t have the money or time to get the battery recharged or get a new one, and in all honesty, you didn’t know what you needed to do for it anyway.

So, with your little suitcase and your purse, you got yourself a train ticket straight to London. You missed the first train, the bus getting you to the station three minutes late. So you had no choice but to wait in the warmth of the sun for seven minutes until the next one came.

You only stayed on that one for three stops, staring at your phone screen when the rail app told you that you’d need to get off. And you did, sat down for twenty minutes while you waited for the next one that took you straight to Greenwich.

By then it was already 7 pm and you knew you’d most likely miss his entire show at this rate. And then the train showed up and you hopped on it, squeezing between the standing people and you shoved your earphones in, playing an old playlist Harry had made you.

And that’s when you get the text.

iMessage from H💞

Hey. You close, I’m on in an hour x

You sigh and rub your forehead, flicking back to the app on your phone and groaning when you realise you’ll be twenty minutes on that train and then need to get another Bank one for six minutes, then a thirty-minute walk, and then the underground.

iMessage to H💞

Just left for the Greenwich line. Car broke and I don't have time or money on me to get it sorted. Taking the train and it’s insane how many connections you have to make. I don’t know what time I’m gonna be there. Does security know I’m coming in backstage? Xx

You lock your phone with a sigh and turn up the volume of the music, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to calm your nerves and anxieties.

Soon enough, you’re getting off at Greenwich and onto the Bank train. Only when you go past Heron Quay do you realise that you’ve missed your stop and, essentially, gotten yourself lost.

Your panic only grows when Harry stops answering your calls and texts and then you realise it was 8:31 and he’s already on stage, performing, without you supporting him on the side stage.

You try to call Jeffrey, but of course, no answer. Matt, no answer. Mitch, no answer. Jasmine, his opener, no answer. It’ll be useless to call your parents, neither of them know the train lines and can’t come and pick you up anyway because they don’t drive.

You struggle to ask people where to go, most people pushing past you in their own hurry to get to their destinations, and you’re shocked to not see any rail workers anywhere on the platforms to offer assistance.

So, you do what you do best. You panic. You slump down on one of the cold, metal benches with your suitcase by your side and purse in your lap. Tears are quick to prickle at your eyes and the air grows colder, bitter.

If you had just got off at your stop, you would’ve been with the others by now, watching your man perform on stage and become one with the crowd. But, here you are, cold, alone, and lost.

Your little denim jacket is doing nothing to conserve heat and your legs bounce as you try to warm yourself up. Your achingly cold fingers struggle to type up a route you could take and before long, thirty minutes have passed and it’s 9 pm.

And then, the worst possible thing happens. Your phone dies.

You panic even harder now, your chest constricting and you struggle to catch a breath. It isn’t until you see an older man slowly walk the yellow safety lines of the station in a high-vis train rail jacket that you calm just a little.

You shoot up from your seat, hands clammy and shaking as you pull your suitcase with you. “Excuse me!” You call out to the older man, the station much quieter now.

He turns to you with raised brows and a friendly smile, and you’re more than relieved that you’ll be getting some help.

“I’m not from around here and I missed my stop and ended up here.” You explain as calmly as you can, taking deep breaths and swallowing back the lump in your throat.

“Okay. Where are you heading?” The older man asks, sliding his silver-rimmed glasses up the smooth slope of his nose.

“I’m trying to get to the O2 Arena.” Your heart’s stammering in your chest and you explain how your phone had died and you have no way of contacting anyone or getting routes.

The man, Barry, assures you it will be fine. He writes down the trains and stops you need to make and where to go from there, then offers you his battery pack to charge your phone for a few minutes.

You check it when you get on the next train, a message from Jasmine on your screen and the time’s now nearing 9:34 pm.

iMessage from Jasmine X

Hey!! Where are you?? Everything okay? Call me!!

You sigh and quickly begin typing, trying to explain what happened and that you’re on your way, but before you can ever send the text, your phone freezes and cuts off dead.

You take another deep breath, trying to keep calm, and shove your phone into your pocket. Your ears focus on the voice through the speaker, listening closely for your stop and staring at the piece of paper in your hand so you know when to get off.

By the time you reach the O2, it’s 10 pm and you're certain the show’s over. You sprint to the doors, unsure where you’re even meant to go. You don’t have a ticket and Harry has your backstage pass.

“Can I help you, miss?”

The security guards eye you cautiously, somewhat alarmed by your frantic state. To them, you look just like every other fangirl they’ve ever met.

“I’m meant to be meeting Harry’s team backstage. Do you know how I get there?”

You’re breathless, body somewhat numb from the sudden drop in temperature and pure anxiety you’ve suffered over the past two hours.

The man squints at you. “Do you have a pass?” Great.

You sigh. “No, his manager, Jeffrey, has my pass. I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Look, you can go and ask on your walkie talkie. I have ID, but I don’t have my pass.” You try to explain.

He shakes his head, tries to hide the amusement on his face. “Nice try, kid. Go home.” He turns his back, wandering away but you shake your head and follow after him.

“No, I’m being serious! Jeffrey has my backstage pass. My phone is dead so I can’t contact them! Please, just radio it through. I promise you! My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please. He’ll tell you!” You beg, tears pooling in your eyes in panic.

This can’t be happening, how has it even come to this? You’ve been through the works already, and now, you look like nothing more than a desperate fangirl.

“Listen, miss. If you don’t leave right now, we will escort you out ourselves or call the police. It’s your choice.” He all but growls his words, an effort to scare you off.

Your shoulders slump and tears spill from your eyes, anxiety consuming you. “This isn’t happening,” you whisper to yourself, breathing unevenly and your knees buckle slightly.

You can’t even go back to the hotel as you don’t know where you’re all staying, seeing as you stayed with your parents last night. You’re done for.

You’re about to turn away, search for someone with a charger maybe, when a ruckus of cheering and talking catches your ears and the doors to the arena open. Hundreds of people flood out of the doors, eager to get themselves home and you wonder how you’re going to get to Harry.

“Oh my God! It’s Y/N!” Is all it takes for everyone to spot you and scream, hurtling toward you and calling your name.

You grab the security guard's arm and frantically beg for his attention. “Now do you believe me!? Please!” You cry out, but he continues to look at you sceptically as the other security members calm down the fans.

You try to talk to the fans, to have them prove that you were Harry’s girlfriend. And even though they agree and show security pictures and proof, they refuse to let you back because you don’t have a pass.

“Here, use my phone to call someone!” An older woman from behind security offers you her phone, her daughter (you presume) staring up at you with big doe eyes.

You smile and take the mobile, punching in Harry’s number that you’ve had memorised for moments like this. You ignore the security guard that continues to ask you to leave and when the ringing stops and a ruckus on the other end is heard, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Hello?” Harry answers, sceptical from the other end.

“Harry! Oh thank God, it’s Y/N.” You sigh out in relief, the fans screaming when they hear you on the phone with him.

“Babe, what the fuck is going on? I’ve been trying to call you! Where are you?” His words are laced together in panic and you can hear him shushing his team.

You sigh. “I’ll explain later but I’m with your fans outside the doors and security won’t let me through to you because Jeffrey still has my pass.” You explain, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Harry tells you to sit tight and that he’ll fix it, tells you he loves you and ends the call. You sigh in relief and quickly delete the number from the call log, handing the phone back to the woman and thanking her profusely.

You feel awful, really. It’s bad enough that you missed Harry’s show, but now you’re holding up all of his fans from going home because security is keeping them away from you and not letting you through the doors.

You speak to a few of his fans while you wait, asking how they found the show and answering some of their questions about Harry when another scream is heard and Jeffrey wanders out toward you with a security guard.

“Y/N!” He calls out, speaking with the other security for a second before showing them your pass and explaining you are who you said you are.

You say goodbye to the fans, dragging your suitcase over to Jeffrey and he pulls you in for a hug, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. You thank him and wave goodbye, following him through a hallway and you disappear.

“What the hell happened?” Jeffrey asks in concern, brows furrowed and you sigh while explaining about your car, the trains, and your phone. Jeffrey listens closely and throws his arm over your shoulder as you walk, pulling your suitcase along.

Security leads you through another corridor and another, opening doors and scanning his ID on certain parts to gain access. A few minutes of walking and a burst of soft laughter can be heard, your heart skipping a beat.

Jeffrey's hand rests against your back as he leads you through a room and another curtain, and there Harry stands; pacing back and forth and biting at his nails. The sound of the door opening catches his attention and he spins around to you.

“Honey...” he whispers, pacing toward you and scooping you into his arms. You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Harry cradles the back of your head, gently cooing you and whispering reassuring words into your ear.

“You’re okay, baby.” He whispers, kissing your temple and you pull away sniffling, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry cups your clammy cheeks in his hands and leans down a little. You lift onto your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, not even a little bothered by the taste of sweat on his lips.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed and a cheeky wolf whistle from behind him catches your attention. You pull away and peer over his shoulder, blushing at the sight of his entire team grinning at you both and Lloyd facing his camera at you.

You’re curled into Harry’s side as you wander down the hall to find his room. His arm is around your shoulder, yours behind his waist as he pulls your little suitcase along.

His skin is still sticky with sweat and his clothes stained with a salty scent, but somehow, he still smells like vanilla and his stupid cologne. “I can’t believe you had to do all that,” he murmurs out after having listened to your travels of the day.

You hum back and yawn, pulling away from his side when he reaches into his pocket for his key-card. You both stand outside the room before he unlocks the door and he drags you in behind him.

You flop straight onto the bed, the sheets still a mess and Harry’s suitcase sprawled out over it. He sighs and kicks off his boots, wiggling his toes and standing between your legs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says softly, head tilted as he watches you sit back up and take his hand in yours. “You wanna join?” he wiggles his brows playfully and you let out a tired laugh, nodding your head nonetheless.

“You go ahead, I’m gonna put my phone on charge and clear the bed.” You tell him, earning a little nod and a forehead kiss before he’s taking off to the bathroom, turning on the water.

You stand from the bed with a sigh and plug Harry’s charger into your phone while kicking your own shoes off. Your feet were no doubt blistered and you knew it’d be a pain to walk for the next few days.

Looking back at the bed, you sigh. Harry had always been messy when it came to getting ready for events. But you weren’t sure why, considering he had a stylist so Harry never had to find something to wear for his shows.

Nevertheless, you shake your head and begin to refold his clothing, setting it neatly in his suitcase. You brush the creases out of the sheets and fluff up the pillows before making your way to your bag to pull out your toiletries and one of Harry’s shirts you’ll sleep in.

You take them with you to the bathroom, soft melodies slipping past Harry’s lips as he washes the night away. You smile to yourself, the mirror and windows fogged by the heat of the shower that you’re eager to climb into.

You strip from your outfit and open the shower door, Harry turning to look at you with a little mohawk he’d styled with the shampoo. You snort out a laugh and shake your head, standing in front of him so the water falls down on you.

“Well, hello there,” Harry grins cheekily, eyeing your breasts as your nipples pearl. You blush and lean your head back, soothing the water through your hair but Harry can’t keep his eyes off your chest, not when it’s right there.

“Stop staring.” Your eyes are closed as you massage the shampoo into your scalp, but you already know he’s drooling at the sight of you. He always did have a thing for your chest, even if you argued they’re not your best asset.

Harry whines and nibbles on his plump bottom lip. “But, baby, they’re like begging me to love on them.” He argues, paw-like hands holding your waist as his thumbs gently caress the bottom of your breasts.

You snort out another laugh at his reasoning and wash the shampoo away, slathering on some conditioner and turning you both around so he’s now under the water. You guide him to sit on the little seat beneath the shower and adjust the head so the water can reach him.

Harry’s face is now completely level with your chest as you wash the shampoo from his hair. He whines at you with a little pout and you gently massage his scalp with your fingertips.

“I know this usually makes me really sleepy, but with your tits in my face, it's really fucking turning me on.” He rasps out, voice low and suggestive and you have to fight back a little whine of your own.

“You’re such a boy.” You breathe, slathering his luscious locks in your conditioner and leaning down just enough to kiss his swollen lips.

It was only intended to be a peck, but Harry wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you between his legs, lifting your thighs so you straddle his lap.

Your fingers slide through his curls, breathing heavily and you moan softly against his lips. His hands smooth over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh with little force and you pull away to catch your breath.

“I’m proud of you.” You whisper against his lips, your core bumping the head of his cock and he strains out a laugh.

“You’re proud of me? Babe, you got lost on your own, almost got kicked out of the arena, and you didn’t have a panic attack once. Shit, I’m the proud one here.” Harry argues with a little smile.

You purse your lips to hide your smile and kiss his lips softly again. He kisses you back for a moment before pulling away and squeezing your ass.

“But seriously, I’ve had a raging boner ever since you sent me that naughty pic last night, and I am dying to get lost in that puss-” You cut him off with a heated kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth as your own massaged it.

Harry groans and lifts you both, your legs around his waist as his heavy cock bumps your ass. Your back presses against the shower wall, Harry’s lips chasing the water that drips down your neck.

You tug on his hair, eager to feel him inside you and you know he’ll be giving you what you both want in a matter of seconds. He holds you up with one arm and uses his free hand to grip his cock, pumping himself before he swirls his tip around your entrance.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry whines out, teasing himself against you and you huff, tugging on his hair and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth.

“I feel better once you’re in me,” you remind him, a taunting smirk on your lips, but it’s quick to fade when Harry thrusts his hips into yours, his thick cock stretching you out and you shriek in pleasure.

“Shit, H.” You moan, head thrown back as he slides in and out of you at a delicious pace. The running water is long forgotten, the sound of skin slapping and your arousal squelching being the only sounds you can focus on.

Harry pants in your ear, small grunts sounding through the bathroom as you whine and moan for him. He grabs your ass and spreads your cheeks, knuckles white as he grips you harder.

“So good, baby.” He moans into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe and your eyes roll back.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, feel him throb between your walls and you’re certain you’re about to explode any second. You grip his shoulders, circling your hips on his dick the best you can.

Harry rests his forehead against yours, his eyes focusing on the way his glistening cock slips in and out of your swollen pussy with such ease. “Such a good girl for me.” Harry praises, your pussy clenching around his cock and he chokes out a moan.

“Only for you. O-only good for y-you,” he grins against your lips and picks up his pace, hitting your G-spot with every soul-shattering thrust.

Harry feels you begin to spasm, can feel your body losing its strength and he cups your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him -- your noses bumping while he does so.

“Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you as you cum all over my cock.” He gently coaxes, pinching your nipple with his other hand and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, eyes wide and jaw slack. Harry watches you with hooded eyes, jade clouded with lust and with one final thrust, he pushes you over the edge, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and body falls limp.

The choked cry of his name is all it takes for him to paint your walls with his pleasure, a rugged groan slipping past his lips as he cries out your name, collapsing slightly into you and trapping you completely against the wall.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, head falling back against the tiles on the wall and Harry gently eases out of you, slowly kissing every inch of your face before his lips meet yours in a tender encounter.

“I love you so much,” he breathes against your lips, easing your legs back to the ground and keeping his arms around your waist.

“I love you, too. And hey, I might’ve missed your main show but fuck me, this private show was just as good.” You joke, an angelic laugh sounding through Harry’s throat as he kisses you again.

His arms ease to rest on your ass, soothing over the tender skin he had been gripping. “Let me clean you up,” he mumbles, giving your bum a little tap before he pulls you back under the water.

Harry washes both of you, peppering your skin with gentle kisses before you’re both completely clean and drying off, brushing your teeth side by side. Harry throws on a pair of sweats while you steal a pair of his boxers and his shirt.

Sliding into bed, he curles up behind you, spooning your back and kissing your shoulder. “I’m sorry about missing your show and being so stupid that I got on the wrong trains and stuff.” You huff out.

Harry shakes his head and kisses your shoulder again. “Don’t be. None of it is your fault. Jeffrey should’ve given you that backstage pass yesterday. I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own, but I’m so fucking proud of you, honey.”

You smile to yourself and hold his hand close to your chest, wiggling back so you’re snug against his chest. “I’m so happy I fell in love with you,” you whisper into the darkness, eyes fluttering closed.

Harry smiles into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he kisses the crook of your neck. “I’m happy I fell in love with you, too.”

if you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog! your feedback and comments are appreciated more than you’ll ever know — i’d love to hear what you thought <;3

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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keravnous · 1 year

Text

bathroom b!tch; tangerine/fem!reader (smut; 18+)

part two | part three | part four

playlist: train quickie with tangerine

Tangerine meets you in one of the bathrooms on the bullet train. He just wants to clean up after his tussle with Ladybug and get rid of the blood, but he could use you to blow off some steam as well. You know: he has to take it if he sees it.

word count: 5,9k

warnings: mirror sex, bathroom sex, semi public, fingering, oral (female receiving), blood (it's tangerine's), squirting, dry humping, rather rough sex, unprotected sex, light choking, confined spaces, dirty talk, name calling, kinda a quickie?, tangerine's a little rude but surprisingly gentle too idk he's just like that, he just needs to fuck the adrenaline outta himself, i have very strong feelings about this angry man

title is from the song of the same name, bathroom bitch by holychild

also thank you v for a) helping me out with Japanese and b) by telling me what being a passenger on a bullet train feels like

You knew it was a bad idea.

Starring at yourself in the impressively clean mirror of the small bathroom, you try your best to hold back any fresh tears.

You knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work. You fucking knew it and yet you accepted your fiancés pleas to Just try it. Maybe, it indeed would've worked out if he wasn't fucking his bloody secretary.

You regret leaving London. You miss your home.

You're not even that heartbroken, you just feel exhausted, like you wasted an awful lot of time.

You take a long, good look at yourself. Bloodshot eyes and a sad hue resting over your pupils, turning the colour dark and deep. The dress, that you bought for your anniversary brunch – a surprise, quite as much as the one he gave you, when you walked in on him, balls deep in his secretary – now looks oddly strange, out of place on you. You feel overdressed and ashamed, foolish.

But there’s something else, too: the loneliness that followed suite after your screaming, after fighting with him - after breaking up with him. It's been there since you boarded the train to Nagoya but now it rolls over you like a wave of-

Thump, thump.

"What the fuck", you mutter, taking a ragged breath, before yelling out, "Occupied!"

You just want to be left at fucking peace, not being watched by other passengers as you're bawling your eyes out. All you want is to get off that train and burn some of that fucker’s money on a spontaneous vacation. All you want is for the remaining days in Japan to be good ones.

Another sharp knock follows. This one rattles the door.

It takes a moment for you to scramble for the right words, the ones you have picked up when visiting your fiancé before. "Shiyouchu!"

Another knock. And another.

Motherfucker.

You clench your teeth - saying goodbye to the precious moments of crying in silence for the year you've lost to the most useless relationship of all fucking mankind - and wipe away the wetness below your eyes to open the door. "I said-"

Oh.

Oh shit.

There's a very handsome man waiting outside the door. He is towering over you, impatience plastered on his face and seeping through his every movement, with the way he's leaning against the door frame.

He's hot.

Also, he's dripping in blood.

His light blue shirt, once crisp and clean, is now disshelved and just as stained as his expensive looking dark-blue vest.

"Jesus, fuck, are you alright?", you blurt out.

The man's raising an eyebrow. "Could be asking you the same, love. Now, would you please get the fuck outta there."

He's moving towards you, closing in the last few inches separating the two of you. Your gaze is focused on the nasty cut on his arm.

"You're bleeding", you say dumbly.

His eyes shoot up at you and for a split-second you feel like you are face to face with a predator. The anxiety, that the blood and his rude behaviour sparked in your chest, sends adrenaline pumping through your veins and has the muscles your legs preparing for fight or flight. He blinks.

"I know", he says and his lips curl up to something, that you're convinced is supposed to be a smile, "Now, if ya'd be so kind?"

He gestures behind you, towards the empty bathroom.

"No?", you say, voice shooting up a little, which immediately has him cautiously throwing a glance down the hall to his right, "No, I won't! You need help, how the fuck -- what the fuck happened?"

"You're starting to really get on my fuckin’ tits, pretty thing. Would y'just let me the fuck inside?", he growls, tilting his head towards you. His tone has the hairs on your arms rising, as he is starring you into the ground.

You back up, colliding unpleasantly with the doorframe, that nearly drills itself into your left shoulder.

"Thank you, Lady", he's squeezing past you and then turns around again, giving you a quick one-over. You are unable to move, mesmerized by the way he's looking at you.

The corners of his mouth tilt up again and one of his hands, a little sticky and red with his own blood, comes up to his face, straightening his moustache, as his gaze runs over your body once more. You should leave, you should run - clearly, something is awfully and so not right but you just can't, being glued to the spot by his eyes.

It shouldn't make your loins grow hot, but you can't help it. You feel your belly tingle, shooting sparks down down down between your legs. He is very attractive and the aura of pure fucking danger that wafts around him doesn’t do what it normally should do – instead, it pulls you in. Oh, aren’t you just fucked.

"What were y'saying about help, again?", the man murmurs, gaze locking with yours.

"Uuuh", it's a very stupid sound you make and his eyes spark up at that, lips giving room to flash some teeth, "I-I just said you look like you might need some help?"

"Well, maybe I do."

He licks his lower lip and you blink, gaze following the movement.

This is very stupid. This is risky, dangerous, and most likely something you are going to regret.

It's not only the situation, it's him, too. He seems dangerous. It's not only the blood, mind you. It’s the way he moves, how his eyes dart through the room, over your body. It’s the aggression in his voice that he’s trying to hide, cover up but ultimately fails, something that seeps through every pore of him.

But he's also just ridiculously hot, walking with his crotch first, heavy northern British accent swirling the words around his tongue and, fuck, it's mostly the way he's looking at you.

And you're just so fucking full of anger and grief and your life feels strangely directed and determined by your shitty-ass fiancé and there's so much rage and sadness -

You take a step into the bathroom and the door slides shut behind you.

"Good", he hums, "Because you do look, like you could also use some help."

The door locks behind you and take another step forward, approaching him. "You have no fucking idea", revenge sex is a very stupid concept but now, it seems very tempting. It's exciting and makes you feel oddly alive.

"Did'ya get dumped?", and you don't know why you trust him with that information but you can hear yourself say: "Cheated on. Fiancé of twelve months." There is a hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you in closer. You can smell him now, the blood on his skin and clothes, the heavy scent of his perfume – it’s warm and thick, vanilla and fruit, like an orange grove.

"Allow me the comment - that's one bloody stupid bastard."

You look up at him and blink. That man's insanely pretty and you swallow as he pulls you in even closer, your hand connecting with his chest. It is firm and warm and your fingers get a little sticky with the fresh blood on his shirt. They splay out, feeling the firm muscle flex beneath the expensive fabric.

"How much time d'we have, sugar?", he hums, runs his thumb across your lower lip.

"I have to get off in Nagoya."

"Gonna get you off alright now, sweetie", you roll your eyes at that and he chuckles, "Bit more than half'n hour I'd say. Think we can manage that?"

You nod while biting your lip, adrenaline thick and heavy in your veins, pumping your blood down south and making you wet wet wet, and he laughs at that, runs his tongue along his bright, bright teeth.

It's sheer excitement that has your belly tingle and you lock your eyes with his, the darkening blueish green pulling you in and then he leans down, locks his lips with yours.

They are soft and warm and his moustache tingles a little. You hum against his lips, one hand fisting his vest as the other sneaks up his muscular arm, runs over and through the blood, up up up next to the cut and comes a halt on his neck. The hand on your waist holds you close, fingers spread out delicately as he starts to feel you up.

His tongue darts out and licks over your lips and you gladly give him more room, parting your lips slightly. He's pushing in, licking into your mouth. You hum deep in your throat, pressing against him, tasting the cigarette smoke on his lips.

You can feel the bulge in his pants, his dick pressing hotly against your lower belly. It ignites your loins, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.

You moan into his mouth and he responds by pushing you back, heaving you up the small sink, deepening the kiss. Your back presses against the mirror as you clutch onto him, hand running up his neck and into his hair, slick with product and a little sticky with sweat. Your knees hit his hipbones and the man starts to roll his hips into yours, having his hard dick rubbing against your crotch and your eyelids flutter with the feeling. He's rock-hard and so so hot through his dress pants and you can't fucking wait to get to it.

He eventually breaks the kiss, breath ragged as his eyes roam over your face, hands feeling your thighs up. You decide that you need more of him and thus, your free hand roams over his chest, fingers making quick work of his vest. As soon as you pop the last button, he hastily tears it off of himself, throws it to the ground where it lands with a quiet thud.

"C'mon sweetheart, I know you clammin' to touch me", he says, voice deep and raspy and you do - like you're on fucking autopilot. Your hands dart out, roaming over his defined chest. He feels nice and firm and makes you want him more, want to feel all of him, all at once.

He hums quietly, as you open a few buttons of his shirt and run your hands over the sweaty, warm skin, through the dust of fine chest hair, making his chain rustle. He feels nice and it makes you want him.

The man looks up from your hands and you don't know what has come over you as your hand glides up further, cupping his neck, thumb on his jawline. "Fuck me", you breathe, "Fuck me 'til I can't walk."

He grins and leans in even closer, his clothed and hard dick pressing against your wet panties, as he's kissing a wet trail from your jaw to your ear. "Who would've thought - such a naugh'y lil'mouth on such a pretty woman."

You hook one leg around his waist, tugging lightly at the hair that's curling in his neck as he starts to suck on your neck. The slight pain ignites your lust, has arousal blooming and wetness pooling between your legs. You want to tell him to stop, before he marks you up for good as --

"Name's Tangerine", he suddenly rasps, as his tongue rubs over the spot he has been sucking on and you're pretty damn sure that he just gave you a hickey.

"Like the-"

"The fucking fruit, yeah. 'M gonna burst you more like something of a cherry, though", he rumbles, quietly laughing to himself with his fingers digging into your hips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he presses himself flush against you - all firm muscles, perfume, and hot skin - tongue licking over your throat like the hot blade of a knife, dancing over your jaw.

It's most likely not his real name and that should really, really alert you. But it doesn't - instead you surrender yourself to him, letting your head fall back and parting your legs, inviting him in.

And the man -Tangerine - follows suite and shoves your dress up up up, runs his hands over your now exposed thighs. You lean forward a little, until your lips brush over his. "Name's Y/N", you whisper and his eyes glint a little at that, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, you gon' be a fun one", he grins and you do too, before leaning in and kissing him again. He is less gentle now, keen on getting you hot, his kisses turn sloppy quickly, biting your lower lip and licking into your mouth until you lack air. The thumbs on your legs dive in deeper, until they connect with your crotch. And then, one of them gently runs over your soaked panties.

Tangerine breaks the kiss, wet lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, only to inhale sharply - keeps his cheeks puffed theatrically for a short moment, then exhales just as sharply, eyeing you up and down. "Jesus Christ, that pussy of yours s'fucking wet, innit?", he rumbles and two of his fingers run over the wet fabric once more, slowly starting to rub your clit.

You gasp, hips bucking a little and you watch the way his hand vanishes under the hem of your dress. "Fuck", you moan quietly as he quickly finds the spot that makes your thighs clench. He rubs you through your panties, soft lace turning wet wet wet and dampening his skin. Your mouth falls agape seeing his wrist twitching between your legs and the way he's looking down at it, a little mesmerized, makes your head swim. Then, he stops.

"Yeah, let's get those off", he mutters, more to himself than to you and then he's tugging at the straps of your panties, riiips the lace and tears them apart. "Oh-", you gasp unintelligently as he carelessly drops them to the ground and you really don't fucking mind at all.

It's the first time in a long time that you feel wanted, like someone's actually hungry, greedy for you. And it turns you on. A lot. It is like Tangerine has flipped a switch and you want him just as much as he seems to want you. And you want it now.

You blink at him through your lashes. "You gonna touch me now?"

"Easy, love", he chuckles, genuinely amused and then his fingers are slooowly creeping back over your legs, until his index finger finally touches your exposed cunt. The touch is cold, but not unpleasant and you suck in a sharp breath, one that hitches in your throat.

He watches you, as he runs it over your pussy, quickly joined by a second, digits running up and down, spreading your slick. You hum, pleasure building up in your abdomen and then, finally, his fingers return to your clit.

Slow, wide circles spread your lips apart, making you moan and throwing your head back in pleasure. His bracelet clinks as he quickly picks up a faster rhythm, keen on seeing you coming loose, circles growing smaller.

"Oh shit, yes that's fucking it", you can feel arousal building in your stomach, shooting through your body. Tangerine laughs under his breath and his lips are onto you again, licking and sucking over your straightened neck. You don't give a fuck anymore, the slight pain of him bruising your skin makes your hips buck and rolling against his digits.

"Such a good girl, ain't ya?, he groans against your neck and it sends shivers down your spine as you're moaning and gasping, nodding frantically.

Your body feels like it has been ignited, with the way his fingers rub your clit, teasing your pussy and then there's one finger circling your hole and fuck, you really fucking need it. You spread your legs farther and Tangerine puuushes in, sinks one rather cold finger in your hole, your hot hot skin meeting the cold gold of his ring.

Tangerine starts to fuck you slowly, finger pushing in and out of you, until you're loose enough to take a second one. His rings thrust against your hole every time he pushes them back inside and the sensation has you whining, his lips still glued to your neck, occasionally moving down down down to you cleavage, licking fat stripes over your warm, sweaty skin.

A flood of very good, very dangerous emotions has one of your hands abandoning the sink, instead running up his arm, splaying across his shoulder. You can feel the muscles working slightly beneath the light blue fabric, a little dampened by his sweat. "Fuck, you make me so hot, shit, that feels so good", you whimper quietly, gasping as his fingers push even deeper. It seems to kick Tangerine off, moustache grazing your skin as he’s picking up an even faster rhythm - rubbing, circling your clit faster, adding more pressure - obscene squelching sounds filling the air of the small bathroom. You moan as pleasure shoots up your spine, has you rocking on and against his fingers.

You can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, hole fluttering against the cold, golden rings and then --

He breaks from your throat and whistles lowly as fresh wetness pools around his fingers, your squirt dampening his golden bracelet and the cuff of his shirt.

Tangerine pulls his fingers out of you slowly, slick with your juices and looks at them for a few seconds, the way your wetness is glistening on his skin in the dim lights. He brings them up up up, gaze connecting with yours and then -

They go past his lips, as his tongue darts out and licks them clean. You blink - once, twice. "Fuck", you breathe, and he chuckles.

"You taste like a fuckin' dream, love", his hands push your legs further apart and before you know it, he sinks down to his knees. You blink at him, as he lifts the hem of your dress up, "Might wanna hold that f'me", and you do, pulling the fabric as high up as you can, exposing yourself to him further.

Tangerine tsks as he takes the sight in and you can feel your cheeks growing hot, burning red, as his fingers dance over your pussy.

"Don't ya just have the prettiest cunt?", he hums, running his fingers through your folds, "'M gonna fuck ya so good."

"Jesus, Tangerine", you huff out, legs shaking a little as his thumb carefully rubs over your clit.

Tangerine looks up at you, smirking a little and then he's leaning in, hands coming to rest on your thighs, forcing your legs apart. He's not breaking eye contact, keeps your gazes chained together, as he dives in and licks a long, fat stripe from your hole upwards to your clit.

You fucking mewl, as his moustache rubs over your sensitive skin, tongue circling your clit for a short moment. His eyes gleam up at you, watching your reaction as his tongue swipes down, over your folds to your hole, teasing it. It has your legs kicking a little and you grab the sink with both your hands, as your thighs give a quick shake.

You can hear him chuckle deep in his throat and it makes you hot hot hot all over, with the way his tongue crawls back up, lips grazing your cunt and then he's onto your clit once more, gently lapping at it, placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin.

A strangled noise escapes your throat as arousal rushes through your abdomen and up up up your whole body, has your chest heaving with a ragged breath and rolling your hips forward. It's so so good, but not enough - you just need more.

"Don't ya move, love", Tangerine rasps and one of his hands grabs your hips forcefully, dress sliding up to your navel as he's holding you in place. The other crawls up your lower leg and thigh, teasing your folds and then one finger presses against your hole, pushes in roughly.

You moan as he immediately starts to fuck you with it, pumping your wetness in and out of you with a rather merciless rhythm, keen on having you come for him, having you squirt once more.

His eyelids flutter, long and dark lashes against his pale skin as his tongue licks over your folds, tasting your wetness and taking your scent in. You're tasting so so sweet to him, like a fucking forbidden fruit that he's going to devour anyways, because he can and he will and because fuck the rules he had set himself for this job.

He closes his eyes as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you, while his tongue laps at your cunt, lips closing in around your folds, gently sucking. His fingers are fucking you fast now, pushing you further and further.

"Oh god", you gasp, one hand still holding your own weight, the other now fisting his hair, pulling it. It seems to spur him on, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt, gently nibbling at the soft skin as his finger pumps into you. It's even better than before, with his beard scratching you and his tongue and lips gliding over your cunt as if it were a riddle he's going to solve without his hands. The heel of your shoe digs into his back - desperate for any leverage, to just feel him - as you are nearing your release.

"Shit, fuck fuck fuck", your voice sounds strange in your ears, high-pitched and far far away, between the squelching sounds that his rapidly moving fingers pull out of your pussy, "I'm gonna-"

He hums and then, after a short moment, pulls his digits out of you and grabs your hips hard, holding you in place, not stopping his tongue from rubbing over your cunt hard.

It tips you over the edge, has you breaking loose. You gasp loudly, throwing your head back against the mirror, incoherent rambling leaving your lips as you come - riding your orgasm out on his face as he licks you through your orgasm, your hips bucking wildly with it.

As your orgasm rolls over you, you already know that this isn't over. Usually, you would be spent for now, calm and a little tired but right now - you're not at all, lust still rolling over you, fresh wetness pooling between your legs again. "Mhm, shit", you breathe, feet kicking a little as Tangerine's tongue continues to flick over your clit. You are still wet, already desperate for more, more of him.

All you can think about is his hard dick, that you've felt earlier pressing against your crotch and pure want tingles in your stomach. Tangerine's lips close in around your throbbing clit, overstimulation making your head swim.

"Please, fuck, please", your hip bucks against his iron grip that holds you steadily against the sink. Tangerine looks up at you again and let’s go of your clit with an obscene pop. His moustache is dampened by your wetness as he grins up at you. "Please please", he mocks your high-pitched whines and then smirks, "Wan'it that bad, love?"

"Need you - ah, fuck - inside me. Oh, shit", you whine, as your hole clenches around nothing, desperate for more than his fingers. You are so turned on by this stranger, lust crashing over your body like waves - you can feel its tingle in your chest, your legs, feeling your pussy desperate for another touch.

Tangerine blinks for a moment and you're sure, that you saw his eye twitch and then he, very dramatically, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "Shit, love, you make me feel all sorts o'things", he says quietly and then quickly gets up, wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

He leans in and his lips lock with yours again and you can taste yourself on his tongue, as he licks into your mouth, grinning against your lips, damp stache rubbing over your upper lip. He licks over it, groans deep in his throat, while his hands brush over your legs, before he commands, whispers against your lips: "Bend over the sink f'me.”

"What?", you blink, words not really reaching you through the lustful haze that has wrapped your brain in like cotton candy. All you can do is look at him, at this very handsome stranger with the very fake name and he has your head swimming, brain giving in and surrendering to lust once more.

You take the hand he offers you as he helps you down the sink, your legs a little wobbly. "Alright c'mon now, girl, don't keep me waitin'", Tangerine gives you a light pat on the cheek, rings barely connecting with your skin - a patronizing gesture that has your knees going ever weaker for a moment as you try to turn around, hands gripping the edges of the sink.

You watch him in the mirror, as he makes quick work of his belt and the fly of his trousers. As he pulls his dick out, your mouth waters. It's long and big and has just the right girth, a drop of precum glistening on its tip. You'd really like to suck that cock, like right motherfucking now.

Tangerine looks at you. "Got all hungry fo'it?", and you nod - breathing out Fuck yeah - arching your back for him, "Alright love, just a minute."

He spits in his hand and rubs the saliva over his dick, giving himself one, two strokes. You arch your back, keeping your eyes on him as he grabs your hips hard, lines himself up, head of his dick resting against your hole - all hot and hard - and then he finally, finally pushes himself in. The stretch is nice and has you squirming a little with the dull pain, excitement lighting your nerves up.

"Jesus Christ", his head falls forward a little, "You're so fuckin' tight."

He bottoms out, forcing himself in deep, holding still. You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, but he doesn't move and you can see his chest heaving, hear him grunt. His hand roams over your bare ass, shoving the dress even higher, until your back is partly exposed and his hand creeps around your body, over your stomach and under the dress, slips beneath your bra and cups one of your tits.

Tangerine squeezes it, feels you up and then pulls his dick back out only to quickly push himself back in. The sound that leaves your throat is nothing but desperate and your hand grips the sink harder, knuckles slowly turning white. His jaw is going a little slack as he rolls his hips into you, fucking you slowly.

"Ah shit", he groans, a deep and coarse sound, that makes you shiver, "Doesn't that just feel lovely?"

He watches the way his dick pumps into your pussy, eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly agape - until his gaze meets yours in the mirror once more and there it is - a shadow that dances over his eyes, turning the mesmerizing blue and green dark dark dark. One of his hands suddenly darts forward, rings glimmering in the dim light, only to roughly grab your chin, forcefully holding your head in place. It hurts a little, but the pain feels good, the way it stretches your back and intensifies the arch of it, forces you to look at him and yourself. Your mascara is pooling beneath your eyes, pupils blown wide and cheeks reddened.

"Would'ya just look at yourself", Tangerine groans, "Ya might be the hottest fucking thing I've seen in a long fuckin' time --" He groans again, thumb catching your lower lip and you moan as you watch his face coming a little loose with pleasure.

Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, thrusting into you and you push your hips back, meeting him - desperate for more more more. He grins at you in the mirror and his hand creeps a little lower, until it rest riiight below your jawline and then -

Then he squeezes.

It has you gasping, choking a little at the sudden loss of air and the feeling of your windpipe being closed. Your hip bucks against his and he licks his lips.

The lack of air has adrenaline rushing through your veins once more, as his dick pushes against your spongy hot walls and you feel your body surrendering to him fully, the small voice in the back of your head remembering you that You are at his mercy has you growing even wetter.

The hand lets go off your throat, now gently holding your head in place and you suck in a few deep breaths, gasping, greedily sucking in the air, as --

There must be a bump on the rails, as the wagon suddenly lifts a little and has you thrown forward towards the mirror, shoves his dick deeper into you. You moan, instinctively catching his eyes in the mirror.

His lips are slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust and his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The train speeds up just as he leans forward, throws his chest against your back. His body is so so hot against yours and your walls flutter around his dick, as his scent wraps you in once more.

Tangerine lowers his head, until his forehead rests on your shoulder, cock twitching inside of you. "Ya have no bloody idea what'cha doin' to me, Lady", he says, voice coarse and dark and your eyelids flutter, "'M gonna ruin ya."

He lifts his head a little and your gazes connect in the mirror once more. A shiver runs down your spine - he means it.

And you feel it, too, as he thrusts into you once, knocks the air out of your lungs with the sheer force of it. The tip of his dick hits the spot perfectly and you nearly cry out in pleasure, hands gripping the sink tightly. There are small lines forming around his eyes as he's grinning against your shoulder, pulls out a little only to force himself back in, even deeper this time. The hand that was toying with your tit leaves, crawls back down and his arm wraps itself around your waist, holds you close.

Your legs shake as Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, starts pounding in to you like a starved man, like an animal gone wild. It's in his eyes, hunger hunger hunger and you feel pleasure shooting through your body, pooling in your abdomen. You squirt against his dick, wetting the trimmed pubic hair as his balls slap against your wet skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, a strangled high pitched whiny moan escaping your lips, as he hits your walls again, tip of his dick brushing over your g-spot, having you seeing stars. Your eyelids flutter, gasps escaping your mouth with every one of his thrusts.

"Be fuckin' loud, you lil'slut, I don't care - one - bit", he says through gritted teeth, each word one thrust, "If they come knockin'. I’ll kill’em."

It shouldn’t – really, it shouldn’t – but it has your head swimming, rocking back against him, obscene sounds filling the small bathroom and you moan loudly. His jewellery rustles and clinks as he ruts into you, huffing against your shoulder. The force of his thrusts has your body moving back and forth like a ragdoll, hipbones bouncing against the sink, one of your hands coming loose and pressing flat against the mirror, desperate for any sort of leverage.

You can feel yourself clenching around him, white hot pleasure building on the edges of your brain, until there's nothing left but him him him.

"Fuck", you cry out, "I'm gonna fucking cum, shit shit shit", lips falling agape with pure pleasure. It’s too much and you can feel your muscles tensing.

The hand around your throat tightens a bit more and that’s all you need – has your eyes falling shut, your second orgasm rolling over you. It knocks the air straight out of your lungs, has you going limp, while the muscles in your thighs and abdomen clench, holding and squeezing his dick inside of you.

You can hear him moan deeply, sounding far far away and then his cum hits your walls, paints it as he buries himself deep deep inside of you. You gasp, desperate for air and he lets go off your throat.

You suck in a few breaths and feel him doing the same, chest heaving against your back. "Fuck", he says and slowly straightens back up, looking at you in the mirror.

"Y'good over there, love?"

"Uh-huh", you hum, unable to speak, and blink at him. His hair's a mess and his cheeks are a little reddened, glistening with sweat.

Tangerine fucking winks at you and then slooowly, very carefully pulls out of you. You inhale sharply as you feel some of his cum following suite, dripping down your legs. You want to straighten up, too, clean it up, but he's quicker, taking one of the disposable towels and gently sweeps along your cunt.

"'S good, I can do that too, y'know", you say and take it from him, cleaning yourself up. For a long moment, while you can hear him putting himself back in his pants, there's silence between the two of you. Only, as you carefully put your dress back in place, does he look at you again.

"Be careful tonight, sweetheart", he says nonchalantly while tugging his shirt back into his slacks. He says it like it's nothing but it has the hairs on your body standing up.

I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. You look on the slight stains that his blood left on your fingers, that soaked his shirt.

"Make you sure you get out of that train in Nagoya, y'hear me?", his gaze is soft as it lands upon you. Your brain goes numb with anxiety.

"Y-yeah, yeah sure. I'm meeting a friend there, wouldn't miss her for the world."

He smiles at that. A genuine, warm smile. It does something funny to your stomach. "Alright love, gotta dash", he's straightening his vest and giving himself a glance in the mirror, running his hands through his hair, "There's this chap I gotta get rid of. Gimme a call, when you're in London, would'ya?"

You just nod and take the slim, white card he hands you. The numbers on it are orange.

"Very fucking funny", you huff and he grins, leans down towards you, and places his lips on your cheek. The kiss is feather-light but it'll haunt you late at night in the weeks, months to come after the story of the crashed bullet train breaks the international news. But right now, it makes your chest tingle in all the right ways.

"Tis'a good girl, eh?", Tangerine whispers and then, throwing one last look at you, struts out of the door.

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine smut #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine imagine #tangerine x reader #my writing #smut #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #aaron taylor johnson

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

Text

Creep

Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

Summary: The man on your train is a creep

You hated taking the tube.

It was smelly and packed and made weird noises that freaked you out. You would get dirty looks all the time because you had to squeeze on with your kit bag and your schoolwork.

But, in particular, you hated this one specific man.

He looked to be more than twice your age, one of those middle-aged finance guys in a fancy suit and enough money to buy three houses but common sense enough to not drive through London during rush hour.

He got on at the stop after you in the mornings and the one just before you in the evenings.

With the strength of the crowd, he always ended up pressed against you during the morning rush, always a little too close for comfort.

The train car rocked violently as it moved out from the station and you immediately felt hands on your hips.

"Sorry 'bout that," He said, leaning down into your personal space," Just lost my balance there for a second."

But his hands stayed firm on your waist.

You tried to laugh it off. "Oh...er, yeah, no problem..." You were frozen in place, unable to really do anything in the packed train with this strange man pressed up against you.

You were lucky that your stop was next and you wiggled out of his grip to exit.

The feeling of his hands on your hips stayed with you as you walked from the station to the training ground. By the time training was over, you had forgotten all about it.

But, in the coming days, he clearly hadn't.

It was like the floodgates had opened. He always ended up pressed close against you, always touching you in some way and you could do nothing about it.

You thought about catching the bus to training but it would just take longer so you just stayed with the train. You thought about getting a later train but the last time you did that, you were a few minutes off being late and doing that more often just felt like tempting fate.

You could cope with it though. You only saw him twice a day (once if you missed the first train back home) and you could easily wedge yourself further away into other people if you really tried.

It was only when he started to show up to your matches that you got the feeling that something could go wrong.

"Fancy seeing you here." He leaned over the railing with one of those smirks that you think the girls with daddy issues at your school would be attracted to.

You didn't quite know how to respond to that so you just awkwardly laughed like you did the first day on the train. "Ha, yeah."

"Mind taking a picture with me? My mates didn't quite believe me when I told them that the fit girl from Arsenal gets my train."

His wording was strange and crept on the edges of creepy but it was an innocent enough request so you took his phone and leaned up against the railing, trying to get a good angle.

He leaned down, his chin resting on your shoulder and goose bumps of fear crept up your neck when you felt his breath there.

"Hey."

You jerked away instinctively as a familiar voice approached. Lia, usually smiling, held a slight grimace on her face as she walked closer. Her eyes flicked to the man then back to you, plucking the phone from your hand.

"Why don't we make it the three of us?"

She didn't let the man respond, easily slotting in next to you and resting her arm around your shoulders so he couldn't put his face so close.

It worked for the most part but, as you plastered a fake smile on your face, you caught him angling his face down to sniff at your hair.

Lia gave him his phone back, pulling you away with her.

"Did you know him?" Kim asked as she joined the two of you, having been only moments away from intervening herself.

You glanced back at him, yelping slightly when you noticed him still staring. "He gets on my train."

Kim looked back too, eyes narrowed. "Come on, I'll drop you home today. You need to be careful on public transport."

"I know."

True to her word, Kim dropped you home. In fact, she continued to drop you home every day after practice so you only had to deal with the man in the mornings.

But, it was on the one day that Kim was sick, that it all came to a head.

You pulled your hood over your head as you began your trek to the train station, huffing in frustration at every step due to the ache in your legs.

"Hey! Wait up!" Leah came barrelling over, swinging one arm over your shoulder and almost causing you to crash to the floor. "Where'd you think you're going?"

"Home?"

"Without me?"

You gave her a look. "Don't you own a car?"

"It's getting serviced. Thought that I would see how you do it."

You rolled your eyes, checking the time on your phone. "We're gonna miss the first train because of you," You told her," But if we get to the station in the next ten minutes, we'll be able to catch the next one."

"Excellent."

You were right, of course. You arrived at the station just as the second train (thankfully much less packed than the first) pulled up. You slipped through the doors, talking aimlessly with Leah as you sat in the first seat you could find.

"Fancy seeing you here."

A shiver ran up your spine.

You hadn't even realised that you sat next to him until he spoke.

Leah narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, er, yeah. Just heading home."

"I haven't seen you in the evenings for a while now."

"I've been getting a lift back."

He nodded along, seemingly uncaring towards the fact that you were clearly leaning away from him. If there hadn't been an armrest in the way, you were sure that you'd have already tumbled into Leah's lap.

"The Arsenal training grounds aren't too far from where I work. We could take a cab back together sometime."

You shivered again, body going rigid as he flashed his too-white smile at you and, almost in slow motion, moved to rest his hand on your thigh.

Leah snatched his wrist out of the air, squeezing tightly until her knuckles were white. "You need to leave her alone," She said in warning, her voice low and dangerous like it was on the pitch," I don't want to see you anywhere near her. In fact, you're never going to see her again."

The train pulled into a station that definitely wasn't yours but Leah still yanked you up and got off with you, snapping a picture of the man on her phone as she went.

"How long has that been going on?" She demanded, not even waiting to get off the platform. "He seemed pretty familiar with you."

Shame flooded your body and you couldn't meet her eyes. "A few months. He crashed into me during rush hour."

Leah sighed, long and drawn out like she was trying to control herself. "Why didn't you tell someone?"

"What use would that do? Men are creeps sometimes. There's nothing I can do about it."

In an instant, you were pulled into her, arms wrapped tight around your waist as you were pressed into her neck.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," She said," I'm so, so sorry that you've had to put up with that for so long."

"It's fine," You replied dismissively," It hardly matters anyway."

"It does matter. Don't pretend that it doesn't. I heard from Lia that some other creep was at the game against Bristol. Is it the same guy?"

You nodded.

Leah sighed again, finally letting you pull away but still keeping your hand tight in hers. "I'm going to send that picture to the girls and Jonas, alright? We're gonna have him banned from our matches."

"Thank you," You whispered.

"And we'll work out a schedule on who will take you to and from practice, so he can't corner you on the train again."

"Thank you," You said again.

Leah grinned, bringing you even closer than before. "Now that that's sorted out...Do you know how to get home from here? I'm not too sure where we are."

#woso community #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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repulsiveliquidation · 5 months

Text

Time Difference

Switch! Alexia Putellas x Bottom! Leah Williamson x Top! Reader

Part 2 of Time Consuming

word count : 4k

warnings : none? fluffier that usual lol have fun. I will say I’m not the happiest with this one but no one’s perfect.

“Fuck, Y/N!” yelled Leah, fingers pumping out of her pussy frantically as she fucked herself on the phone with you and Alexia. You were holding Alexia in your arms, legs hooked over hers to keep her legs open as your fingers pumped in and out of her at the same time.

Laptop propped up at the foot of the bed, Alexia squirmed and moaned loudly. Her legs fought yours, wanting so badly to close off and kick up in pleasure. You were stronger, pinning her legs open wide for Leah to watch. Leah was listening more than watching, her headphones on as you and Ale shared one each. The mics picked up EVERYTHING. Every little whine, every dirty word you said to Alexia, you were saying to Leah. She heard the sloppy squelch of Alexia’s pussy, her wet mess echoing into each earpiece.

Alexia was keening, hands grabbing the sheets that looked close to ripping. Leah threw her head back with a loud thud, lips begging for you to let her cum. Alexia began to beg too, tears brimming in her eyes. They fell, her chest heaving as she held her orgasm back.

“Leah, eyes on Alexia,” you instructed, leaning into Alexia’s ear.

“Look at her, Ale. Doesn’t our girl look so pretty?” Alexia nods frantically, your free hand wrapping around her neck. She whined loudly, melting back into your arms. She was trembling hard now, Leah’s eyes and hers locked onto each other.

“Doesn’t Ale look so sexy, Lee? She’s trembling so.” Leah huffed frustratedly, her three fingers grazing over her sweet spot as her other hand fondled her swollen clit. She couldn’t hold on for much longer, lips begging once again for her well-earned release.

“Cum.” You said deeply, both of them letting go and reaching their mind-numbing highs. The hand around Alexia’s neck tightened, her body shuddering deeply as her eyes sunk back into her head. You looked at the laptop, grinning maniacally when you saw that Leah too had her hand around her neck. Leah pulled her fingers out of herself just as you did Ale, desperately taking deep breaths to calm down. You kiss Alexia’s damp hair, rubbing your palms over her rigid thighs.

“Leah darling, you with me?” you ask, pulling Ale into your lap how she liked. She was always needier after sex, wanting to be close to either one of you after she came. You pull the laptop closer, softly rubbing Alexia’s back as Leah sits up with a dazed look on her face.

“Leah?”

“Mm…”

“Talk to me.”

Alexia began to softly kiss your neck, your hands softly squeezing her ass. She giggled, pressing more kisses on your neck.

“I’m good, still here.”

“Good girl, have you got that bottle of water nearby like I asked?”

“Yes.”

“Have half, please?”

You reach over and grab one that you had over on the nightstand, opening it for Alexia. She quietly sipped, turning back around to face the camera to talk to Leah.

“You okay, Lee?” she asked softly, leaning back into your arms.

Leah nods, laying back on her bed. She started to giggle, setting a slight orgasm high Ale into a fit of giggles. You laugh too, resting your chin on Alexia’s shoulder as the giggling turns into full-blown laughter. You’re wiping away tears, looking at Leah with fond eyes.

“Lee? Bath time, yeah? We can set the laptop up like last time if you want.”

She sits up, palm holding her head up.

“Yes please.”

“No, Leah! You can’t be serious!”

“She stole my smiley potatoes! Right off my plate!”

“That doesn’t warrant extra laps at training!”

“Katie McCabe deserved it.”

“You need a palate cleanser. Our freezer only has those unhealthy things because we love you.”

The bathroom echoes with laughter, both you and Alexia sunken in the bath as Leah did the same over in London. Alexia caught the sad flicker in Leah’s eyes when she felt your lips kiss her neck softly in the bath.

“Lee,” the Barça captain called, “I miss you.”

You stop your kisses, looking at the screen. Leah looked like she was about to cry.

“Couple more days, baby. We miss you so much. It’s not the same without you here, yeah?”

Leah smiled, and both you and Alexia smiled back sighing happily.

“Alright girls, bedtime. Any longer in the bath, we’d have soaked up more water than our bodies need.”

“Did you seriously make a sign for her, Ale?”

“Hey, my girlfriend is coming from England to my home, I don’t want her getting lost.”

“Ale, she’s here every other week.”

“And I’ve lived here my whole life, I still get lost! I don’t want Leah to.”

“I saw your sign clear as day, Ale. Won’t get lost, I promise.”

Alexia looked towards the direction of that voice, ending the argument she was having with Lucy. You were already engulfing Leah in a big hug, her bags forgotten to the side. Alexia hugged the both of you, kissing Leah’s forehead softly. You pull back, grabbing her face and kissing her softly. Alexia was next, giving Leah a tight hug before pecking her lips gently. She whispered, “Missed you,” taking her bag and her hand, walking ahead of you. Lucy and Kiera hugged their national teammate, walking with Leah’s other bags towards your car.

All loaded up, you drove back into town for lunch with the team. Everyone had gotten to know Leah better since she started dating you and Ale, having already known her from the years of playing together it was a seamless transition.

The restaurant was buzzing, having blocked off a section for a little privacy. Everyone welcomed Leah with open arms, never making her feel out of place. Alexia was a little protective of Leah, her arm wrapped around her shoulders the whole time. María was in deep conversation with her, Ingrid listening very intently to your girlfriend talking about football. You had your hand resting on Alexia’s thigh, Leah’s hand holding yours as you chatted with the girls. The food was delicious, and everyone added this new place to the roster of approved team bonding locations. Leah, the defender with the palate of a 5-year-old, still managed to get her fix of a bland chicken sandwich this time.

Waving goodbye, the three of you decided to take a walk in the park nearby. Alexia suggested getting ice cream, stating that she knew a little hidden spot where she used to go as a child. After securing three large cones with very different flavor choices (a/n I stand by my statement earlier, mint chocolate chip is the best flavor, and if I hear a PEEP about it being like toothpaste istg.)

Slurping the rapidly melting cones, the warm Barcelona afternoon brought a gentle breeze that was cooling. Kids were playing on the swings, another group of them kicking around a football. Alexia’s eyes shone with a glint of hope, her fingers tapping on her knee, anxiously wanting to ask you both a question.

“Can we play?”

You look at her a little surprised. Leah stops trying to shove the last bit of her ice cream cone into her mouth when it clearly won’t fit.

“Play what?” you ask, looking towards where she’s looking. You smile, Leah rejoices beside you, successfully shoving the cone into her mouth. You look at her and shake your head, she smiles messily.

“Want to challenge them to a three vs. however many?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

Quickly finishing the last bits of your ice cream, you walk over to the group of boys playing football. You notice that one girl is trying to play with them, looking about 8 years old, and is being told to go away. Leah gives you a look, and you reciprocate, Alexia already over there challenging the boys to a match. They immediately start shit-talking when the little girl comes over and tugs at your shirt.

“Hola, Soy Y/N. ¿Cómo te llamas?”

“María.” Alexia walks over with Leah following her. She bends down to the little girl's height.

"Mi mejor amiga se llama María, es muy buena en el fútbol. ¿Lo estás?”

“Sí!”

“Want to be on our team then?” Leah asks with her hands on her hips. María nods deftly, joining the three of you in the middle.

"¿Ustedes están listos para perder?"

After scoring about 15 to nothing, the boys begged Alexia to let them leave. She did eventually, with a warning to let everyone who wanted to be able to play football. María pulls a woman over to you, jumping up excitedly.

“They let me play, Mama!”

Her mother looks at you three with a smile, her smile suddenly turning into a little shock. She kneels beside María, a knowing smile on her face.

“Do you know who these chicas are, bebé? That’s Y/N L/N, Leah Williamson, and Alexia Putellas.”

María takes a good look at Alexia. She lights up, jumping up and down again, barreling into Alexia for a hug. Alexia laughs and gives her a tight hug, picking her up into her arms.

“You’re my favorite player ever, Alexia,” María tells her, mumbling her little confession into her neck. Alexia visibly melts, putting María down gently.

“You’re my favorite bebita, you were so good today.”

After signing her shirt and getting a picture, María gleefully bounded home with her mother. Alexia looked extremely pleased, noticing the lovesick smiles you and Leah had on your faces.

“You’re so good with kids,” Leah tells her, holding her hand as you take her other.

“It was hot babe, you’re a natural,” you say, rubbing her forearm softly.

She blushes, face going very visibly red. She lets go of both your hands, running to the car.

You catch her, hugging her tight. Leah grabs her face and kisses her, their lips moving slowly together. Alexia pulls away from Leah and turns to face you, kissing you the same way. The sun was setting, a soft orange hue all around you. It was the perfect day, Alexia’s hands taking one of yours and one of Leah’s. She whispers, pulling Leah closer only for the two of you to hear.

“Please take me home.”

Shoving the key into the lock was the most frustrating thing to do and it always seemed to be the hardest task when you’re sexually frustrated and need to get inside QUICK. Leah was kissing Alexia in the hallway, knee already between her legs as Alexia ground down on her.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, finally!”

Rushing in, the two girls almost run inside, clothes strewn everywhere. They were naked when they got to the bedroom, you were kicking off your pants and had your fingers on your hips to pull your underwear down. They’re making out like their lives depended on it, Ale flipping Leah over onto her back. She looked a little uncertain, more used to being in Leah’s position. Leah looked unfazed, fondly gazing up at Alexia. She looked back at you like a deer in headlights, beginning to scoot back off of Leah. Leah grabs her hand and opens her mouth before you can, voice as affectionate as she could. A voice she reserved for Alexia and you.

“Do what feels right, baby.”

Alexia looked down at her, eyes softening before filling with determination. She nods, crashing her lips onto Leah’s. You climb onto the bed, hands immediately finding Alexia’s waist. You settle behind Alexia as she leans back into you. She’s straddling Leah, Leah caresses her hips and thighs with the same loving smile on her face.

“Do you maybe want to try fucking her, sweetheart? She’d look so pretty on your cock,” you ask Alexia as Leah’s hands find yours and intertwine on Alexia’s thighs. Alexia’s eyes change, and her big hands (a/n everyone’s seen the TikTok by now lol) grasp Leah’s small waist. She leans down, kissing up Leah’s chest. Her voice turns sultry, mere decibels above a whisper.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Leah? I haven’t had your pussy in a while, bebita.”

Leah keens, nodding her head softly as her lips beg Alexia for her cock. Alexia smiles, looking back at you for approval.

“She’s all yours, darling. Did you want me to do anything?”

Alexia has that deer-in-the-headlights look again as she reaches into the drawer for her rarely used strap. She smiles wide before nodding, clambering back onto the bed between Leah’s legs.

“Want you to hold Leah like you hold me when we’re on the phone with her. I think she deserves to know how good it feels.”

Alexia leans in for a kiss, lips locked in deep. Your hands find their place on Leah’s breasts, kneading them hard as Alexia moves her lips lower to your neck. You groan as your fingers flick over Leah’s hardened nipples. Alexia pulls away breathlessly, biting her lip as she settles between Leah’s legs. You too sit back and pull Leah between your legs, holding her down the same way she saw you do to Alexia. You brush her baby hair out of her face, kissing her softly. Alexia begins to slowly drag her nails down Leah’s abs, kissing softly at the England captain's skin.

Alexia bites dark hickeys all over her chest as your hands caress and fondle her breasts. Your legs have locked Leah’s in place as she squirms all over the place. Alexia suddenly turns stern and slaps her thigh, her captain's voice low and serious.

“Don’t move.”

Leah nods softly and stops her squirming, an impressed look on your face paired with a proud smile. Alexia looks up at you again for approval, you give her a nod and an encouraging smile that Leah whines at.

“J-Just fuck me already…!”

“Don’t ask me, love. Ask Ale. I’m sure she’ll say yes if you say please.”

“Please Ale, fuck me!”

“Not yet, cariño. I want to taste you first.”

Alexia dives in, licking at Leah’s core hard and fast. It makes Leah struggle and whine, the defender putting up a valiant fight to get out of your hold. You’re again stronger, pinning her down for Alexia to devour.

Alexia spreads Leah open nicely, giving you an enticing view of Leah’s glistening folds and her tongue that flicks lazily over her clit. Leah cries out for Alexia, to which she coos and drags her fingers over the English woman’s folds.

A finger pushes itself in slowly, Alexia’s lips tight around Leah’s clit. She sucks and sucks and sucks, finger pumping in and out of her rhythmically. One very quickly becomes three, fingertips dragging over her spot hard and fast. Leah has flashbacks to the other night, when she witnessed your fingers inside Alexia doing the same thing to her. Leah grabs the sheets, just like Alexia did, crying out to both of you begging to cum.

“You’re so wet, cariño. Were you this wet when we were on the phone that night? I think so, you sound the same. Such noisy squelching, wasn’t it Y/N?”

“Yes, she does sound the same. Do you like Alexia’s fingers, Leah? Tell her.” you whisper the last bit into Leah’s ear, hands caressing her abs gently.

“I-I love your fingers, Ale!”

“Sí bebita, you’re getting so close to coming no?”

“Please, please!”

“Can she come, Y/N?”

Leah groans hoarsely, looking up at you desperately holding back her orgasm. You nod curtly and Leah lets go. She comes hard, thighs quivering and convulsing as you slowly release her from your hold. Alexia’s fingers are relentless, helping Leah ride out her orgasm.

She pulls them out once Leah calms and begins to wince, shoving them straight into her mouth. She sucks them clean as you and Leah watch, your fingers dipping briefly between Leah’s legs to have a taste of your own. Leah moans loudly, eyes flickering between you and Alexia, unable to decide who will be the death of her.

Alexia leans over to kiss you again, the taste of Leah strong on both your tongues. She pulls away, crashing her lips on Leah’s softly.

“You’re so delicious, mi cielo. Ready for my cock, sí?”

“Fuck Ale, please…”

Alexia helps Leah move in the middle of the bed. You sit on the side, watching them carefully. It had been a while since Alexia topped last, preferring to be treated like the pillow princess she was. You and Leah were more than happy to indulge her, giving her what she needed since her job and responsibilities often stressed her out. You could feel that she was slightly nervous about fucking Leah, afraid that her lack of practice would make her a bad fuck. You immediately sat beside her, giving her tummy a little rub that she liked.

“Don’t need to be nervous, you’ll be great.” Leah caressed her thighs gently, smiling up at her.

“Hurry up and fuck me good, yeah?” Alexia lines herself up with Leah, teasing the tip in gently before filling Leah in one smooth motion. Leah choked slightly at the sudden intrusion, grasping onto Alexia’s thighs tightly.

Leah hiked her legs back and with the help of Alexia, had them pressed deep and wide. Alexia’s whole cock slipped in and out of the with deep strokes, your praises in Alexia’s ear spurring her on. Filthy phrases left your lips and into Alexia’s ear, breaking her down right with Leah. Her hips never once faltered though, obediently pounding into Leah’s sloppy pussy.

Your fingers shoved themselves into Alexia’s mouth with orders to suck; once wet they found themselves between your legs to swipe through your soaked folds. Slipping two wet fingers into yourself, you chased your high as Leah and Alexia watched shamelessly. Alexia’s thrusts began to slow, her focus shifting from Leah to you. You stopped touching yourself, eyes staring into hers.

“Did I tell you to stop fucking her, Ale?”

She shakes her head vigorously.

“Do it again and you’re both not coming anymore tonight.”

Her grip on Leah tightened and her pace quickened, pounding Leah into the mattress as she tried to watch you. Your fingers moved into Leah’s awaiting mouth which she sucked on hard. Spreading out a little more than earlier, three fingers slipped themselves easier into your throbbing pussy. Alexia moans watching, hips faltering as she barreled towards her high. Leah was too, nimble fingers slipping momentarily into her mouth before circling her sensitive clit. Alexia bent over and suckled on Leah’s breasts; they were known to be her favorite set.

You didn’t know who came first, moans of everyone’s names echoed in the room. It was melodious, a symphony of passion and ecstasy.

Leah panted deeply, hands pressed to her face as she broke out in a fit of giggles. Alexia pulled out and bit her lip, starting to giggle too. You grinned and licked your lips, kissing a giggling Leah with difficulty. Alexia was easier, her lips molding to yours perfectly every time.

That was how it was kissing them. Leah’s lips felt like fireworks, new and exciting. Alexia’s lips felt like home, familiar and comforting.

You reached under your pillow, grabbing your harness to pull on. Alexia pulled hers off, scooting away from Leah with a soft peck to your shoulder. Kissing down Leah’s chest, you bit new marks in places that Alexia missed. Sucking on her breast, you pinched at the other, making her moan softly. She was a little more sensitive there than Alexia, responding to every fondle with a whiny moan.

“Ready for me now, baby girl?”

She nodded. Alexia leaned in and kissed Leah, just as you pushed your cock into her. Leah moaned into Alexia’s mouth, she threw her head back and couldn’t keep her sounds contained as you weren’t as lenient as Alexia. Your hips were rough and deep, hitting her sweet spot almost immediately. You had your eyes focused on where you both were connected, not seeing that Alexia had clambered onto Leah’s face facing you. She reached back and grabbed Leah’s blonde hair, pulling hard as she ground her pussy down on her face. Leah groaned into Alexia’s core, arms wrapped tight around her muscular thighs. Alexia tapped your shoulder, your head shot up, eyes met with a beautiful sight before you. Leah was noisily slurping at Alexia’s folds, Alexia puckered at you, asking for a kiss. Speeding up your thrusts to spur Leah, you grab Alexia’s face and kiss her passionately. You lick deep into Alexia’s mouth, reaching down to spank her ass.

She whines, sucking on your tongue hard. She grasps at Leah’s waist to stabilize herself, her face tucked into your neck as she desperately tries to ride Leah’s tongue. She gets a grip on herself, leaning back and grinding hard on Leah, chasing her high. Leah could easily let herself die here, she’d be a happy woman.

Her slender fingers slip into Alexia’s begging-to-be-filled hole, causing Ale to gasp and ride her fingers while Leah suckles on her folds. A chorus of groans fills the room, the three of you almost at your peak. Alexia leans in again, puckered lips ready for you to satisfy. You kiss her hard, fucking into Leah with more determination.

Leah comes first this time, already sensitive from her first two orgasms. Alexia follows 10 seconds later, gripping your arms tight as she practically goes boneless on top of Leah. One last thrust into Leah gives you what you need, cumming hard just as Leah begins to beg you to stop because of the oversensitivity.

Alexia climbs off Leah immediately presses her lips to hers. They kiss passionately, and you pull out of Leah and watch them for a bit. Alexia looks utterly infatuated, a look that she’s given you dozens of times after sex. You decide to leave them for a bit, going into the bathroom to start a shower. Throwing in a shower steamer and turning down the lights, you walk back into the room to find them both cuddling with each other.

“Come on darlings, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Alexia takes it upon herself to carry Leah into the bathroom. She sets her down in the shower, immediately grabbing her face and kissing her. Leah giggles softly, kissing her back gently. You saunter in behind them, pulling Leah closer to you. She reaches back and tucks a hand behind your head, your lips biting little hickeys along her neck. Your hands knead her flesh, massaging her sore thighs gently as Alexia lathers her up in body wash. You work on her hair next, scratching her scalp exactly how you knew she enjoyed it. Alexia was next, Leah insisting on shampooing the Spaniard. You scrubbed her clean, Leah rinsing her hair out while making sure not to get soap in her eyes. They worked on you last, Alexia massaging your head while she worked the conditioner into your hair, Leah having too much fun making sure the loofah scrubbed every inch of skin she knew about.

An hour later, skincare routines were completed and hair care was done, you called for a couple of pizzas for dinner. Alexia took back her needy-after-sex title, face smushed into Leah’s stomach as she watched the men’s Arsenal game Leah had put on.

“Why are we watching this?” she grumbled into Leah’s (yours) hoodie.

“Because my boys are playing.”

“Ale, just enjoy the football. It’s an important game for Arsenal in the Premier League.”

A minute later, you felt the need to clarify something.

“If it makes you feel better, I still want them to lose since I am a Manchester United fan.” (a/n I have been since I was a kid.)

Alexia laughs, snuggling closer into Leah’s stomach with a smile. Leah shoots you a sharp look, instead running her fingers through the Catalan’s damp hair, slowly Alexia becomes more and more interested in the game.

The pizza got there 20 minutes after you called, sharing a meat lover pizza with your girls was the perfect way to make up for the time difference.

#alexia putellas #leah williamson #alexia putellas x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alexia putellas imagine #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson smut #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x leah williamson x reader #woso smut #woso #fc barca femeni #arsenal wfc

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nats--sw · 5 months

Text

Living Together | Alessia Russo

Alessia Russo x reader You just need to learn how to live together.

Having a relationship with Alessia Russo was the closest thing to perfection. You never argued, she never forgot important dates, and she always made sure to make you feel like the most loved woman in the entire world. The only problem was the distance; she lived in Manchester while you lived in London. You didn't play for the same team or the same nation, but somehow you ended up meeting at an event, and the rivalry that existed on the field turned into the best romance of your life.

Sure, maybe the distance wasn't as much as other couples living in different countries or continents, but it was still exhausting and sad to come home every day to an empty house, relying only on nightly video calls and trips during days off.

But that problem was ending now.

Alessia Russo had signed for Arsenal for the next season.

"I still can't believe it," you said, carrying the last box of Alessia's things.

"Babe, it's like the fourth time you've said that" Alessia laughed, taking the box from your hands. "I thought that once you saw all my stuff in your flat, you could finally process it."

You also thought that, but even now with the stack of boxes piled up in the living room of your small flat, you still couldn't believe it. It was unreal that now you would share your home with Alessia, going every night to bed with her and waking up by her side.

In addition to sharing your flat, you would also be at the same team. Nothing could be better in your life than now.

"Can I ask you something?" you approached Alessia from behind, hugging her and resting your cheek against her back. Alessia always found it an adorable gesture, given that she was some centimetres taller than you.

"Of course," she replied without hesitation, placing her own hands over yours, enjoying the moment.

"Why did you decide to come to Arsenal? You never told me why you decided to leave Manchester so quickly..."

"I wasn't happy there anymore... for various reasons. But what motivated me the most to come here was that my happiness is with you. And the opportunity presented itself, so I suppose it was a bit of destiny, and I wasn't going to let the chance slip away." She spoke without putting too much thought into it. Alessia was like that, always uttering words that made your heart race without her even realizing. "Would you have preferred me to go to another club?"

Alessia laughed and turned around, grabbing you by the waist and slowly leaning towards your face as you considered your response.

"Of course not."

Everything would be perfect now.

But unfortunately, it wasn't like that. After a month, everything wasn't as you had always imagined.

Sure, having your girlfriend with you was a dream come true, but you hadn't considered the things that also came along with it.

"I can't believe it..."

Alessia was like a tornado, wherever she went she left a trace of her presence. From trainers to socks to her underwear. Every day you would stumble across one of her trainers that for some reason were never in your shoe cabinet, always in the hallway, in the living room and even the kitchen.

"Alessia?"

You had just come from a little interview, so Alessia had arrived hours before you, but when you did a little inspection around the place it looked like she hadn't arrived yet because the dirty dishes were still in the sink, but her workout bag was on the sofa, so your girlfriend was at home.

"Alessia?!" this time you called her name a little bit louder and it worked because immediately your girlfriend appeared in the doorway of the room you now shared. She was wearing comfortable clothes and had a towel over her shoulders to keep her freshly washed hair from getting her shirt wet.

"Hey! You're here" As soon as Alessia smiled at you, you forgot about her trainers in the hallway, the dirty dishes and the training bag on your sofa. That was one of your biggest problems with Alessia, she'd smile at you, look at you with her sparkling eyes, and everything else would slip your mind. "How was everything?" she asked before giving you a short kiss on the lips, then turning away from the door to let you into the room.

"It went well," you replied and threw yourself onto the bed with the intention of relaxing. However, it was the opposite when you felt something against your abdomen. "Ouch! What was here?" you asked, quickly pulling out what was under the covers.

"You found my headphones! I've been looking for them for like 3 hours," Alessia ran towards you and took the headphones from you, giving you a short kiss on the lips as a reward. "What would I do without you?"

"I wonder the same thing..."

You could tolerate how messy Alessia was at home, because in return you got to live with her, so, in terms of pros and cons it wasn't so bad. Did you miss how tidy your flat was before? Of course you did, but now you had Alessia.

And you had Alessia not only in your flat now, but also in your work and in your life.

The idea of going to work together was nice, but Alessia had convinced you to take turns driving and today it was her turn to do it. You usually managed to convince her that you would drive anyway, using the excuse that you liked driving, but the truth was that -although you didn't like to say it out loud- every time Alessia got behind the wheel your heart would race, but not in a nice way.

"Alessia! We'll be late!" It was the second time you called her, but your girlfriend was still in the room, which would probably now be a mess.

"I can't find my car keys! Give me a minute!"

Tired of waiting sitting in the kitchen you stood up to go to the sofa, because you remembered that yesterday after coming home from work Alessia had collapsed on the sofa without even taking off her jacket. So you started to remove the cushions until you found the car keys underneath them.

"I found them," you said, raising the keys in the air as Lessi appeared in the hallway.

"You don't know how much I love you." And just like every time you found something she had lost, she kissed you while taking the keys from your hand. "I don't know what I'd do without you... I'd probably go crazy."

This time you didn't say anything in return, you had barely even reciprocated her kiss.

In the car, you didn't say anything for a long time, but when you noticed Alessia had turned into a street that wasn't the usual one, you couldn't help but speak.

"Why did you turn here?"

"Well, you didn't have breakfast, I know your morning isn't pleasant when you don't drink your coffee, so I'll stop by and get you something, I won't be long" she said, stopping in front of the coffee shop that according to you sold the best coffee you ever tasted, although Alessia thought the opposite. "I'll be back in a second."

The second turned into about 15 minutes in total. By that time, your lips were nothing more than a straight line after answering messages from some of the girls asking where you were. You didn't even look when Alessia opened the car door, so you didn't see her coming with your coffee, a paper bag, and a small bouquet of flowers.

"We'll be late-" Your smile returned when you noticed the flowers. It was a sweet gesture because Alessia knew you hated big bouquets, you always chose the simplest arrangement and the one she was offering you with a smile on her face was just what you would have picked.

"They were taking a while to prepare your order, so I took the opportunity to stop by the florist near here" she murmured with relief as you accepted the bouquet of flowers. "Here, flat white and your sandwich, I ordered it with ham, is that okay?"

"Yes, that's perfect."

Alessia waited for you to settle in, leaving the flowers on the back seat and unwrapping your sandwich to start the car and get back on the road. It wasn't until you finished your coffee that you noticed Alessia hadn't brought anything for herself.

"You didn't have breakfast either."

"I bought myself an orange juice, but I drank it while I was waiting for your sandwich to be made."

"But that was to drink, don't you want something to eat?"

"I'll eat something when we get there, don't worry about me."

"Did you leave your smile at home? " Was the first thing Lotte said when she saw Alessia arrive, throwing her training bag on the floor.

"Don't mess with me today" muttered Alessia taking her seat. "Got any of those cereal bars?"

Lotte nodded and pulled a cereal bar from her bag, handing it over. If it had been any other day, she wouldn't have hesitated to throw it in her face, but she could tell the mood wasn't the best today.

"Thanks," Alessia took a bite as if it were the best meal of her life. "I was starving."

"Why? I saw YN before and she didn't look hungry like you."

"I stopped to buy her something on the way, I'm sure if I didn't, I wouldn't have made it here alive."

"Trouble in paradise? I thought you'd be happy here with YN, I remember hearing hours of your complaints when you lived apart."

"Yes... Don't get me wrong" she was quick to say "I'm happy with her, it's just that.... We're not used to living together."

"How did you do it before? I mean, when one travelled to the other, you stayed at each other's houses and there was no problem."

"Yeah, but it was only for a few days" Alessia muttered and fell silent when she heard the door open, thinking it would be you and that you would catch her talking about you.

Luck seemed to be on her side after her horrible morning because it wasn't you who had entered, it was Lia.

"Who died?" she laughed when she saw Alessia's pale face. "Who are you talking about?"

"How do you know we're talking about someone?" Lotte asked.

"When two people are talking about someone else, they always go silent when a third person appears," she explained without much detail. "Besides, both of you look guilty of something. So, who are we talking about?"

Alessia was about to make up something to avoid mentioning your name because, of all the girls on the team, Lia was the closest to you. Unfortunately for her Lotte spoke up first because of the guilt she felt for having been talking behind your back.

"YN, we were talking about her. Alessia didn't—"

"Lotte!" Alessia kicked her leg to make her stop talking.

"Ouch! What's wrong with you? Is it true that- where are your socks?" Lotte was distracted when she saw the foot Alessia had kicked her with. Alessia was wearing her usual trainers, but it was clear that she didn't have anything else underneath them.

"I couldn't find my socks this morning... I don't know where the hell YN keeps my socks, but they're never in my drawer, and I didn't want to ask her because it was already late, and she was already mad at me."

Lia started laughing as soon as she heard that.

"It's not funny."

"Of course it is" she said trying to hide her laughter by covering her mouth with her hand. "Is that why I sometimes see you wearing her clothes?"

"Yes," she replied, cheeks slightly flushed. "Since I take care of doing the laundry, she takes care of putting it away once it's clean, but I've told her to put hers away and I put mine away, but she doesn't listen to me. But she hates to see the clothes on the bed, so she ends up taking everything and putting it in her part of the wardrobe".

"Well, it's something to be expected from her. YN is a neat freak," Lia commented, still smiling.

"What do you mean?" Lotte interrupted, joining the conversation.

"What I just said, Lotte. I lived with her for a while when she twisted her ankle, you know, to help her and all. I didn't think it was a big deal because I had stayed overnight at her place several times, but I stayed for several days that time and at the end of the week I discovered that she's crazy," Lia explained. Lotte still didn't seem to understand, but Alessia caught on to where Lia was going. "I'm not exaggerating. One time she got mad because I cooked dinner because she was starving but I didn't wash the dishes when I finished because I went to take a shower. Obviously, I planned to clean everything when I was done, but when I returned to the kitchen, she had already washed everything."

"Yes! She has done the same to me!" Alessia almost jumped out of her seat in relief at Lia's words. "I thought I was the one exaggerating, but it's true. Besides, the organization she uses doesn't make sense, when we first started living together, I wanted to keep the cups near the things to make our tea, but she keeps them in the cupboard next to the fridge." Alessia put her hands on her head. "God, I thought I was the crazy one," she said standing up to hug Lia, who returned the hug not quite understanding Alessia's emotion.

"Haven't you tried talking to her about it?" Lotte asked.

"Of course I've tried, but as soon as I mention anything about it she starts complaining about how messy I am and yes, I admit that" she said before Lotte could interrupt, "But I always end up doing my things. The problem is that YN wants everything done immediately, and there are times when I just want to come home and lie down on the bed with her."

"I'm surprised you haven't complained before," commented Lia, feeling a bit sorry for Alessia. "How do you deal with the food?"

Both Lotte and Alessia looked at her abruptly, the first girl looking like she didn't understand anything, and Alessia looking relieved that finally someone understood her.

"YN buys just what is necessary, you'll never find sweets or more than one type of cereal in her kitchen because she doesn't eat much of those things," Lia explained to Lotte.

"I've been starving" muttered Alessia "She prefers to do the shopping because according to her it takes less time, so I always ask her to bring me a couple of extra things, but she always forgets, plus we don't have the same tastes in food. I don't want to make her feel guilty, so I don't mention it to her."

"I've been starving" muttered Alessia "She prefers to buy our food because according to her it takes less time, so I always ask her to bring me a couple of extra things, but she always forgets, and we don't have the same tastes in food. I don't want to make her feel guilty, so I haven't mentioned it to her."

"You can't go on like this," Lotte worried about her friend's state because she knew that it would only get worse every day. "You have to tell her something."

"I second that," Lia said, having stood up to take a pair of clean socks from her bag. "If you want I can help you talk to her," she said, handing over the socks and giving Alessia a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaving them alone again.

"I need to talk to her."

But the day had passed and although there were several opportunities to talk, Alessia never mentioned anything to you. The next few days were more of the same and neither Lotte, who continued to hear Alessia's cries every morning, nor Lia, who listened your complaints about Alessia's behaviour during the warm-ups, could take it anymore.

So that night, you and Alessia were at Lia's house, who had invited you both for dinner.

You had already finished dessert when Lia brought up the issue at the table.

"Well, Alessia, it's time for you to talk to YN about what we've discussed this week," Lia's words caught both of you off guard, so much so that Alessia froze for a few seconds, not knowing what to say.

"What are you talking about?" you asked with a nervous smile "Did something bad happen?" Alessia immediately noticed your concern in your tone, the guilt quickly invading her.

"It's nothing, love," she tried to reassure you that everything was fine, placing her hand on your thigh under the table.

"That's not true," Lia said getting a bit annoyed. "It's about you and your flat."

"What's wrong with our flat?" you asked defensively.

"That's the problem YN, that it's your flat, not yours and Alessia's."

"What the hell are you talking about, Lia?"

"Lia is right, YN... I don't feel comfortable living there, and one of the reasons is because it's your place, not ours."

The three of you remained silent after Alessia's words. But Lia, not wanting to witness the awkward moment, decided to leave the two of you alone by going to her room.

"What do you mean you're not comfortable living there?"

"I think we both know that this isn't working the way we wanted, love."

On impulse, you removed Alessia's hand, which had been on your thigh until that moment.

"It sounds like you're going to break up with me."

"I don't want to break up with you," she rushed to say, a little scared of where the conversation might be heading. "But I think we don't know how to live together."

"Do you want to live on your own?"

Alessia thought about it for a moment. Did she want her space? Yes. Did she want to be away from you? No.

"No... I don't think I ever want to live away from you again," she murmured taking your hands, a little scared that you might pull away. "But I want to have a place that is ours. I appreciate that you let me live in your flat, but it's yours. Everything there is yours, love. I can't change anything because you're used to your place."

"Does that explain why you leave your things everywhere?" you asked a little upset because deep down, you knew Alessia was right, and you felt bad for not noticing it earlier.

"No, I admit I have a problem with that, but I'll work on it... if you can also work on some things."

You let out a deep sigh; you knew you had issues with certain things and that you weren't an easy person to live with, but for Alessia, it was worth making a change.

"I'll need a list..." you muttered, a little embarrassed.

"I think so," Alessia whispered, a little more relaxed as she noticed that everything was turning out well "I'll need a list too. But I think there's something we should start with."

"What is it?"

"We need to find a new place for both of us."

"Good morning," Alessia's murmur made you smile. You had been awake for a while, but Alessia had you trapped against her.

"Good morning," you replied, feeling Alessia snuggling you closer. "Why did you want to buy this huge bed if you practically sleep on top of me?"

After the conversation at Lia's house, it didn't take long for you both to find a new place to move to, this time deciding everything between the two of you when it came to buying all the furniture and practically everything else in the house. One of those decisions was the enormous bed that Alessia insisted on having.

Alessia loosened her grip on you a bit, so you took the opportunity to turn and face her.

"I don't think I ever apologized," you whispered, caressing her cheek.

"Hmm... What are you talking about?" Alessia still hadn't opened her eyes, but you knew she was awake enough to talk.

"It was unfair all the times I got annoyed with you before... I didn't realize I hadn't given you a space for yourself."

It was something you had been thinking about for a few days, because it took you by surprise that since you now lived in the new house, Alessia's mess had decreased almost completely. You hadn't tripped over any of her trainers again because now Alessia had her own space for her shoes –noticing now that she has a lot more shoes than you- or that now that she had a small desk, her things were always there and not between the blankets like before. Sure, you still found the kitchen a mess after Alessia had cooked, but as she had said, she always cleaned at some point during the day.

"Don't worry... Maybe you were too used to living alone. Besides, your flat was small, there wasn't enough space for two anyway."

"So, do you forgive me?" you asked, resting your head on her chest, taking advantage of the intimacy to slip your hand under her shirt and caress her abdomen.

"I'll think about it- Ouch!" You had pinched her abdomen, not too hard, but Alessia tended to exaggerate a bit. " Okay, fine! I forgive you" she said, making you move away from her.

"I love you," you said, moving closer to her again.

"Are you sure?" she mumbled, looking at you a bit doubtful, but she took it back when she saw you move your hand closer to her abdomen again. "Stop! I believe you!".

Alessia was the one who came closer this time, giving you a kiss on the forehead and then hugging you.

"I love you too."

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo x you #woso x reader #woso imagine #alessia russo imagine #no beta read sorry

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samkerrworshipper · 6 months

Text

cockblocked | sam kerr x reader

warnings: smut, strap ons, vibrators, cunnilingus (minors dni 18+)

light arsenal women x reader, just teasing fluff n fucking that you’ve all been desperate for xoxo

You’d been desperate for Sam all day. You’d woken up this morning with Sam’s lips on your neck, one of your favourite ways to wake up. Normally those events would lead to sleepy, morning sex which was always your favourite way to wake up, Sam had let her hand graze your pantyline, before withdrawing completely and leaving the warmth of your bed. You’d been annoyed, slightly hot and bothered and not at all happy with Emma Hayes for scheduling an 8am training.

You’d considered getting yourself off, dealing with the pool of wetness between your legs on your own, but you knew Sam would be disapproving of that method. So you’d forced yourself out of bed, taken a very cold shower that had done nothing to silence the sinful thoughts on your mind. Afterwards you’d thrown on some activewear and gone for your morning run, trying to distract yourself from the way that your body was on fire with the desire of being reunited with your girlfriend.

Today was your day off, generally on your days off you would still go into the Arsenal gym, get in some recovery or a light workout. Just as you’d gotten back from your run a message had gone off in your Arsenal group chat. The groupchat consisted of you Leah, Lia, Steph, Katie, Beth, Kim, Viv and Caitlin. The text was from Katie, asking if you were home and if you wanted company. You didn’t feel up for company, you felt like waiting on your couch, in Sam’s favourite set of lingerie, patiently awaiting the return of your girlfriend. You especially didn’t feel like entertaining your very energetic and annoying teammates, who you loved to death but did not feel up to dealing with. But you couldn’t tell them that, so you’d sent a thumbs up emoji and a text saying that anybody was welcome from 2pm onwards.

It had taken a lot of effort on your own behalf to get reshowered and redressed, something that you had not had in your cards for today. You’d managed though, even with the seemingly never ending dirty thoughts of your girlfriend that plagued your mind, you’d even managed to clean up your house and lay some snacks out on your dining table before people started to trail into your house.

It wasn’t uncommon for the team to congregate in your house a few times a week, Sam and you lived the closest to the Arsenal training ground, whilst also staying fairly central in London and fairly central in terms of where your teammates resided. So most nights somebody managed to trail into your house, Leah was a frequent flyer, the English captain coming over to your house most nights to eat whatever you were cooking up for dinner. You loved it, you loved that you’d found a family in your teammates, you didn’t love it though when they were essentially cockblocking me for however long they decided to stay.

Katie and Caitlin were the first to trail in, followed by Lia and Leah. Then, running fashionably late as per usual Beth, Viv, Steph and Kim made their way into your home. The women had very quickly made themselves at home on your couch and in your living room, Katie putting something on the telly and Leah popping open a bottle of champagne and handing out glasses to the group. Normally you would discourage drinking anytime before 5 o'clock, but you figured that the best game plan was to get the women drunk earlier so they had to leave earlier. Something you forgot though was that your teammates were not light weights and they limited themselves to two glasses on weekdays. Soon enough unanimously the girls decided that they wanted pizzas, so you ordered pizza.

You were a people pleaser, you were never going to deny your friends some fun team bonding, but you would have been lying if you’d felt at peace with them all being in your home. The pizza was quick to arrive and you handed out plates and cutlery to your teammates whilst they argued over what game to watch on the tv.

It was Kim who approached you in the kitchen as you laid out the different boxes of pizza.

“Everything alright, y/n?”

You’d been a little bit scared by your captain's appearance.

“Why? Is anything wrong?”

Kim smiled lopsidedly at you, concern laced in between her brows.

“No, but you look a bit on edge, if you don’t feel up to having us here you can just say so.”

You frowned at Kim, you didn’t want to make the girls feel unwelcome, you just wanted some TLC with your girlfriend and it was all you could think of.

“I want you guys here, it’s just that, well it’s stupid.”

Your eyes flashed down to your watch, it was 4.30 and Sam was due to be home around six. She’d texted you to let you know that her and Millie had some media stuff to do, so she would be home later than normal, it was making you antsy though, waiting on your girlfriend like you were her stay at home wife.

“Your feelings aren’t stupid, what’s up?”

Kim jumped up onto the kitchen bench, filling the space that you had been occupied with covering in pizza boxes, stopping you from your actions so you was forced to look at the older woman. Kim was like a big sister for a lot of the girls on the team, she was always attentive, always looking for the smaller details that seemed unimportant. It was what made her such a good captain, what made her such a good person.

“Sam’s going to be home in an hour, and I love you all, but she just got back from Matilda’s camp yesterday, and she was too tired and jetlagged last night to do anything besides fall asleep on me. I love you all but I haven’t had sex with my girlfriend in a month and she teased me all morning and all I want to do when she gets home from training is make her dinner and then make love to her all night.”

Kim laughed a little bit at your words.

“You could have just said that.”

Her scottish accent was thick in her words and you frowned a little bit back at her.

“I didn’t want to upset you guys, you all come over here because you feel happy and safe, and I love that. I love having you all over, you guys are my family.”

Kim rolled her eyes, jumping off of your counter so she was standing directly in front of you, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“Kid, we come over here because you and Sam have made a space that makes us feel comfortable. But that's not to say that this isn’t you and Sam’s space and if you want some you and Sam time then there is nothing wrong with that, lord knows that you are continuously accommodating to us all, if you want space then just say so.”

You pursed your lips at Kim, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt in your gut.

“I want you guys here though, I love having you guys here, Sam loves all of you and I don’t want you all to leave, but all I’ve been able to think about all day is my girlfriend fucking me in every way I can imagine.”

Kim snorted, Sam and I’s sex life wasn’t a big secret to the group, we’d stayed in enough hotels together and fucked enough times after games for both sets of you teammates to know that you and Sam had fairly strenuous sex lives.

“How about this then, we’ll all stay, until Kerr shows up, and as soon as she does, I’ll make sure that we all leave the two of you for some much deserved sexy time, how does that sound?”

You rolled your eyes at Kim’s eyebrow raise, but smiled at her, nodding gratefully at her, feeling the pressure of having to host the group of girls lifted off of your shoulders.

“All right then, Pizza’s ready.”

The group was quick to pile into your kitchen, Katie and Leah arguing tirelessly over who got first dibs on the margherita.

You smiled at your girls, your team as they all fought lovingly over their food.

It was just as they began tucking into their food when you heard the front door opening and you shot up from your spot seated in the corner of your kitchen, running straight towards the door. Sam had just managed to get the door open, before you were jumping on top of her, taking the air out of her lungs and forcing her to drop her kit bag on the floor so she could pick you up.

“Hey joey.”

Sam’s voice was spoken directly into your ear, the warm air flushing against your ear and making you feel so much more at home then you had over the past few hours.

“Missed you.”

You could feel Sam fumbling with the doorknob behind you, trying to close the door with her limited mobility.

“I was only gone for a few hours, baby.”

You wrapped yourself even further around Sam, taking in her scent, the muskiness from her cologne, the mint from her deodorant and the coconut from her shampoo. It was everything you’d missed over the past month, everything that you loved about her.

“Needed you, you don’t want to know what you did to me this morning. The girls have been over all afternoon and I’ve been trying my hardest to get rid of them.”

Sam snorted into your ear, she loved how hospitable you were, but she knew it was mainly because of your inability to say no and you’d both recognised that sometimes it wasn’t a good thing always saying yes to people.

“Mm, did I get you all worked up? Is that pizza I smell?”

You rolled your eyes at Sam’s food obsession, but you couldn’t help the little gasp that left your mouth at the mention of your arousal.

“Mm, the girls ordered from Cabresos but I can get them out, please, I just want you, please just fuck me.”

All you’d wanted for the last month was Sam, any part of her that you could get and now you finally had her and you were not in the mood to share.

“No, let them stay for dinner, if you’re good then I’ll fuck you, joey.”

You whined into Sam’s neck, annoyed that your friends were still managing to find a way to cockblock you.

“Feeling whiny are we? How about you hop upstairs and put in the vibrator that I can control with my phone and you show me how much of a good girl you can be through dinner. Be a good girl for me and I’ll fuck you once the girls are gone, sound like a good idea?”

Your whole body shivered and you felt your throat dry as Sam’s words took an immediate effect on your body. She put you down on the ground, smirking at you before giving you a shove towards your shared bedroom, a fat smirk on her face as she walked into the kitchen. You could hear her almost immediately getting in a conversation with Beth as you scurried to your bedroom, walking into your walk-in wardrobe and towards the oh so familiar drawer.

You pulled out the toy Sam had told you to, shamelessly tugging down your leggings and panties down so you could slip it in. The pool between your legs was enough lubricant, making it easy enough to push the silicone bulb into your opening. It was satisfyingly good, but also nowhere near what you needed. Once it was in you pulled your leggings up, cautious of not taking too much time. You readjusted your clothing before taking a deep breath and walking back out of your bedroom and into your kitchen.

Sam was easily conversing with the girls, she’d formed quite a bond with your teammates in the two years that you’d been together, she had to or else you never would have worked out. Your team was your family, they were home for you and if she couldn’t make it work there would have been problems. You slid into a seat beside Beth, who was mouthing off to Steph about Tesco’s no longer selling her favourite protein bar or something. You just smiled at her, acting entertained by whatever she was saying. It was about halfway through Beth’s rant that you felt your whole body come alive with the sudden judder in your pussy. All of a sudden, your whole body felt the effect of the vibrations, your whole body trembling slightly at the movements. You let your eyes flash up to Sam, who looked as innocent as ever as she chatted aimlessly with Caitlin and Katie. It was a low buzz in your body, probably the lowest frequency on the vibrator, but it sent shocks up your spine regardless.

Throughout your conversation Sam would fluctuate the level, heightening it for a few seconds to get you sweating and then turning it off completely. She didn’t want to embarrass you, or get either of you caught, so she paid attention to you, when you weren’t looking at her.

You were a mess. The fluctuations from the vibrator making you horny as shit, very quick. You could feel the sweat accumulating on your back and then trembles from your thighs, the muscles working their very hardest to stop the vibrator from brushing your spot, because you knew as soon as it did you would be a goner. You made it through dinner without any major mishaps, there was one moment where Sam amped up the speed of the vibrations for five seconds out of nowhere, you managed to muffle the moan by taking a deep sip from your glass of water, becoming extremely relieved when she turned it back down.

It was after dinner, when you were beginning to show people out when she started to get cheeky. You’d been walking the girls out when she’d decided to turn the vibrator up fully, your knees almost buckled out from beneath you as you clutched to the wall of your hallway, clenching your thighs desperately to stop yourself from anything. Leah took notice almost immediately, asking if you were feeling okay, you’d nodded at her, giving her a smile and saying that you’d gotten dizzy from standing up too quickly. She seemed to accept your excuse, nodding at you and continuing to walk towards the door of your house with the rest of the crew. You glared daggers at Sam, who apparently had no plans to turn down the vibrator. You could feel it hitting your g-spot, brushing up against the sweet spot that you would normally be bewildered to have touched, but right now you were anything but.

You stumbled your way to the door, giving your goodbyes to your teammates. Sam secured an arm around your waist as the two of you waited on your porch, waving the girls goodbyes as they got into their cars and left.

You stumbled back into your house, Sam’s hand on your lower back and guiding you back, closing the door behind you before turning around and pinning you to the wall. Her lips were against yours almost immediately, ferociously nipping and sucking at your lips and face. The vibrations still hadn’t ceased and you were moaning openly into her mouth, your arousal and desire now becoming an unavoidable cloud that was washing over you with every second spent under Sam’s touch.

“Fuck-fuck Sam.”

She smirked against your lips and then with one click from her finger the buzz against your core was gone. The withdrawal of the stimulation had you groaning in loss of movement, your pussy clenching against the toy that was nowhere near enough to fill you.

“Such a good girl for me, playing well during dinner, you deserve a treat I think.”

You moaned eagerly against Sam’s lips, her words having so much control over your body and mind.

“F-Fuck, please.”

Sam smirked once again against your lips, hoisting you up into her arms and marching down towards your bedroom, dropping you down ungracefully on your bed. She joined you quickly, sitting herself down against the headboard.

“You're going to get off on my thigh, if you can do it without my help then I’ll give you my cock, how does that sound?”

You felt all the oxygen in your lungs exit, leaving you a blinking, wordless mess. All you could manage was to nod at Sam, not wanting her to think that you didn’t want what she’d told you.

“Good, strip for me baby.”

Sam was busying stripping herself, tugging off her shirt and sweatpants, leaving her in just her boxer shorts and sports bra. You did the same, except culling your bra and panties. As soon as you’d finished undressing you looked at Sam, panting as she nodded down at her thigh. You very cautiously climbed onto her extremity, moaning at the feeling of her skin underneath your sensitive pussy. You were soaked, coating Sam’s thigh in your juices as you slowly started to rock back and forth against her muscular thigh.

As soon as you started moving Sam caught you in a deep kiss, her tongue exploring your mouth as you began to push yourself down against her thigh. One of her hands found its way to your hair, swirling your strands in her hands as you started to rub yourself against her with no shame. Your head fell down to her shoulder, sloppily kissing her neck whilst moaning into her soft skin. Biting down on her neck every once and a while to suppress a guttural moan that had come directly from your chest. Sam’s other hand found its way to your back, gently guiding you to glide against her skin, pulling you a bit closer with every single movement bringing you closer to your high. Your mouth hanging open as you found one particular point in her thigh that rubbed your clit in the exactly righr way, pushing you right to the edge. Little whimpers being produced from the depths of your throat, Sam whispering gentle words of encouragement into your ear as you slowly came closer to the edge. Her telling you how gorgeous you looked and how much she wanted you to cum all over your thigh. It was what you’d been craving all day, what you’d been picturing in your head all day no matter what you’d been doing. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, beating and fluttering with every muscle that rubbed against your clit, drops of sweat dripping down your back meeting Sam’s hand which was now pushing you down even harder against her.

You could feel your thighs shaking from under you, a clear indication you were nearing your peak.

“Sam, please, please, fuck can I cum.”

My nails were clawing against her back, leaving marks that I was unapologetic for.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my thigh.”

You rode on her thigh, feeling your high overcome you. Your legs shaking almost immediately as your body recognised the high you were on.

Sam didn’t even let you recover before she was flipping you over on the bed. Her mouth falling to your hole, licking up your juices, completely ignoring your shaking legs and over-stimulated clit as she licked up the cum leaking from your hole. Her hand snaked its way up to your collarbone, caressing the skin and moving down to your breasts. You're still a moaning mess, your brain slowly turning to slush as you clutched your bedsheets from below you, your knuckles whitening from the death grip that you had on them.

“So pretty like this, fucking gorgeous spread out like a good girl who wants to be eaten. You taste like complete heaven baby girl, you’ve missed my touch haven’t you, my poor touch starved girl.”

Your back arched from the combination of Sam’s words and Sam’s hands trailing down to your stomach, her mouth still busy eating you out like a starved cavewoman. You were under Sam, completely under her control, as you cried out in pleasure from every single movement she made, not being able to process it all. Her moans against your overstimulated clit sending shocks up your entire body and exploding in your head, causing you to cry out her name every time her teeth grazed over your oh so sensitive bud.

“Please Sam, fuck me.”

Your words seem to get the point across to her, you're cum drunk but you want one thing and she’d never deny you of that. You whine as she removes her mouth from your pussy, just long enough to reach over to your bedside table and pull out your favourite strap. She makes quick work of the harness, pulling it over her hips and tightening all of the loops that she needs to before returning to your body. You are a quivering mess, tangled up in your shared bed sheets, your thighs shaking shamelessly as you await Sam.

She doesn’t waste any time. Pushing her cock between your folds and teasing at your hole before thrusting deeply into your pussy. You moan out in immense pleasure, fireworks lighting up from inside you as the desire to be filled, the need to be fucked finally falls from your body. She buries her entire length in your desperate pussy. You try to move against her, but a hand on your throat and an order for you to stay still is enough to make you obey, because you need to cum and you're not in the mood for punishment.

Sam starts with slow, agonising thrusts, her hand tight around your neck but not enough to cut off any oxygen or leave any bruises. Her free hand falls down to your tits, caressing your breast and pinching at your nipple every once a while, eliciting filthy moans from your mouth. It tows along the line of pain and pleasure, the lines blurring in your mind as the ecstasy of being fucked takes over your brain. Sam had always loved your tits.

She’d never been in it for your body, but if anybody asked what her favourite body part of yours was she’d say your tits. It was the biggest teenage boy reply ever, but it was the truth. They were so full, and so sensitive. Your nipples so reactive to any kind of contact she made with them, she was so obsessed with them that she’d made you cum on multiple occasions by just stimulating them, it was one of her favourite ways to see you get off. They were just so perfect, like the rest of your body, full but not to full, curvy but not too curvy, perky but not so perky that they looked fake.

You were in a state of pure bliss as Sam tugged you to the line of ecstasy again, you couldn’t stop moaning, biting down on her neck every time you felt a particularly sinful moan building up in your throat. Every thrust presented a new sound from you, a new pitch, a new tone, a new sound. It was music to her ears, a symphony of pleasure that she was so incredibly fond of. The slow deep strokes slowly becoming more fast and rapid, the both of you finding yourselves closer to the edge and starting to unravel as you pushed your hips against her own, meeting her on every single thrust, chasing your joint high.

“Sam-Sammy, fuck, gonna cum, fuck, mm, fuck.”

You were thrashing against Sam, your body so close to betraying you.

“You’re so good for me babygirl, so fucking good around me, fucking made for my cock aren’t you? My perfect little cockslut. Fuck, cum babygirl, cum with me.”

At Sam’s words you both came undone, your bodies riding out their highs and shaking against each other, your hips bucking against her own as your second orgasm ruined you from the inside out.

Sam slowly withdrew from you, your body cum drunk and completely spent. You mewled at her, wordlessly begging for her to return to you. Sam quickly pulled the strap from her body, undoing the harness and carelessly throwing it onto your bedroom floor, she would clean up later, right now she wanted to have her girl in her arms.

She climbed her way back up to your side, letting your naked limbs tangle together underneath the bed sheets. You leant into her body, relaxing against the toned and tanned skin of your girlfriend, the woman that you loved so much.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

Your words were murmured against your pillow lovingly, Sam smirked into your collarbone, her head leaning over the crook of your shoulder, putting her head directly against your neck.

“You know you love it, not my fault you were needy.”

The mixture of Sam’s warm breath dancing against your skin and her fingers ghosting over your skin was so perfect.

“I love that no one else gets to see you like this, that no one gets to feel you like this, they don’t get to have this part of you but I do, you're all mine.”

Your words were stuttered out between breaths and trembles, a result of the orgasms that Sam had given you. She gently leant her head to the side, pressing a series of pecks to your jawline. It was true, the world got so much of Sam, they got to see so much of her, this was the one part that you had just for you, the part that you got to be selfish over.

“I know Joey, I love you so much and I love this. But how do you feel about round two in the shower?”

You rolled your eyes at Sam’s seemingly never ending sex drive, sure you were the hornier one in the moment but once Sam started it was impossible to get her finish.

“I’d say the first one in the shower gets first taste.”

You immediately sprung off of the bed, running straight towards the shower with Sam hot on your heels, the both of you laughing as you crashed towards your joint ensuite.

#woso #woso community #arsenal wfc #sam kerr #sam kerr is daddy #sam kerr x reader #sam kerr smutttt #wlw smut #woso imagines #sam kerr imagine #woso smut #arsenal women #arsenal x reader #arsenalwfc

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randombush3 · 1 month

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revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back.

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home.

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life.

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then.

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out.

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around.

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards.

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her.

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel.

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered.

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–”

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…”

“Leah.”

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?”

“Is that a question?”

You blink. “I’m not sure.”

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.”

Do you want to?

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality.

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that.

“Course not,” Leah lies.

You let it convince the both of you.

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!”

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.”

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.”

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?”

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?”

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them.

It feels… good.

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like.

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you?

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh?

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will.

She wipes her mouth.

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already).

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?”

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.”

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.”

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed.

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.”

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.”

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.”

“Well, you know that–”

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.”

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice.

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed.

She had not expected this from herself.

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside.

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30.

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows.

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace.

It can’t be that bad, can it?

It’s just like therapy.

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut.

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail.

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.”

Silence.

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into.

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?”

“Do what, my daughter?”

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be.

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.”

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.”

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.”

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else.

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice.

The realisation is crushing.

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers.

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared.

Alexia is so very lost.

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home.

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one.

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it.

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive.

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge.

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence.

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood.

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time.

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it?

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do.

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin.

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them.

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later.

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help.

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.”

“You have a lot to account for.”

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.”

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.”

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred.

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack.

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong.

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind.

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you.

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had.

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia.

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side.

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?”

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying?

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.”

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona.

You’re a busy person, after all.

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.”

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end.

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird.

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it.

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.)

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task.

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view.

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?”

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you.

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife.

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality.

“Ah, they’ve broken up.”

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.”

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing.

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.”

“I heard you were in London?”

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.”

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her.

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this.

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written).

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall.

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.)

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat.

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight.

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show.

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia.

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that.

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.”

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage.

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event.

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly.

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher.

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice.

You pray this goes well.

It does.

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces.

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers.

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?”

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.”

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger.

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.”

“Im-men-lee?”

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.”

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her.

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood.

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?”

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.”

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward.

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.”

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.”

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.”

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you.

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.”

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!”

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands.

“Hola,” you say shyly.

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.”

You try very hard not to burst into tears.

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight.

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend.

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant.

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal.

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on.

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality.

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact.

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.”

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?”

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.”

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter.

“Are you sure?”

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

I don’t care.

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.”

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance.

This is a lift home.

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair.

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds.

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk.

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show?

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well.

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!)

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking.

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless.

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it.

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking.

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours.

Perhaps it never will.

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot.

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.”

“Lela, me tengo que ir.”

“Pero–��

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?”

It starts off innocently.

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’.

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it.

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought.

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside.

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?”

“Sí.”

A doorway conversation.

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up.

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass.

“We play the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.”

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober.

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?”

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.”

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company.

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop.

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.”

She opens the next bottle for you.

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult.

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa.

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?”

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.”

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.”

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.”

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.”

“In Highgate?”

“Anywhere,” you breathe.

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.”

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away.

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty.

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want.

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway.

“Please.”

And she really doesn’t make you beg.

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after.

Parted legs and soft moans.

She slots herself between your thighs.

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you.

Your fingers repay the favour.

“More,” you request just as she pulls away.

“Is it in the same place?”

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets.

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine.

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants.

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less.

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode.

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates.

You’re glad, you’re really glad.

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her.

And then it all comes crashing down.

Everything.

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible.

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.”

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy.

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it.

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much.

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.”

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau.

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.”

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.”

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?”

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.”

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.”

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.”

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with.

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue.

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares.

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all.

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her.

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that.

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.”

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.”

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn.

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god.

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper.

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half.

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s.

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?”

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.”

“But now you are ripped down the middle.”

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s.

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.”

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon.

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime.

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it.

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.”

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.”

“God, you are such an idiot.”

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.”

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through

“I think we are destined for each other.”

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it.

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.”

Is that an understatement?

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?”

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around.

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear.

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.”

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands.

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.”

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.”

“If you say so, Alexia.”

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.”

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply.

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt?

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes.

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all.

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay.

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso fanfics #randombush3 #leah williamson x reader #woso imagines #barca femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine

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russos-ventitre · 7 months

Text

alessia russo x reader | lezioni di italiano I 🧸

✘ summary: jonas buys yet another midfielder after signing cooney-cross who apparently catches a certain blonde's eye

✘ warnings/tags: bit of swearing, bit of flirting, alessia is a gay mess, reader is mid-20s, AWFC!reader, arsenal!reader (previously InterMilan), ItalyWNT!reader

✘ words: 2234

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎→ part i ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎→ part ii

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎→ part iii

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎→ part iv

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎→ part v

a/n: translations provided as always!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ uno

It was your first day at Arsenal, having been transferred from Inter Milan and finding a new home in North London. It was your first time in England, not including the Euros, but that didn't scare you, you enjoyed adventures and stepping out of your comfort zone so when you got the call that Jonas was interested in you, you grabbed that opportunity with both hands and never looked back.

Unbeknownst to you, you were the topic of the day. Everyone's eyes were on you, not because you weren't from here but because Jonas finally had some sense knocked into him now that he was buying more midfielders. First Cooney-Cross, now you, so in some aspects both of you were on everyone's radars. Regardless, everyone staring at you and whispering about you didn't phase you, you just continued to do what you were here for, football. Even if it did mean you were a bit isolated at first, you were fine being in your own company, that's how it's been for years.

After training you made your way to the locker room, taking a quick shower and changing into fresh clothes. You hadn't noticed but you had an audience. Two blondes to be exact, both leaning up against the wall, watching in awe as you cleaned yourself up.

"Do you think she's single?" Leah whispered to Alessia, noticing how the younger girl was sending you heart eyes and her asking would only further wind her up.

"Oi!" Alessia elbowed her. "No flirting with the new kid-"

"Ti sento.." [I can hear you..] You muttered, looking over your shoulder at the two blondes staring back at you.

Alessia's face immediately went red, she turned on her heels trying to flee the scene before it became more awkward, only to feel Leah's hand grip the back of her collar and pull her back.

"Pardon?" The older blonde stood up from the wall, quirking a brow.

"I said, I can hear you.." You turned your face more towards them. "..you're talking about me."

"Yeah.. uhh.. we were just wondering if you were free this afternoon.." She nudged the younger girl, hoping she would join in on the lie.

"Y-Yeah.. maybe show you around the town.." Alessia continued, fidgeting with her hands.

"No sorry, I'm busy I'm afraid." You replied, folding up your clothes and packing them in your kit bag. "I've only just moved here.. so I'm still unpacking stuff in my flat. Spiacente, ragazze." [Sorry, girls.] You finished, shaking your head.

"M-Maybe.. another night..?" Alessia offered, feeling a bit braver.

You laughed lightly. "Yeah.. maybe.. I'll see you girls tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah, tomorrow at 7." Leah answered, giving you a soft smile as you walked towards the exit.

"Ciao, ci vediamo domani!" [Bye, see you tomorrow!]

You sprinted out of the building leaving the two blondes to themselves.

"Less.." Leah nudged the younger girl. "..Less you can stop staring now.."

"Huh? Wha- I wasn't staring.."

Leah grabbed the blonde's face, closing her jaw with her hand. "Tell that to your face."

"I wasn't staring!" She grumbled.

"Less you were literally watching her as she got changed.." The older woman ruffled Alessia's hair, causing her to groan, and shoot her a dirty look.

The Next Day..

Training was the same as the previous days, running drills, partner work, and spending some time in the gym. It was only your second day at camp but you were slowly becoming used to where things were, even if you did take a few wrong turns.

"Hey.." You heard a familiar voice call from behind.

"Hmm?" You turned around, seeing the same blonde from yesterday, this time by herself.

"Oh hey.. uhhh.." Searching for her name, you looked up at her sheepishly, embarrassed you had already forgotten.

"Alessia.. Less is fine.." She responded.

"N-No, I like Alessia.. it's pretty, one of my favourites actually." You replied quietly, looking down at your kit bag.

"Really?" The blonde sighed.

"Yeah.. it's quite popular back home." You looked back up at her, seeing that her cheeks were flush.

"S-Scusa.. I'm [y/n] by the way.." [S-Sorry..] Having realised you never properly introduced yourself you reached your hand out to meet hers, shaking it gently. You awkwardly smiled back at her, realising that your strong front was suddenly cracking very easily in front of a blonde woman you've only met less than 48 hours ago.

"Nice to meet you [y/n].. could I maybe show you around sometime..? No pressure or anything.. I know you're busy with unpacking-"

"I'd like that." You answered before she could go off on a tangent.

"Great, maybe this weekend?"

"Sounds good." You smiled, making your way for the exit.

"Oh!" Alessia grabbed your wrist before you could make your escape. "I never got your number."

You turned around to see the blonde handing her phone over to you, watching as you put your name and number in, and handing it back over.

"Ci vediamo domani, stella." [See you tomorrow, star.] You gave her a soft smile before walking down the hallway to the parking lot.

When you realised you were no longer in her eye line, you cringed at your awkwardness of that exchange.

"Cazzo! Ma che promblema hai? Perché ti comporti così?" [Fuck! What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?]

You rushed out of the building, entering your car and driving off to your flat, replaying the entire interaction in your head the entire drive home. It even kept you up at night, just barely scraping by on 4 hours of sleep the next day.

The Weekend Arrives..

alessia ⭐️ [11:39]: hey

alessia ⭐️ [11:39]: we're still meeting up today, yea? x

[y/n] 🦋 [11:42]: hey

[y/n] 🦋 [11:42]: yea ill be there :)))

You arrived at the place Alessia sent you to, a local coffee shop not too far from camp. She spotted you instantly, which wasn't hard since you walked around like you were clueless, which to be fair, you were in an unfamiliar country.

"[y/n]! Hey!" The blonde shouted, waving her hand so you'd find her.

You raised your arm back, waving lightly. "Ciao, stella!" [Hi, star!]

Alessia guided the two of you out of the coffee shop, showing you the surrounding buildings to visit. It was a nice section of North London, lots to do and lots to see and you were happy that she was your guide otherwise you'd probably be clueless.

"-and just over there is where me and a lot of the other girls get our hair and nails done." The blonde pointed out a two-story building with an awning just above the doorway.

"How often do you girls go?" You asked curiously, never really dedicating any time to pamper yourself before.

"Nails.. every few weeks.. hair.. once a month..? Depends."

The both of you continued your little journey around the town, allowing yourself to finally familiarise with your surroundings. The blonde's little tour ending back at the same coffee shop, this time you two actually ordering something. You both grabbed your drinks and sat down at a table.

"I was wondering.." The striker started, her fingers fidgeting with the rim of her cup, her eyes looking down at the woodwork. "..if maybe you could give me lessons?"

"Lessons?" You sipped your drink confused. "Alessia.. you're way better a football than I am, I don't think you need my-"

"N-No.. like Italian lessons.." She muttered to herself, her shoulders tensing.

"Oh." You raised your brows, now understanding what she meant. "I mean we can start tomorrow if you'd like." You offered.

"No no, you're probably really busy with unpacking.. it was a stupid ask." She shook her head, embarrassed.

"Alessia, sono serio. Come over mine tomorrow and I'll teach you." [I'm serious.] The words came out of your mouth before you could actually process what you were saying. Any other time someone asked for a favour like this you would've denied them swiftly, liking time to yourself and being alone. You're still not sure what possessed you to agree to a tour of the town with Alessia so the fact that you agreed to Italian lessons was just another added shock. Maybe you were softening, maybe you were suddenly realising that there were so many other opportunities out there when you open yourself up to things. Maybe you felt something for the- no.. no, don't be stupid, you've only just met..

The Following Day..

You heard a knock on your door, just minutes after you finished making coffee. 'Finally', you thought, walking over to the door, mug in hand as you answered it.

"Alessia! Che bella!" [How beautiful!] You smiled, greeting the somewhat anxious-looking blonde.

"H-Hi." She gave you a small wave as she clutched her MacBook and notebook to her chest.

You moved aside so she could enter your flat, guiding her to a dimly lit table near your kitchen. "Caffè?" [Coffee?]

"Please." She sat herself down at the table, trying to make herself comfortable.

You padded back into the kitchen pouring her a cup. "Latte o zucchero?" [Milk or sugar?] You asked, your head peering around the cupboard, waiting for a response.

The blonde looked back at you, slightly grasping what you were saying but not fully. "U-Uh.. milk..? Please.."

You walked back over to her after you prepared her drink, handing it to her and sitting across from her.

"Cheers.." She mumbled, taking a small sip before she tucked her trembling hands under her thighs, her shoulders tense as ever.

"So.. what is it that you want to learn?" You asked, hoping the question wasn't too broad.

"Uh.. well.. I love my culture a great deal and would give anything to be able to speak the language.. I just barely have the time since I play for England and now I'm at Arsenal.. but it would be a dream if I was fluent.."

You took a sip of your drink, waiting in case she had more to add.

"Well, we can start off with basics and work from there if you'd like."

"Yeah.. that'd be great." She smiled shyly.

"I think we should take a break." You stated, just having witnessed Alessia scribble down a bunch of notes as you taught her basic phrases and words and slipped in a bit of slang.

"No! I want to keep going.. I'm really enjoying this.." The striker admitted, not ready to call it quits only 2 and a half hours in.

You shook your head, grabbing both your mugs and taking them into the kitchen to clean them. You returned and saw that Alessia had her head buried in her notes, mouthing to herself the pronunciation and trying to retain their meanings. You quietly walked up behind her, nosying at her notes, noticing that her handwriting was gorgeous and everything was so neatly organised.

"Uh.. I think you misspelled 'ventitre'.." [twenty-three] You delicately pointed out, your arm coming to reach past her shoulder and point at her notes.

"Hmm? Oh! S-Sorry.. I got a bit carried away.."

"Do you want to learn numbers?"

"No- I mean.. I just wanted to know that one.. for now." She looked up at you, smiling awkwardly as she fidgeted with her pencil.

The blonde pursed her lips, her eyes meeting yours. "Could you maybe teach me football phrases?"

"Sì." [Yeah.] You replied, taking a seat next to her.

"-so in the Euros.. against Sweden.." Alessia nodded as you spoke.

"..your backheel, that's 'colpo di tacco'."

"Wait.. you watched our game?"

"Yeah.. I was in the crowd.. we got knocked out by Belgium in the group stages.. not our best performance." You pinched the bridge of your nose, embarrassed at your team's performance.

"It was a great goal that, the colpo di tacco." She stated proudly.

"Alright Russo.. calm down." You replied with a laugh, giving her a light shove. The blonde blushing slightly at the way you pronounced her name in your thick Italian accent.

The blonde began to pack her things away, clutching them to her chest just like she had done when she arrived, instead, a lot less tense than when she first got there.

"Same time tomorrow?" You asked, holding the door open for her.

"Yeah.. I'd like that." She smiled.

By habit you leaned close to her, giving her a hug and pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks, only realising what you had done when you pulled away.

"Merda! Sorry.. force of habit!" [Shit!] You uncomfortably rubbed the back of your neck, looking at the floor.

"..I now realise that's a European thing huh?" You continued to stare at the floor, not wanting to look her in the eyes.

Her hand came to rest on your shoulder, gaining your attention. "It's okay [y/n].. really." She gave you a polite smile, her cheeks a bit rosy.

"Ci vediamo domani?" [See you tomorrow?] The striker questioned, hoping she said it right.

"Sì! Domani!" [Yeah! Tomorrow!] You answered, with a bit more excitement in your tone then you would've hoped for.

"Ciao, [y/n]." [Bye.] She waved, walking over to her car.

"Ciao, stella!" [Bye, star!]

You shut the door when you knew she was safe, your back sliding down it until you were sat on the floor, head buried in your hands. It was going to be a long season.

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#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #england women #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #woso fanfics #woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso imagines #alessia russo imagine #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #awfc #awfc x reader

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wenigstenshabeichesversucht · 3 months

Text

You've made your bed, now lie in it

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: 3 times you and Lockwood have to share a bed, and one time you want to share a bed.

Warnings: one bed trope, fake dating trope, fluff, only kissing, no smut, english is not my native language

Word Count: 3.9k

After a longer break I'm finally back. Enjoy!

The first time you and Lockwood, an insolent prick of a boss, had to share a bed, was comparable to a train wreck. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. This was how you felt, when you stared at the way too small bed in front of you. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And even if you could, where did you want to look? At the face of your far too handsome boss, hell no! Or at the floor, which was so dirty, that you were sure, that nobody cleaned it for at least a year? No, not happening.

“I will not sleep on the floor”, you stated without removing your eyes from the bed.

“Me neither!”

Hearing his voice made you seethe. Maybe he was your boss, but he wasn’t your friend. George and Lucy were your friends, but never him.

“You booked this flop house!”, you protested.

You had a mission two hours away from London, which required you to stay for two days. Luck wasn't on your side when Lucy and George got sick four days ago, leaving only you and Lockwood to drive up here.

“But I’m the boss, so I will not sleep on the floor.”

What would you give for the opportunity to get rid of him right now? But you were too tired to kill him, you just wanted to sleep.

“Fine, then we will share”, you bit out, ready to bite off his head.

“Fine”, he shouted back, but if you weren't mistaken, his voice sounded a bit hoarse.

Far too late, you realize what you had agreed on. You wanted to curse, but you kept your mouth shut. It was far too late to back down. He would never let you live that down. So, you had no chance. Turning your back on him, you went to your bag and took off your sweater.

“What are you doing”, the panic in his voice brought a smile to your lips.

“Getting ready for bed, what else does it look like?”

Not wanting to give the poor boy a heart attack, you put on a shirt, before unclasping your bra. Behind you, you could hear Lockwood taking a sharp breath. But you couldn’t care less. Never would you put yourself through a painful night in a bra. Opening the button of your jeans was the last straw.

“I’m going to the bathroom”, rushing past you, Lockwood loudly slammed the door shut behind him. You couldn’t help but smile, maybe you had to share a bed, but you totally won this round.

When you left the bathroom, after brushing your teeth, your eyes almost popped out of your head when you saw your boss, who had already made himself comfortable on the bed.

“Where is your shirt?”

Was this his revenge for the bra? Would the entire night be psychological warfare? Not that you weren’t ready. You were ready since you stepped your first foot into Portland Row and realized, that your new boss was a jerk.

“I always sleep like this.”

Your eyes narrowed, not sure if that was a lie or the truth.

“Don’t come crying to me, if you’re too cold this night.” With these words, you slipped into bed next to him.

“I will not be cold”, he protested, and you doubted it. The room was fucking cold, you weren’t even sure if the heater was working. But you were too tired to argue with Lockwood about this, what didn’t mean, that you weren’t ready to tell him “I told you so”, when he would admit it.

“Touch me and I will kill you”, you threatened before turning off the light. Next to you, Lockwood let out a humorless laugh, which shacked the whole bed.

“Trust me, I have the same desire to touch you as I do to touch a ghost.”

“Great, we sorted that out“, you snapped back, unable to let him have the last word.

For a moment there was only silence, broken only by rustling as you both tried to find a comfortable sleeping position. Which was harder than it sounded like. The bed was way too small, and you would rather die than to cuddle with Anthony fucking Lockwood. His body was only inches away from yours, and you could feel the heat he was radiating.

“Stop hogging the blanket”, hissed Lockwood, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Maybe you wouldn’t need it, if you would wear a shirt like a normal person”, you spew back.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward”, you didn’t know what was coming over you. You didn't know what made you say those words, but in the future, you would blame it on being tired.

Lockwood didn't need to be told twice. Hungrily, his lips crashed against yours and with all your anger you kissed him back, while clawing your nails in his naked shoulder. This wasn’t how you had imagined your first kiss with Lockwood. You always thought it would be sweet and slow, not raw and angry.

“I hate you so much”, you whispered against his lips, and Lockwood let out a chuckle.

“Believe me, I hate you more.”

You woke up to the sunbeams dancing on your nose. It was much warmer, than the night before, maybe the heater, had started to work overnight. This thought vanished, when you realized, that the heat was coming from your pillow, or better speaking the body you used as pillow. Suppressing a scream, you hastily tried to get away, only to back up a little too far and therefore to fall out of the small bed. You came up with a hard thud that woke up Lockwood.

“Y/N?”, sleepily Lockwood looked over the edge of the bed, and you suddenly remembered what you had done last night. A blushed creeped up your face, while you thought about the kisses you shared. At least you stopped, before it escalated. You could never forgive yourself and your morals if you had slept with Anthony Lockwood, you hated this arrogant prick.

“Are you in such a hurry to get away from me?”, running his finger through his swoon worthy hair, he gave you one of those arrogant smiles you hated so much. Seeing this, you wanted to wrap your fingers around his neck and just squeeze. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying that you were throwing yourself at him. So, you just glared up at him.

“Yes, I want to get as far as possible away from you, and I think we'd be doing both of us a favor if we forgot what happened last night and never talked about it again.”

For a moment, Lockwood looked at you with an expression you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't pure hate, at least not just.

“Last night was a mistake.”

Even if it was your idea to forget everything about last night, it hurt to hear him calling it a mistake. However, you would never give him the satisfaction of showing him that.

“At least we agree on one thing.”

The second time you and Lockwood shared a bed was nothing more than a mistake. It was shortly before Christmas, Lucy already left Portland Row to take a train to one of her sisters and George was already by his family. You had the choice between spending Christmas with your family or with Lockwood at Portland Row. It was like choosing between Scylla and Charybdis. But before you could make up your mind, Lockwood felt ill, and you weren’t the heartless bitch, he made you out to be. You didn’t want him to die, even if you often said it. But you needed this job and without Lockwood there wasn’t an agency. Therefore, you decided to stay and care about him, so he didn’t catch a pneumonia and died a painful dead, even if he deserved it.

It was all going as well as you could expect it. Lockwood was too ill to fight with you, and you only wished for his dead once or twice a day, so far less than normal. Everything was going well, till you started to fell sick. Of course, this idiot couldn’t keep his germs to himself.

You were shacking from the cold you couldn’t escape, as you went up to his room, to bring him his dinner. Normally you tried to do this as fast as possible, in and out, before he even had the chance to say anything to you. So, you didn’t have to see him longer than needed, and he didn’t have to see you longer than needed. Nothing had changed since the night you shared a bed and kisses. You still hated each other with burning passion. But this time as you stepped foot into enemy territory, aka Lockwood’s room, you realized that this was right now the warmest room in the whole house. Setting down the tray, you carefully took a seat on the only free space in his room, the edge of his bed. You wouldn’t stay long, you told yourself. Just long enough to drive the cold from your bones.

“You’re looking worse than usual, I didn’t know it was possible”, Lockwood’s annoying voice, broke your peace.

“Says the person who looks like a walking corpse”, you bite back.

“You got sick.”

“No, I’m fine.”

You didn't know who you were trying to convince with this lie. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that you weren't feeling well. However, Lockwood was too exhausted to argue with you. He just started to eat his dinner, while you closed your eyes to find the strength to stand up and leave this warm behind you.

The next time you opened your eyes, you weren’t sitting on the edge of Lockwood’s bed, you were lying in it. You weren’t sure, how it happened, but you were sure it was just an honest mistake, which could happen to everyone. Feeling too sick to panic, all you could just concentrate on was that you were finally warm. You managed to successfully ignore Lockwood's arm over your hip and his steady breathing on your neck. This was a problem you would deal with when you felt not like dying any minute. Closing your eyes for a second time, you drifted away.

The first thing you realized, when you woke up the next morning was, that Lockwood’s warm was missing. He had sneaked out of his own bed, while you were still sleeping. So, this was the perfect chance for you to sneak away to not have to face Lockwood after accidentally falling asleep in his bed. But you couldn’t muster the strength to move. You could just lay there and wait for your doom, aka that Lockwood returned.

It didn’t take long for him to come back. In his hands, he held the tray you used the last days to bring him food.

“I brought you breakfast”, giving you the tray, he got in the bed beside you. If someone had told you, that you would spend Christmas eating breakfast with Lockwood in his bed, you would have laughed and called the person delusional. But here you were. Neither of you had the energy to argue, so you both just ate in silence.

“You should try to get more rest”, Lockwood told you, after both of you finished eating, and he was right, not that you would ever say this out loud.

“You too, you still look like shit”, maybe he was a little bit fitter than you, but he was worlds away from being healthy.

“Fine”, he bit back, another sign, that he was everything but healthy. Normally he would have said something mean in response, but he just laid down beside you. For a moment, nobody said something. Then you shuffled a little bit in his direction, attracted by the warmth he radiated. He acknowledged this with raised eyebrows.

“I’m just cold, don't imagine anything about it.”

“I would never!”

The rest of the holidays you spent together in his bed. It was a surprise for both of you, that at the end, when you both felt better, no one had torn off the other’s head.

When Lucy and George came back and asked how your holidays were, you both just shrugged. What really happened was probably a secret that you both would take to your grave. You quickly found back in your everyday life of hating each other, and it was almost as if none of this had ever happened. But only almost.

The third time you had to share a bed with Lockwood would have been avoidable if Lucy had been a little bit more cooperative.

Lockwood and Co. had a new, very lucrative case. You were hired to secure a very dangerous source. The catch was, that the owner was one of those weirdos who was a little too enthusiastic about the occult. He was planning a two-day seance with an overnight stay at his manor, and your client had managed to get you an invitation. The only problem was that the invitation was for one guest and a plus-one. There was no question that Lockwood would go. But your team couldn't agree on who would accompany him. George wasn’t an option, that would bring too much attention. That only left you and Lucy.

“We all know that I’m a bad liar, nobody would believe me, that I’m Lockwood’s girlfriend”, Lucy stated. Normally you loved Lucy, she was your best friend. But right now, you could have punched her.

“As if anyone would think I was dating Lockwood”, you countered and directed to the asshole himself, you said: “I would never date someone like you.”

“And I would never date someone like you”, he fired back, and you didn’t have to look at Lucy and George to see them rolling their eyes, like always when Lockwood and you decided to argue.

“With the sexual tension between you, no one will doubt that you are dating”, Lucy butted in and could be glad, that looks didn’t kill otherwise she would be six feet under.

“There is no sexual tension, only hate”, you argued hotly.

You would never admit that there was maybe sexual tension, because if you would, you would think about it, you would think about the kisses in this one fatal night and that was a way, you didn’t want to go. Because if you would go down this path, there was no return to normal. Therefore, it was way easier to tell yourself and anybody else, that you hated Anthony J. Lockwood with burning passion.

“But Lucy is right, Y/N should join Lockwood”, George the little backstabber joined Lucy’s side. Knowing when a fight was lost, you ran your hand over your face.

“This can only go wrong.”

You should be right. You weren’t even an hour at the manor, and you hated everything. The weirdos got on your nerves with their own stupidity. Lockwood's arm had been around your waist for almost 43 minutes, and you wanted nothing more than to rip it off and hit him with it to dead. Yeah, you were everything than happy. I didn’t help, that Lockwood had decided that fake girlfriend wasn’t fancy enough and had given you an engagement ring before he introduced you to everyone as his fiancée. You were dead and in hell, otherwise you couldn’t explain, how you landed in this situation. At least the ring was pretty.

“We should sneak away and look for the source”, you whispered, only loud enough for him barely to hear you. Slowly, Lockwood nodded to let you know that he heard you. Calculating, he let his gaze wander about the other people in the room, probably to find the best way to disappear unnoticed.

“We should kiss”, he said after a moment, and somehow managed to seem totally serious.

“What?”, you almost choked from sheer surprise.

“If we make out, no one will be surprised if we disappear, everyone will just think that we were looking for a quiet corner to have a little fun.”

Hearing this, you grimaced. But he wasn’t wrong. Nobody would think much about you sneaking off when you first put on a show. Without a verbal response, you grabbed Lockwood by his tie and pulled him down to your height. Hungrily, you caught his lips with yours. Lockwood didn’t waste any time and pulled your body against his. Eagerly his hands roamed over your body, and you had the feeling, that this meant a little bit more to both of you, than just a show for a case. Not that you would ever admit it.

When your lungs were screaming for air, you reluctantly broke the kiss.

“You’re actually a really good kisser”, Lockwood smiled down at you, and it felt like your stomach was riding a rollercoaster.

“You’re actually very average”, you lied like the liar you were. But the truth was, there was nothing you would like more than to kiss him again.

“Like, you have kissed so many guys to know what average is. Feel free to admit it, I’m a good kisser.”

Seeing his arrogant smile, you just rolled your eyes.

“Let’s go, so we didn’t kiss for nothing!”

Together you walked through the manor, till you found the library, your first guess for the location of the source. You just started to look around when you heard steps coming in your direction. Before you could find a good hiding space, the door opened and nobody else than the owner of the manor, the weirdo you wanted to steal from, was standing there.

“Miss, did you get lost? The library is not open for the guest”, he told you, and you tried your best innocent smile. But Lockwood appeared beside you before you could try to lie your way out of it.

“I’m so sorry, Sir. My fiancée and I were just trying to find a quiet room”, he gave the owner his best Lockwood smile, while his arms found again his way around your hip.

“Then I would suggest trying the bedroom assigned to you.”

Under his caution eyes, you and Lockwood walked out of the library.

“I saw the source”, Lockwood whispered in your ear, at the moment the door closed behind you.

“Did you take it?”

“No, didn’t have the chance, but we can do it tomorrow, right now we should return to our bedroom, or do you want to socialize a little bit more with the other guest?” Hell no!

“Let’s go.”

Of course, your bedroom had only one bed. At least it was big. You and Lockwood could both sleep in it without touching each other. Without saying much and more important without arguing, you both got ready for bed. Of course, Lockwood decided against wearing a shirt.

“I hope one night you will freeze to death”, you mumbled while slipping under the blanket.

“I’m too hot for this and considering how you always cuddle up to me at night, you know it too.”

Rarely, you were lost for words, but this was one of these moments.

“Keep dreaming, Lockwood”, you shot back, but both of you knew that this was a lame response. As a reaction, Lockwood just gave you a cocky grin.

“We'll see that tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, we will.”

You firmly resolved to keep a lot of distance from Lockwood and his tempting warmth that night.

But waking up the next morning, you realized that you could even break the best resolutions. Like this one. Lockwood was like a mobile heater, and that was too tempting for you when you were sleeping. This night was no difference. As you had been asleep, you had cuddled yourself in Lockwood’s side, and he had draped an arm around you, to pull you even further against him.

With a bright red face, you tried to free yourself from his hug. But your movement woke him up.

“Look like I was right, I’m hot, and you know it”, sleepy, he smiled up at you.

Torn back and forth, you closed and opened your mouth. You weren’t sure if you should kiss him or choke him till he died. You did neither.

“Or maybe you are just so touch starved that you can’t help but hold me in your sleep”, you countered.

“Maybe, but who could blame me?”

Too stunned to speak, you just stared at him. Was he flirting with you? Or were you just hallucinating? It must be the second. Maybe you were still dreaming.

“It feels really nice to hold you in my arms.”

“But aren’t we hating each other?”, a bit overwhelmed, you ran your hand through your hair. You were here to steal a source, not to talk abut feeling with Lockwood, you weren’t prepared for this.

“I never hated you, and I think you also don’t hate me.”

That was a bold statement, but maybe it was the truth. You weren’t sure what you felt for Lockwood. He had been an asshole to you from day one. And you hadn’t been better. Since the beginning, he had something that you just wanted to kiss or kill him. Because you were an insecure mess, you had decided to be mean to him rather than get hurt by him.

“But why were you such an asshole?”, you asked, curious.

“Because you let me something feel, I don’t like. In your presence, I feel so giddy and nervous, not like the agency head I should be.”

“We are such idiots. You are an idiot, but maybe I’m the biggest idiot of all. Seeing your face let me feel stronger emotions than I ever felt before, and I’m not sure if I want to kill or kiss you for it.”

“Then kiss me.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You kissed him like you always wanted to be kissed, like nothing in the world mattered to you beside him. And maybe this was true, the first thing you thought about was normally him and the last thing which crossed your mind before falling asleep was his dorky smile. You loved him, and you were an idiot, that it took you so long to realize it.

The first time you wanted to share a bed with Lockwood was after you and him returned successfully from your mission. You stole the source without getting caught, and after you told Lucy and George how you did it, you were sitting in the living room. Lucy and George already went to bed and you both were peacefully silent. The only sound was the cracking of the logs in the fireplace, while Lockwood played softly with your hand in his. You were still wearing the ring he had given you. You had wanted to give it back to him, but he insisted that you keep it.

“Do you need a personal heater this night?”, Lockwood broke the silence, and you gave him a bashful smile.

“Maybe?”

“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that a smile, my love?”

“Oh, shut up.”

You were still laughing when Lockwood pulled you up from the sofa. Hand in hand, you walked up the stairs to his bedroom and for the first time in your life, you wanted to share a bed with him. So, this was what you did. Slipping under the blanked with him, you let him pull yourself in his arms. With your head laying on his naked chest and a happy smile, you slowly drifted away.

#anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood netflix #fanfic #lockwood x reader #anthony bloody lockwood

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sodamnradd · 9 months

Text

She never imagined an adolescent flame could turn so deadly.

At fifteen they kissed one another on patrol. The first time a boy slipped his tongue between her lips and made her feel desired.

She kept Draco to herself and suspected he did, too. Hermione, his dirty little secret. After three kisses in June, school came to a close. She dreamt of peppermint lips and the drag of solid white teeth all summer long.

At sixteen, she learned how to comfort someone and expect nothing in return. Tight-lipped, subtly explosive, selfish, and uncouth, Draco pushed her away and reeled her back in. He took her virginity in Filch’s supply closet. It was harsh and unromantic and horribly cruel when, afterwards, he revealed his Dark Mark and asked if she still wanted him.

At seventeen, he saved her life.

“Where have you been?” he wanted to know. An unmasked face in a sea of secret soldiers, intent to torture and kill them. The wild jealousy in his eyes was really asking: who have you replaced me with?

“Nowhere.” No one.

He slipped her his wand, told her to stun him, save her friends, and run, promising to find her again.

Seventeen was the longest year of her life.

Draco used his wand to track her whereabouts.

She didn’t know if she could trust him. If he was the cruel sixteen-year-old who hurt her all year long, or the fifteen-year-old who’d kissed her, pulled away, stunned, as if he’d come to a shocking revelation, then kissed her again with reckless, open-hearted abandon.

By eighteen he was her confidante and closest friend.

They met in public spaces. Chiswick. Richmond. Hammersmith. She wore Muggle clothes, and he showed up in all black. Autumnal chic. Trendy Londoners didn’t blink twice. He’d sweep her onto an empty double-decker, a vacant pub, a locked greenhouse in the botanical gardens, remove his leather gloves, and touch her face, her hair, rub her cold hands between his palms and kiss her fingertips. He took note of her scars. The ones he recognised and the ones he didn’t. Demand who did it, vow to make them pay, then offer everything he knew about Voldemort’s next moves.

At eighteen, he confessed he loved her.

It was the worst of the war. She’d been beaten, tortured, scarred, and branded. Draco hardened, trained and bathed in Dark Magic. They did not belong with one another.

Keeping her safe was like clutching a bar of soap beneath the tap and praying it wouldn’t slip from his fingers. But he tried his damned well hardest, and she loved him for it.

By nineteen, freedom tasted like luxury.

War-torn homes, constant nightmares, society’s vitriol, friends who didn’t understand, a world who wished them apart.

It was caviar and champagne.

The ability to sleep in the same bed and touch one another when they felt like it (always), and say I love you without the fear of never saying it again.

(494 words, photo prompt from twitter)

#sodamnrad #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #drabble #sodamnraddrabbles

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fantasyescapes17 · 10 months

Text

Closed Doors (Part 1)

Soonyoung had made peace with his station in life. A younger son of a little-known family, he was not set to inherit a fortune and had nothing to recommend him but his bright personality. Nobody expected Soonyoung to make the match of the season. But when you- a woman with ties to the royal family and riches beyond his imagination, a Duchess in your own right- seeks Soonyoung's hand in marriage, his life begins to spiral entirely out of his control.

Genre: Hoshi x female!reader. Regency!AU. Your title is the Duchess of Graham but your first name is not mentioned.

Warnings: Not even remotely historically accurate. Much like Bridgerton, this is all about the aesthetic.

Word Count: 4k+

Part 2 Part 3

Series Masterlist [This is not the first installment in this series- it is strongly recommended to visit the Masterlist and read the installments in order as they are all interlinked and the timeline can be confusing.]

“So, the Navy, eh?”

Soonyoung winced as his elder brother clapped him hard on the back. The evening had barely begun but the elder Kwon had already imbibed too much whisky; a rather embarrassing state to be in, considering that they were at one of the most elite balls of the London season. The hostess-the Duchess of Graham- was arguably the richest and most influential lady of the ton and not someone to be trifled with.

"The Navy, yes," Soonyoung replied weakly. "I enlist in two weeks."

"I didn't take you for a navy man. But excellent. Excellent, Soonyoung. You will make our family proud!"

The elder Kwon stumbled away, drunk and almost knocking over a pair of young ladies that shot him dirty looks. Soonyoung winced again- this time from embarrassment, and not pain. It was a cruel twist of fate that this bumbling buffoon had inherited the entire Kwon family fortune while Soonyoung was left penniless, merely because he had been born a year later.

Younger sons were truly at the mercy of their brothers.

"Soonyoung!"

Soonyoung turned, relieved to see a close friend and another man who shared in his plight as a younger son. Mr. Lee Seokmin was nearby with a glass of water in his hand.

"Mr. Lee!" Soonyoung greeted his friend warmly. "I see you are starting off the evening early. Do not tell me you have already secured a young lady's hand for the first dance?"

Seokmin grinned brightly. "I have secured a dance indeed; with Miss Yoon, the season's jewel."

Soonyoung was impressed. "Well! Don't let me stop you! You should hurry- young ladies do not like to be kept waiting, and being brother-in-law to the Viscount will only get you so far if your manners do not match his."

"Of course. I heard of your plans to enlist in the Navy," Seokmin added, his tone a little more serious. He lowered his voice. "We will speak about it after the first dance."

Soonyoung forced a smile and agreed.

Joining the Navy was not something that Kwon Soonyoung had ever truly wanted to do with his life. But ever since he had been old enough to understand that there was no grand estate or family fortune waiting for him when he became of age, he knew that he could not depend on his brother for hand-outs.

He had very few respectable options open to him- Soonyoung could have taken up a profession, but a few short years at Oxford made it clear that the study of law or medicine ill suited him. His talents did not lie in poring over books for hours on end. He had quickly transferred to the Royal Naval Academy and begun his training to brave the high seas in service to the country.

Joining the Navy was less a conscious choice, and more a natural consequence of Soonyoung's talents and position in life. He had long since learned to make peace with it. Perhaps he would capture an infamous pirate and be knighted by the Queen.

One could dream.

Soonyoung weaved through the groups of fashionable nobility as he admired the magnificence of the Graham's London manor. It was exquisite. Every wall was covered in antique artwork and every marble column seemed to have been crafted painstakingly. This was perhaps the most magnificent building in all of London, second only to the royal palace itself. Soonyoung felt as though he was unworthy to even tread the white marble floors.

He was also suddenly struck with the fear that his drunken brother would break something priceless.

Soonyoung managed to reach the lavish spread of refreshments, and was selecting from the endless rows of colourful little cakes when a hand landed on his arm- much gentler than his brother's had been. He turned around and came face to face with Viscount Hong.

Handsome, gentlemanly and very rich, Soonyoung was often surprised that Viscount Hong even bothered to fraternise with him. Had they not shared some mutual friends back during their brief overlapping time at Oxford, it would surely have been absurd for the Viscount to even know Soonyoung's name.

But as circumstances had it, the Viscount was well known to Soonyoung. If he was being daring, he might have even called him a friend.

"Soonyoung! A word?" the Viscount asked.

Soonyoung nodded eagerly. "Of course! I have not seen you in a while, Viscount; congratulations on your wedding, I never got a chance to properly-"

"Yes, thank you," the Viscount replied kindly but in a tone that made it clear he was not looking to exchange pleasantries. "Soonyoung, I hope that in the time we have known each other we have developed a sort of mutual trust?"

Soonyoung blinked. "Yes?"

"I am going to ask you to do something that may seem rather odd, but I need you to trust me and know that I will explain in due course. Can you do that?" the Viscount asked.

Soonyoung did not hesitate.

"Of course. Anything."

"Excellent. I need you to ask the Duchess to dance with you for the first dance."

The request was so outrageous that it took a few moments for the full meaning of the words to sink in for Soonyoung. He stared blankly up at the Viscount for a few seconds before sputtering out his protests.

"The Duchess?" he repeated. "I-I do not even… I have never met her!"

"That is perfectly fine- I will make the necessary introductions," the Viscount replied smoothly as he began to walk away. Soonyoung was forced to abandon his carefully chosen pink and yellow cakes and follow the Viscount.

"Viscount Hong…"

"Hurry- the dancing will begin in only a few moments!"

Soonyoung had no choice but to follow the Viscount as he led him to the front of the room. Soonyoung knew of you, of course, there was nobody in the ton who had not heard of the elusive Duchess of Graham. But he had never even seen you in person and the idea of daring to ask a Duchess to dance…

"She will say no," Soonyoung realised quickly.

The Viscount shook his head. "She will not."

"How do you know-"

"Soonyoung. Take a deep breath. I would never knowingly put you in an embarrassing position," the Viscount promised.

Soonyoung relaxed a little.

"All right, I trust you…"

The two gentlemen arrived at the head of the ballroom and Soonyoung's eyes finally landed on the Duchess that he had heard so much about. His breath caught in his throat.

You were beautiful- in an almost regal, ethereal sort of way. Your exquisite lavender-coloured ball-gown shimmered in the bright lights and little diamond studs twinkled in your ears. But your beauty came from more than the clothes and jewellery you wore. Your beauty was in the way you carried yourself- in your graceful posture, in the way your soft lips curved in a practised smile and your gloves hands rested delicately in front of you while you nodded at the gentleman speaking to you.

"Soonyoung?" the Viscount asked, when he stopped walking. "Why have you stopped?"

"I-I can't…"

"Come, quickly."

Soonyoung felt as though he was in a dream. The Viscount seized his arm and pulled him along until the two gentlemen were standing immediately in front of you.

When you turned your gaze upon him, Soonyoung almost felt as though he should kneel before you, in deference to your superior presence.

"Viscount Hong!" you greeted him with a bright but restrained enthusiasm. Even your voice was melodic and gentle to Soonyoung's ears, like a songbird in spring. "I am very glad to see that you could make it this evening. Is the Viscountess not with you?"

Viscount Hong smiled back. "The Viscountess is just speaking to her brothers, Your Grace. She will greet you momentarily. In the meantime, I wanted to make an introduction."

"Oh?"

Your eyes landed on Soonyoung calmly, and he felt as though every part of his body had turned to ice. Your gaze was not condescending or even unkind, but there was something in your eyes that instantly shattered Soonyoung's vision of you as perfection incarnate.

Your lips smiled, but your eyes were sad.

"Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Kwon Soonyoung. He is the second son of the Kwon family and a close personal friend of mine," the Viscount said.

Soonyoung would ordinarily have swelled with pride at being called the Viscount's close personal friend but he did not have the time for such luxuries. Remembering his manners, he clumsily reached for the gloved hand you offered him and brought it to his lips. The soft satin smelled faintly of lilacs.

"Your Grace," Soonyoung said nervously. "It-it is an honour…"

You smiled at him gently. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kwon."

Soonyoung looked up for a brief moment and caught the Viscount's eye; the older man was giving him a meaningful look with his big eyes. 'Ask her to dance' was clearly what the Viscount was trying to silently communicate.

Abandoning all instincts of self-preservation and placing his faith entirely on the word of Viscount Hong, Soonyoung looked at you with a forced smile.

"Your Grace- may I ask you to accompany me for the first dance?"

—-----------------------------------------------------

Perhaps it was for the best that Soonyoung had little-to-no warning that he was about to open the first and most-awaited event of the season by dancing with the Duchess of Graham, as it left him very little time to consider the serious societal implications of the situation he was in.

Soonyoung was no stranger to dancing. He loved it and would never refuse an opportunity to dance provided he could find a partner. It was, therefore, a relief when the opening waltz was one that was very familiar to him. His feet moved smoothly and naturally to the tune of the music and it allowed his mind the freedom to think of what to say to you.

"I hope you are having a pleasant evening," you said to him politely. Soonyoung was trying in vain to ignore the soft scent of lilacs coming from you (were there fresh flowers entwined in your hair? He was too flustered to look closely) and it took him a few moments to realise that he should compliment you, the hostess, on your ball.

"Yes!" Soonyoung said quickly. "Yes, the evening is wonderful, this far exceeds the usual events of the London season."

"In what way?" you wondered aloud.

"In what-sorry, in what way?" he repeated.

"In what way does it exceed the usual events?" you repeated patiently.

Soonyoung was stumped. There were real lilacs entwined in the strands of your hair and it was growing far more difficult to keep his thoughts in line. What should he say? The size of the ballroom? The orchestra? The lighting?

"You have a much wider selection of cakes," he said finally. The words had barely come out of his mouth before he instantly realised how stupid they sounded- but to his surprise, you were biting back a small smile. For a moment, he saw that strange lingering sadness disappear from your eyes.

"The cakes?" you repeated, amused.

It was too late. He could not extricate himself from this conversation now. Soonyoung had no choice but to double down on his admiration of the cakes.

"Yes," he continued. "It is quite standard for London balls to offer one or two choices of cake, but I had a chance to pass by the refreshment tables earlier and there were eight different cake selections available."

"I see," you replied. "I suppose that you like cake a great deal, Mr. Kwon?"

Soonyoung blinked. "Don't you?"

"I do like cake, but I will confess that it never occurred to me to use it as a measurement to assess the quality of a ball. I hope you will be kind enough to let me know which of the cakes you liked best? I am sure my kitchen staff would be pleased to learn that their spread had an impact on my guests."

You were not making fun of him. The Duchess of Graham was quite seriously discussing cakes with him at the season's opening ball.

Soonyoung felt light-headed.

"I thought the strawberry ones were quite refreshing," he choked out finally. "Strawberries are in season, of course, and the freshness of the flavouring ingredient makes a world of difference."

"Interesting," you said thoughtfully. "Yes; I suppose it is natural for one's cake preference to vary based on the freshness of the seasonal fruit. We grow strawberries back on the country estate this time of year and have them brought over to London so they are quite fresh. I think the weather is right for lemons as well. I am partial to a lemon cake."

"The lemon cakes are delightful," Soonyoung agreed eagerly. "I had a chance to try one earlier. But if I may offer a suggestion- I think a lemon cream might be a lighter and more refreshing option."

"Considering the warm weather?" you asked, interested. "I agree completely. Lemon cakes can be quite dense in the heat. We should have some lighter options as well. I will pass on your recommendation to my cook."

"I hope you will make it clear that the recommendation was not intended as a slight against the cake, which was quite excellent," Soonyoung said hastily.

You smiled. "Of course. I will convey the message."

"Thank you."

The waltz slowly drew to an end and Soonyoung was forced to release you, stepping away from you until he could no longer smell the lilacs in your hair.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr. Kwon," you told him in your gentle, song-like voice. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

"T-thank you, Your Grace."

You left and Soonyoung quickly stepped away from the dance floor towards the edge of the room. He was so intoxicated by the memory of your voice and smile and scent that he almost bumped head-first into Seokmin, who was waiting for him with a large smile.

"Did you just dance with the Duchess?" Seokmin demanded, in awe. "How did that come to happen?"

Soonyoung could only shrug. "I… I don't know."

"Unbelievable. What did you talk about? Her title? Did you offer your condolences for her father's death? Is it true that she is planning to marry soon and that the dukedom will pass through the female line?"

Soonyoung blinked. "What?"

"You didn't ask her about any of those things? What did you talk about?"

"Just…" Soonyoung cleared his throat, embarrassed to admit the actual subject of conversation. "We only made light conversation. About the weather and the like. Anyway, was there something you wished to discuss? About the Navy?"

Seokmin's smile fell. "Oh- yes, the Navy. When are you enlisting?"

"In two weeks."

"I am considering joining you," Seokmin admitted. His expression was somewhat glum. "I know things have been looking up for my family since my sister married the Viscount, but I can hardly live off my brother-in-law for the rest of my life."

Soonyoung blinked. "The Viscount would support you in a heartbeat. So would Jihoon."

"Yes- which only makes it all the more embarrassing to depend on their generosity," Seokmin replied with a sigh. He looked up at his friend and offered him his hand. "Shall we go explore the high seas together, Soonyoung?"

Soonyoung shook his hand with a smile.

"Let's capture some pirates."

"Aye, aye!"

—------------------------------------------------

Soonyoung had not forgotten to seek an explanation from the Viscount for his strange behaviour at the Duchess' ball, but the opportunity did not come immediately.

Viscount Hong's younger sister- Miss Hong- had been caught in a scandal the very evening of the ball and the Viscount was away making arrangements for her hushed wedding to Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. Soonyoung could hardly knock on the Viscount's door in those circumstances and demand to know why he had asked him to dance with the Duchess of Graham.

"You must tell us what the Duchess is like," Mr. Kim Mingyu pressed Soonyoung over a game of cards at the gentlemen's club. The handsome rake had a cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he scanned his cards. "I've heard so many things about her."

"What have you heard?" Soonyoung asked curiously.

"The usual story of how she acquired her title, of course. The late Duke had no surviving male heirs. The dukedom would have died with him, but the Grahams have always been very intimate with the royal family. On his deathbed he sought a special decree from the Queen herself- to allow his title to pass through his only daughter."

Soonyoung nodded. He knew this story. The entire ton knew this story- it had been one of the most discussed topics of the past year.

"The first woman to be a Duchess by birth and not by marriage," Seokmin remarked as he set down a card. "Does that mean that whoever she marries becomes the Duke of Graham?"

Mingyu nodded. "Naturally so."

"Who would she marry? Surely a Prince? Or another Duke?" Soonyoung wondered. He still remembered that brief dance with you at the ball- you were the picture of beauty and perfection. He could not imagine you settling for anyone less.

"All the other Dukes are curmudgeonly old men," Mingyu said dismissively. "The Duchess is young and beautiful enough not to have to settle for any of them. Considering her ties to the royal family and that she is a close personal favourite of the Queen- yes, I'd say a Prince is far more likely."

Seokmin sighed. "That would be some celebration," he said wistfully before turning to Soonyoung. "Pity we won't be around to see it, eh, Soonyoung? We will have departed for the Navy by then."

Soonyoung hummed. The day of his planned enlistment drew nearer and the dread in his heart grew greater and greater as the reality of his future sunk in. He was not certain how Seokmin could remain optimistic and casual about their upcoming enlistment.

Mingyu winced as he put out his cigar. "Are you two really doing that? The Navy? Isn't there some other way to come into a fortune- preferably one that does not involve placing yourself in mortal peril?"

Soonyoung scoffed as he played his turn at cards. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Kim, sole heir to a Kim family fortune so large that you've gambled away thousands of pounds and somehow still kept your estate intact. Remind me how much you owe Mr. Yoon again?"

Seokmin chuckled. "There is an idea. Perhaps we can play Mr. Kim for his estate."

Mingyu chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "If it prevents you both from going to the Navy, I'm game."

"The Navy is the only option that really gives men of uncertain fortune like us a chance to earn enough to compete with family money," Soonyoung explained with a sigh. He had done his research- there was no other way. "If one can climb the ranks to obtain a command and sink some enemy ships, the spoils of war are often lucrative enough to justify the effort."

Mingyu was not impressed. "If you survive long enough."

"What would you suggest instead, wise one?"

Mingyu's eyes twinkled. "Haven't you two considered simply marrying into fortune? You're both handsome young gentlemen. I am sure you could find a damsel with a large enough dowry to support you."

"So you would have us become dowry hunters," Soonyoung replied.

"If you want to put it so crudely…"

"Your rakish behaviour is only passable among the ton because of your fortune, Mr. Kim. I am fairly certain that if Seokmin or I attempted to seduce young ladies of fortune as brazenly as you do, we would have been shot by their fathers or brothers," Soonyoung replied drily.

Seokmin chuckled. "I'd rather die at sea."

"I will drink to that."

Soonyoung allowed his friend to refill his glass with whisky and sipped it. It occurred to him how much he would miss these casual evenings in London- playing cards and having a drink with his friends as they bickered and joked without a care in the world.

But life could not be so easy. He had to prove himself in the world.

The entrance to the gentlemen's club opened and a lone figure walked in. It was Viscount Hong, looking more tired than Soonyoung had ever seen him. He nodded politely at the gathered gentlemen in greeting.

"Viscount Hong!" Seokmin greeted him cheerfully. "Join us for a game?"

The Viscount sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not up for any gambling tonight but I will have a drink," he said. One of the waiters came rushing over to pour him a fresh glass of whisky as the Viscount took one of the empty seats at their card table. "It has been a difficult week."

Mingyu nodded. "Have Mr. and Mrs. Jeon left for the countryside?"

The Viscount lifted his glass and emptied it into his mouth before responding. "Yes- I would say that it turned out alright in the end, but I am not sure anyone benefitted from this mess, really. Except perhaps Baron Wright."

Seokmin gestured for the waiter to refill the Viscount's glass. "Say the word and we can deal with the Baron- we'll call it a hunting accident."

The Viscount seemed mildly amused. "Thank you, Seokmin, but there's really no need to murder anyone on my behalf. I doubt the Viscountess would forgive me if you ended up in the gallows on my family’s account."

Seokmin shrugged. "I'm bound for the Navy in a few weeks."

The Viscount laughed. "You must be mad if you think your sister would ever allow that."

"It is not her decision."

The Viscount shook his head lightly. "Far be it from me to interfere with my wife and her siblings. But I am fairly certain that you will not be heading to the Navy as you imagine, Seokmin. Nor, for that matter, will Soonyoung."

Soonyoung, halfway through his third whisky and beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, looked up and blinked. "Sorry?"

The Viscount turned to face him with an apologetic smile. "I was going to explain why I pressed you to dance with the Duchess that evening, but I am afraid more urgent events distracted my attention. But first- am I correct in assuming that your enlistment in the Navy is only due to your need for a fortune and not due to an actual passion for the high seas?"

Soonyoung cleared his throat. The Viscount was very correct but it was an awkward thing to admit. "I mean, I was planning on capturing some pirates and building my own fortune."

Mingyu chuckled halfway through his attempt to light his second cigar. "Yes, Kwon Soonyoung, with his talent for the Viennese waltz and preference for lemon cream is the ideal man to defend our seas and capture pirates."

Viscount Hong ignored him. "And if there was an easier way for you to come into fortune?"

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"By marriage."

"Don't bother, Viscount," Mingyu said lightly. "I have suggested it already, but these two gentlemen are determined not to present themselves as dowry hunters."

"What if the young lady of fortune approached you first?"

"And where do you plan to find a young lady of fortune mad enough to do that?" Mingyu joked.

Viscount Hong gave Mingyu a sharp look which silenced him and then set down his glass of whisky on the table. He turned in his chair to fully face Soonyoung. The look in his eyes was serious and for a moment, Soonyoung felt something akin to anxiety stir in his stomach.

"What is it, Viscount Hong?" Soonyoung asked nervously.

"The… Duchess of Graham has expressed an interest in marrying you, Soonyoung."

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