#just the thought of looking into the search bar about it makes me nervous and rises my heartbeat im so stupid i swear

[solunecito]

Sometimes the special interest and/or hyperfixation can be SO bad that instead of (re)posting/blogging about it too much you come to the point of not wanting to interact with it until you gain some courage, and that courage means, putting in a picture, like going through a forest of both stinging and exciting feelings, where your brain chemicals are on the surface and receptive AF. No one but you fully understands how much that thing has affected you in a deeply emotional level.

Interacting with it doesn't mean happy chemicals anymore, it can be overwhelming and overstimulating, sensitive to the thoughts of other human beings about it, sensitive to the point where you can actually rage over your intense love/hate relationship with it... Yet you also feel obligated towards it, like you've got to show in some way how much into that thing you are, but the moment that flourishes it breaks into an explosion and you receive surprised and shocked reactions from others, even uncomfortable, at the idea that you are incredibly and passionately into something while consciously not wanting to engage much with it...

[mariasont]

Semantics - A.H

a/n: guysssss i had so much fun writing this one let me know what you think :)

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you flirt with an officer that has been driving hotch mad all day

warnings: slight suggestive stuff, hotch looks at r's tits, mad!hotch, reader flirting with someone other than hotch! JAIL!

wc: 1.2k

Stationed precariously on your toes, you had on shoes that did not seem dependable for today's work. Hotch was sure that they weren't standard issue for on the job. Did he have the heart to tell you this? Absolutely not.

His grip on the bullpen's bar tightened, his knuckles bleaching to the color of bone. There you were, talking with an officer with a chirpiness that seemed excessive. The volume of your laughter seemed to breach the boundaries of appropriacy, your fingers decorated with glossy paint twirled in your hair, and your proximity to him was decidedly intimate.

He felt a little sick.

The officer's ineptitude was exacerbating the situation. Perhaps calling him an idiot was a bit severe, but Hotch couldn't help but consider it. He was this close to charging the officer was obstruction of justice, and it wasn't only because he was too close to you. The man boy had been nothing but a nuisance all day, holding back information, delaying necessary search warrants, and incessantly bitching about the FBI's involvement.

And you, his assistant, were well aware of the situation as Hotch had talked about it ad nauseam. Yet, there you were, flirting with the officer. He couldn't fathom why. All Hotch was aware of was the involuntary twitch in his hand, hovering perilously near his firearm. That was dramatic, he knew this. He was fine.

What Hotch was also aware of was how the team was watching, no, dissecting his every move. This led him to extract himself from the viewpoint, throwing himself into his office, and not particularly caring about the door's loud bang behind him.

He wasn't sure how long he was in there, wading through reports and forms, each one a small fortification against the temptation to check on you, before there was a knock on the door. It was so faint that it would have gone unnoticed had he not been so acutely attuned to every aspect of this morning.

He tried to convince himself that his keen sensitivity had nothing to do with you.

He raised his head just enough to see you and your pink slacks standing in the doorway. You had the biggest smile, and it took every ounce of discipline not to shovel you in the room, close the door, and kiss you senseless. That wouldn't be appropriate. He was your boss, and more importantly, not your boyfriend.

"Yes?"

His words were blunt and clipped, too stern by half, and he immediately wanted to kick himself as he noted the minuscule wobble in your smile before you could hide it.

You stepped forward, licking your lips in a nervous habit that he caught all too clearly. The door closed with a definitive thud, and a heavy knot twisted in his belly as he motioned for you to sit.

Your effort to reconstruct that trademark smile of yours was apparent, but to his penetrating eyes, it fell short of its customary sparkle. Obediently, you took your place in the seat before him, one leg over the other.

The soft tapping of your sparkly pen against your notepad echoed through the hushed room, another nervous habit of yours. He wanted to kick himself again.

"Sorry I know you're busy," you began, your head's slight tilt dislodging a strand of hair to obscure your eyes. "I'm just about to make a coffee run for the officers. Do you want your usual?"

The officers. If he had the influence over you that he secretly wanted, he'd have you spit in their drinks. Again, a dramatic thought, but one that felt warranted in his mind.

He repositioned himself, settling more firmly into the chair as his hands came together in front of him on the desk. "That's fine."

Your inched forward, and with it, a breath of your shampoo crossed the divide. He found himself mirroring your movement.

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you assume something is wrong?"

"You've got that frown on your face that makes you look constipated." Your smile was growing as you spoke, teasing him. A relief to see. He couldn't help but respond with a reluctant half-smile, almost against his will.

But then he thought about you offering the same teasing banter to the officer, undoubtedly in a more flirtatious manner, and the frown returned.

"There it is again," you noted, arms folding across your chest in a way that pushed the slopes of your breasts to the sky.

He adjusted his pants under the desk.

"I'm fine," he asserted, but the words felt hollow even to his own ears. 

His training as a profiler should have equipped him with a better poker face, but in your presence, those skills were rendered ineffective.

You pursed your lips. Those perfect lips. "I don't believe you."

It sounded more like you were singing rather than speaking, and again, he wanted to smile, but he repressed the urge.

"I don't need you to believe me," he started, narrowing his eyes just enough to be noticeable. "I'm the boss."

You let out an overstated gasp, hand dramatically to your chest. "That was mean."

He found himself laughing--a genuine, unguarded reaction that surprised him just as much as it surprised you. He shook his head, an attempt to regain his composure and the frustration he felt was due. But it was challenging when faced with your innate sweetness, a quality too precious for someone like him.

"I'm sorry," he said, still grinning. It's not often that he apologizes, but he seemed to be making exceptions for you more than anyone else. 

But that could mean nothing.

"Much better," you stated, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk, your smile striking him with an unexpected force. "Now, will you please tell your favorite assistant what's wrong?"

"You're my only assistant."

"Semantics," you scoffed, hand cutting through the air. "Spill."

You had learned that word from Reid and had not stopped saying it since. He gave you a look before giving in.

"Some of the officers are complicating my job more than necessary."

It wasn't really a lie.

You bobbed your head. "I know, right? They're being very unprofessional."

He bit back the comment ready to leap out. You weren't unprofessional--that would be an unfair assessment--but the way you acted earlier could hardly be filed under the professional conduct.

"But did you see me earlier? I totally had that one guy, I can't remember his name, but you know the one--kind of short, bad breath? Anyway, he was wrapped around my finger," you said, proudly at that, as you rummaged through your purse. "And it was worth it because I got you a little something!"

The tension that had been coiling within him unraveled in the form of a couple documents you handed over--witness statements--the very documents the local PD had been stingy with sharing. There was a heartbeat where he thought he might just kiss you for it. That thought might have turned into action, if you hadn't already been on your way out.

"You can thank me later, boss man," you tossed out with a wink. "With a bit of luck and coffee, they'll speed up that warrant thing. I'll be back before you start missing me--promise!"

He wasn't sure if that would be true. He was quick to miss you. He made a promise to himself that he would show his appreciation when you got back. Maybe in an unorthodox way, but as you said--semantics.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[theastrical]

genshin men confessing their feelings for you

diluc, kaeya, alhaitham, zhongli, childe x reader

DILUC

diluc has always been keeping an eye on you for these past few months, either from having you as his now co worker at the tavern or…just by you existing. Not to mention that you guys are best friends and have been caught in the middle of everything in everywhere back when you guys were young…so working with him as your boss feels weird-although it doesn’t hide your excitement to be with him.

You won’t wonder or bother, since it hasn’t given you an answer around certain question that pop ups. So you continued your job per usual-You’re currently serving some customer and cleaning the cups, also the cigars bar that has been rusty since the dawn of man by this point. Diluc is beside you, making mocktails and cocktails for the rest of the customer.

Later-“Can we talk for a moment, outside..?” He whisper while you’re in the middle of cleaning the last cup; your head immediately charmed up by his question. His eyes look at yours, deeply-memorising yours, Hoping to get your spare minute. “Sure! What’s up?”, your reply seems to be a turn on, his shoulder gone straight and he looks more lifelike than before.

He went outside from the tavern and look at you, straight up, no talk, just…dreaming, wondering if you would ever say yes to him. “Look, it’s a bad timing but i..just couldn’t help it…” he paused. Looking at your eyes one more time. “….would you be delighted if i called you mine..?” He asked you nervously-you know that voice-he’s scared of rejection. And you’re scared if he actually loves you back…because you do-you realise, you loved him even tenfold than how younger you would..and with some pause between you both-your voice a bit tender, shaky, and scared. “Yes, i would love to diluc..”

KAEYA

Kaeya has always been such a teaser. You guys meet each other ever since you joined the knights of favonious-not as a knight though, you thought that’ll be too much of a hassle, but as a secretary. It’s not the best job, but they paid handsomely-with a burden as thick as a law book.

Kaeya would come and play, just visiting you in your office deliberately-searching for your antics to play with. At some point, it’ll be your…feelings or favorite things-but that’s okay, you always tolerate kaeya. You’ve never rejected him. Because deep down, you enjoyed being kaeya’s….play buddy-no, more than that.

Before going home, kaeya would usually play or spend time with you, especially when it’s raining-that’s the opposite for today. No sight of him. Just..plain old looking chair with nobody on that view. You prepare the files back on the shelf until you suddenly heard the creak of the door being pushed. “shit i’m wet from the rain…urgh…now the flowers are we—“ when he saw you all confused-he immediately excuse himself to “cough”-to restart as per his dictionary.

“My bad…uhm…soooooo are you going ho-“ “no” “oh ok sorry uhm…right..let me just get into it.” He immediately get to you, with his body all wet and his hair looking like a shrivelled wet cat, he gets the wet flower to your chest and “i like it better if you’re mine, so please take the flower if you’re willing to be one..” he smiles like a child, an innocent child that doesn’t know how all of this flutters your heart cohesively. So you take his flower and nod with a small smile…”sure capt..” he replied with a small peck on your cheek. “thanks cutie”

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham knows you well-he hopes you do as well. Since he has been preparing a certain sentence of asking you to be his for almost 5 days now. He’s nervous-which is weird for a guy who can fight as if his rent with kaveh has been due. But alhaitham is alhaitham, this man’s pocker face means the world is in calm-but internally, HIS WORLD is in torture from all of the overthinking session he has of you.

Today is your first preparation of your last project of the semester and you’re currently trying to reach out to your professor about the project you’ve made in hope of an approval-which turn out to be alhaitham’s agenda to persuade you softly but surely-by asking the professor to immediately get you an approval-you sure did get one just by having him near you-which is great but at the same time, your heart is on cloud nine just by having him help you directly; which also means that alhaitham’s agenda is working.

When you were off dreaming-He immediately holds your palm-looking at your eyes then-“follow me..” you both run upstair as he take your hand in his. Gently overlapping, in order to save place. After you both arrived, He suddenly gives you…something related to your last project, the analysis and journalism you needed.

“Thought you might need it…also..” he pauses for a moment before he takes your hand again. Gently cupping it. “If you need me more, then just be mine”..he swiftly says it, finally the nervousness has long gone and now enter the anxiety-waiting for your— “i need you everytime at this moment alhaitham, thank you and…sure…l-let’s be together..!” Your optimistic voice break his raging anxiety.

ZHONGLI

being his tea partner is so much more than a privilege, it’s a blessing by the gods. To give such a man to your pawn, to have that man listen and talk to you whilst you just enjoy the sight. He would always serves you the cup of tea first despite being the older one in this friendship-yet here he is, trying to serve your third cup of tea today.

You both are currently playing cards-this time, unlike any other card games you played before, he makes a challenge, the one who win will have to spoilt out some questions to the loser. “Are you fine with such a rule?” He asked, his voice luring you into his fine demeanor just like that and you wished every morning you’ll hear him greet you. “of course, as long as there’s no money related game, since i’m the epitome of broke”-you joke. He laughs quietly. “Surely not, that’s against the law and i would rather be arrested with a criminal, not a friend.”

You chuckled, he has a humor of an old man but his body is as fresh as a youngster-he’s weird and you wishes he can be more weirder when you’re near…a sign of being comfortable. He shuffles the card and gives it to you. You both played quite slowly, enjoying the pace as you both give each other some comments. “How come you’re choosing that card [name]…” he chuckles. “Why not! It’s my deck of cards..” …”oh? Hahaha..a bit feisty are we?” He pauses and-“done, i win.”

You were shocked. That man easily beat you as if you’re just a mosquito that happened to be crushed by his own hand. You’re a bit confused-at some point you can only sighed, until he starts the conversation for the challenge. “say..i would like to have a partner-a relationship partner, somebody who i…enjoy the company of..” he explains it as your heart drops knowing he’s about to announce his own crush which is in her mind-not her-never her. “And i think it’s you, [name], would you like to accompany me and be mine perchance?” He says that softly and with a smile. Suddenly your heart feels like it has just popped out. “Yes please..?” He hears that and laughs…“Hahah no needd for please, thank you, i love you..”

CHILDE

you’re a nurse who-somehow become childe’s caretaker. He struggles on keeping himself intact so he would always need your help on medicating him at certain points, visiting your clinic especially after breaking his bones or bruising up his knees after fight.

So every single day, in hopes of both of you meeting each other, there some certain wishes you guys can meet outside of being a nurse and outside of being a fatui who continues to suffer through their workloads. But childe doesn’t want to just meet you, he wants to be WITH you. It’s obvious enough for his co workers. He wants more than meeting you every single day in hope of you medicating him, he just wants you to be there, to tell him “get well soon” with love and not in regards of your passion.

This thought lingers upon him even in a heated battle, but one thing for sure, he will survive this, even with a huge scratch, he will survive in order to confess his feelings rightfully. He was stuck between death and small chance of survival at this point, but childe is fully convinced, he will survive for the sake of you or else he’ll curse himself.

He did. He finally did it. Although watching you cry over his body is not something he would ever like to memorise..but it’s the part where he realised, you care for him way more than he thinks. So without further-ado, not wanting to lose his consciousness after everything, he said it right to your face, “i love you, i really do, i survive this….for us.”

[zoeykallus]

Hi, Zoey! Are your requests open? I had an idea after watching Kenobi.

There’s a scene in Kenobi where the Inquisitors show up to a market place in search of Jedi. They throw a knife at the shop owner knowing that the Jedi hiding among the patrons will stop the knife from harming him. It would be interesting to see that with Hunter.

Maybe Hunter and Cid’s bartender have a relationship. Bartender was weary of the clones at first but warmed up to them and liked Hunter. They just started dating when Inquisitors show up. They use the knife trick on someone (maybe even Omega) and bartender is forced to expose themselves as a former Jedi.

I’d love to see how Hunter would react to that.

oh oh oh oh... I got something in my head!

*Running in circles*

I actually had a scene like this in my head for a while now, I put the whole batch in there but focus on Hunter as a love interest.

Hunter x Jedi/Reader - One-Shot - The Things We Do For Love

Warnings: Angst/Canon Typical Violence/Blood/Fluff

No one knows about your past with the Jedi order. You are forced to drop your cover, when you try to save Hunter's life.

_______

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_______

It's strange, life after Order 66 - hiding, pretending to be someone else. And it doesn't get any easier every day as you'd hoped, at least not at first. Cid's Bar, that's where you ended up at some point. You work behind the counter. You serve all kinds of strange clientele. Cid's Bar is like a meeting place for all kinds of scum in the Galaxy. Life has changed, a lot. Priorities change. The code after you've lived so long is nowhere near as important as surviving and belonging somewhere so you're not completely alone in this universe. But you can't open up to anyone, not exactly the most decent people come and go here. So you keep a low profile. You even flirt here and there to keep up appearances, but at the same time, you keep everyone at a distance. And then, to make matters worse, these clones turn up. Automatically, every alarm sounds inside you. Order 66 flares up in your memory, sharp and painful. It takes so much willpower to stay calm, to not let anything get to you, so much trauma hangs in every thought of clones. No one knows who you are, no one even suspects that you were part of the Jedi Order.

And yet these men surprise you, especially one of them who leads the group. He is so thoughtful, so serious. Hunter always seems to be lost in thought, trying to keep everything under control, to ensure safety. He rarely leans back and really takes a breath. He's almost always worried and tense, you can feel it in the Force. But eventually, he thaws out, you somehow strike up a conversation, and you quickly learn how much depth and kindness lie beneath that brooding, skeptical exterior. Hunter can even be funny, very observant and above all else, he's decent, probably one of the most decent people to ever come and go in this bar. You catch yourself admiring him. Your eyes meet more and more often, you talk to each other more often, even flirt. But this flirting is different, it's not fake, it feels real, exciting and for you, with your past, completely new and almost reckless. You are both obviously interested in each other, just as you are both shy and cautious in a certain way. Weeks, even months go by before your hands touch for the first time, and he asks you out.

You can see it in his face, he can hardly believe it himself, hidden behind his smile is a nervous boy who is incredibly afraid of being rejected by you. The big, brooding leader has a great weakness, you. Of course, you say yes, you can hardly resist this special man, clone soldier or not, Hunter has so much good in him, he attracts you like a magnet, not to mention his good, bold looks do the rest.

It starts like any other evening. More or less. After your first date, Hunter usually comes into the bar smiling, automatically seeking your gaze as soon as he walks through the door. You can't help it, you smile back every time, accompanied by a warm tingling in your stomach, warmth rising in your cheeks and ears.

But something is different today. There is a presence in the room, dark, determined, hard as stone, surrounded by sharp edges. You sense this presence in the Force, its intransigence. You look around in alarm. The bar is a little busier today, your gaze wanders more or less inconspicuously around the room. Then you see him. You meet cold eyes, eyes as blue as sapphires, their gaze steely and sharp, so intense that you automatically lower your own gaze and distractedly clean a glass. But you know this person has already noticed you. Right now you're feverishly thinking about your next steps and how to get out of here alive without putting anyone in danger. Hunter frowns worriedly, watching you. He can tell something is wrong. Tech is talking to him, but he is focused on you right now. He leaves the table where he was sitting with his brothers and is about to come over to you when he hears a voice say clearly and distinctly, not shouting but loud enough, "CT 9901"

You feel hot and cold, a shiver runs down your spine, you're sure Hunter feels the same way, you can see it on his face. All the heads at the Bad Batch table look up in surprise, shock and alarm. Hunter turns to the voice that seems to be coming from one of the other tables a few meters away. A man suddenly stands up, slowly, unhurriedly, confidently. Like a predator who is sure of his prey, who has no reason to be afraid, no need to hurry. Neither you nor Hunter like the body language. What surprises you, however, is that this man, in his strange, dark uniform, is not looking for you as you expected, but obviously for Hunter and presumably his brothers. "All 99ers in one room, this must be my lucky day. And not only that, I feel like I'm getting a little something extra on top of that," the somber stranger says, his voice deep and clear, almost melodic.

The room falls silent, as if the presence of this man demands it. With a confident little smile, the man pulls a knife from his belt, the first movement is slow, almost sluggish, but the throw comes so suddenly that you barely have time to react. It has become so quiet in the bar that you could hear a pin drop. But when the blade suddenly seems to stop in mid-air barely a centimeter from Hunter's eye, a murmur goes through the room. You're sure you can hear someone whispering the word Jedi.

Hunter only lets out a quiet, "What the hell", he can't help but stare at the blade for a moment. He should be dead, he realizes, that vibro blade should have drilled into his skull, but there it is, hovering right in front of his face. Out of the corner of his eye he sees your outstretched hand, your concentrated gaze, and he begins to understand. You stopped the blade from killing him, you stopped it in its tracks. The stranger's cool voice draws you both back to him. "I knew I sensed a Jedi in the room, and I knew you couldn't resist to show yourself" In the next moment everything happens very quickly, there is no time to think, to process, to make plans. The man reaches out his hand, and you feel his grip on you in the force. You are swept over the bar counter, with a pull on your body, trough the force, knocking over two tables on your way to the floor. Everything around you happens in a haze, you hear Hunter cursing angrily, blaster shots, the distinctive buzz of an awakening lightsaber, screams from the other patrons. A red glow fills the room. The smell of burned flesh.

Your left side hurts. You landed hard on the tables when the Sith Force-wrenched you over the counter, maybe you cracked a few ribs. There are shards on the surrounding floor from the glasses that went down. As you try to pick yourself up, you accidentally reach in and cut your right palm. The pain is sharp, clear and distinct, bringing you back to reality from your surprise. You jump to your feet, skillfully, supported by the force that flows through and envelops you. It's been a long time since you've used the Force and your abilities in this way, but it's as if you've never let it out of your fingers, the lightsaber sliding into your hand, its blade glowing blue with its characteristic hum. Blood runs down the hilt of your weapon from the open cut on your hand, it burns, but you ignore the pain. You feel Hunter's gaze, he is still confused. He knows what you are now, but he certainly hasn't processed the news yet. At the moment, you all have other things to worry about. Did the Sith come alone? Are there Stormtroopers waiting for you outside the bar?

You concentrate on the force, on the intentions of your opponent. Everything you feel emanating from him is sharp, dark, glowing hot. He is driven by rage, and the moment your lightsabers cross, you feel all the hatred in his attacks, which are admittedly much stronger than you expected. You've never fought a real Sith before. The first touch of your lightsabers is like an electric shock, an incredibly hard impact, a wave of fury that seems to roll over you from your opponent. The hilt of your weapon is slippery with your own blood, you have to grab it hastily with both hands so that the sword doesn't slip from your grasp or your opponent will decapitate you. For a moment, Hunter's concern penetrates your perception, but you shut him out and have to concentrate. A quick exchange of blows follows, attack, parry, retreat, attack, parry... The handle of your weapon becomes increasingly slippery with your own blood. Then it happens, another hard blow, you parry, the impact of the blades causes your weapon to slip away.

You hear Hunter yell out, hear the shock in his voice, the terror in that simple word, "No!" His blaster lies on the ground, sliced in half by the Sith's blade. Hunter has pulled his knife from his belt in a split second, lunging in the Sith's direction. The blade of your attacker hovers just in front of your neck, you hold the Sith and his weapon in this position with all the strength you can muster with body and force. Your heart races, adrenaline flows through your body. There are only millimeters between your life and death. Millimeters before the red lightsaber could sever your head from your shoulders. Hunter reaches an arm around the Sith's neck and jabs his knife into his side. The sergeant's voice is dark and smoky as he rasps, "Not on my watch"

The red lightsaber goes out and falls to the ground. Hunter kicks it aside, away from the Sith's hands, and lets the mortally wounded attacker slide to the ground. You see Hunter's chest rise and fall, still electrified, while your adrenaline suddenly subsides and your hands begin to tremble a little. You concentrate on the force, your center, and banish the trembling from your limbs. With a sigh, you look at the man on the ground, who is taking his last breaths, his cold, sapphire eyes still looking up at you with hatred, but there is also reluctance in them, surprise, defiance. Echo kneels down next to him, feels his pulse. "Quite dead," he says dryly, and with a glance at your extinguished lightsaber, he asks, "Care to explain?" "Take it easy, Echo. I guess it's obvious why we're only finding out now, it would have been dangerous to reveal the truth," Hunter says calmly and steps closer, carefully grabbing your hand and looking at the cut.

"That needs stitching," Tech says with a sideways glance and adds, "I can do it when we get to the Marauder, we should get out of here, more will come" The others lead the way, Hunter and you follow at a slight distance. You can't quite believe it yet. CF99 accepts you into their midst, no ifs, no questions, yet. Admittedly, Echo is still a little skeptical, but he always is. But you're part of it now, you're no longer alone. The thought spikes a feeling of euphoria in you. "Looks like Clone Force 99 has its own Jedi now," Hunter says with a wry smile. You crack a smile, liking the idea, forgetting for a moment your bleeding hand and the drops of blood that fall to the ground and on your tunic. Crosshair, who is walking ahead of you, casts a jaunty glance over his shoulder and says dryly, "Just don't expect me to follow your orders, General." He says it with a wink, even if his words sound a little hostile, he is friendly to you, you sense his intentions in the Force.

You say quietly, "I wasn't going to give you orders, you have a working system as a group, I wouldn't dream of changing it" The Sniper laughs softly, "Clever Jedi" Hunter drops back a little, and you do the same, sensing that he has something to say to you. After a little while, on your way to the Marauder, he says seriously, "You gave up your cover to save my life, thank you" You chuckle and say softly, "The things we do for love" Hunter listens in surprise and asks, "So our dates aren't part of your cover?" You've opened up to him in the force, feeling his pulse, the tingling under his skin as if it were your own. "I would never play with your feelings, not even as a cover," you say seriously. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief and asks, "So nothing will change between us?" "I'd like us to continue our relationship and see where it takes us," you reply with a warm smile. You feel his relief, his affection, and you breathe a sigh of relief as well.

"That's what I want too," he says, carefully grabbing your hand and taking another look at the wound. "That looks really bad," he says, frowning. Wrecker comes rushing up and murmurs, "Now hurry up, or our Jedi will bleed to death!" Impatiently, he grabs you and lifts you off your feet to carry you to the Marauder. You make a small, startled noise. "Wrecker," Hunter says softly, admonishing. "What? The little Jedi got hurt!" Wrecker returns unperturbed and carries you to the Marauder. "It's just a cut on my hand," you say, waving it off. "It's bleeding a lot," Tech comments as Wrecker sets you down next to him and points at your stained tunic. Tech already has medical supplies ready, including a needle and thread, but first Echo cleans the wound. You grit your teeth, because the cleaning stings a lot. Echo says knowingly, "Don't worry, it'll be done in a minute"

Wrecker asks curiously, "Is the Jedi officially with us now?" Hunter sits down opposite you and watches as your wound is taken care of, he says, "I think so" "But I'm not really a Jedi anymore. There is no longer a Jedi order and I haven't been following the code for a while now, at least not to the letter," Hunter's eyes meet yours at the last words. Your heart beats faster as a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "We're not really regular clones either, we're not really soldiers anymore," Tech says lightly. Crosshair sticks a toothpick in his mouth and mutters, "Welcome to the defect squad, I have a feeling you'll fit in perfectly here"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

________

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@clonelovr

@bandnerdlevel43

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

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

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

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

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

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

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

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

You knew even then that you should have.  

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

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

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

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

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

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

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

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

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

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

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

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

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

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

“About women?” She queries. 

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

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

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

“Stop doing that!” 

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

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

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? For a man?” 

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

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”  

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

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

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

See what I mean? What the hell?  

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

Did you?  

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

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

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

“I’m sorry.” 

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

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

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

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

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what if it’s a sign? 

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

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

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

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

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

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

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

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

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

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

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

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

What’s the worst that can happen?  

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

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

Mm.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“….Hi.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is very curious.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really missed you too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________

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

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

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

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

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

“Long day?” You ask. 

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

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

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

���I was given it.” 

“By?” 

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

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

“..What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

No.  

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

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

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

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

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

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

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

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

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is absolutely everything.  

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

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

“You can’t wear it!” 

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

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

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

[her-power]

beg (joseph quinn x fem! reader)18+

warnings: language, strong sexual content, lots and lots of making out, bathroom fool around. It’s not that explicit (edit: it’s horny, whoops lol, there’s an unexpected belt restraining 😵‍💫) it’s playful, funny, but minors, stay the eff away.

summary: you run into JQ at a karaoke bar (I know, there’s a theme with these 😂) and drunkenly tell him that you wrote smut about him. he begs you to show him and he’s very…interested.

word count: idk, lots of words 🫠

You were drunk.

You didn’t mean to get this drunk, but there was something about the energy of a karaoke bar that made you want to get loaded. You had just finished singing Bohemian Rhapsody, and had received a roar from the crowd of people who sang along with you, and lots of clapping. Your friends wanted you to sing more, but you needed a break. And some water. You saunter over to the bar, asking for a glass of water which you chug down. Probably not the best idea, but you were thirsty, and it felt like it was thousands of degrees in the building. You took three ice cubes out of the glass and pop them in your mouth, cooling yourself down.

“Your Freddie Mercury dance moves was quite impressive.” A soft, English accented voice reaches your ears and you glance up at the man standing next to you. You gasp, an ice cube sliding down your throat causing you to choke a little. His eyes are wide and he’s almost laughing. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to make you choke.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You manage to breathe out.

Joseph fucking Quinn was standing next to you.

“I’m sorry, that was rude, hi…you are…wow. I must be really drunk cause there is no way you’re standing next to me.” You suppress a giggle and he chuckles.

“Nope, I am a real.” He leans against the bar, twirling his beer bottle. “You good? No more choking?”

“Uh…” you laugh, blindly searching for the bar stool which he scoots behind you and you sit. “Need to sit down for this, why are you in the most rural part of town at a hole in the wall karaoke bar?”

He laughs. “Been filming a movie the next town over, got some nice beaches down this way. This seemed like a good place to be unrecognizable.”

He meets your eyes.

Gods, he was beautiful.

You blush and look away. “Came to the right spot, it’s dim, dreary, smells like piss and shame. I don’t think my friends know where I went.” You glance around the bar, spotting your friends sitting at the table in the corner, drunkenly crying. Yeah, sitting right here feels much better than that, you think.

“My favorite kind of place.” He giggles. “What are you drinking?”

“You…NOPE…wow. Intrusive thoughts won, I’m so sorry.” You put your palms over your face and he laughs loudly. “Ughhhh, this is not happening. I’m making a fool out of myself in front of such a beautiful man. I used to be so good at this.”

“I think you’re being pretty adorable.” He says close to your ear and you almost yelp. He giggles at your behavior and you tell him you’ve been drinking bourbon all night. He orders you a drink and your hand shakes as you bring the rim to your lips.

“Easy, love. You don’t need to be nervous around me.” He nudges you with his shoulder and you relax a little.

“How do I know you’re not like Ted Bundy? Hmm?” You smile at him, taking a sip of his drink.

“Do I look like a serial killer?”

“Ted Bundy didn’t.” You counter and he smiles.

“Touché, but no, I’m not here to kill you.”

“Oh yeah? What are you here to do to me?”

Foot. In. Mouth. You’re gonna make him leave, you’re gonna make him go away by just being a fucking creep.

“What do you want me to do to you?” His voice is low, and your heart beats rapidly as you stare at him with your mouth hanging open. He smirks at you, gently taking his finger and lifting your chin to close your mouth, and winks.

“Oooookay…we’re flirting. This is…okay. Why do I feel like I’m in a setting of one of my stories?”

“Stories?”

Fuck me.

You groan. You need to learn to stop talking to yourself in public, because shit like this happens and you spill secrets you’re not supposed to spill. “Huh? What? No…I mean…nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Friends don’t lie.”

“Oh we’re friends? You don’t even know my name.”

“So tell me.” He turns towards you, your elbows are touching and his eyes are staring deep into yours, they subtly glance down your form and then meet your eyes again. You bite your bottom lip, smiling and tell him your name. “Okay, now we’re friends.”

“I’m not telling you what I said.” You laugh, sipping your drink. He looks at you shocked and the way he moved his head back was comical, you choke on your drink again.

“That is very rude and not fair.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, I wrote a story about you awhile back.”

He points to himself and smiles. “What kind of story?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Oh but I do.” He slides your bar stool closer to him. “Whisper it.”

He’s so close to you, you can smell his cologne and the subtle aroma of beer on his breath. You just stare at him, not answering him. “It’s naughty isn’t it?”

You look away from him, and blush. He gasps excitedly. “Show me!”

Your eyes widen. “What?! No way! It’s embarrassing and it’s horny.”

“Even better.”

“No.” You lean into him and smile. He groans, draping his arm over the back of your chair.

“What do I have to do to get you to show me?” His mouth is so close to yours. You wondered what his lips felt like. You had imagined it, clearly.

“Beg for it.” You smile and he laughs.

“Is that what I do in your story? Beg?”

A tingle forms in your belly at the way he said that and you blush. “I’m just kidding.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Okay, you need to settle down.” You laugh, playfully pushing him away and he giggles. “Can’t believe I’m flirting with you right now, this is insane. I have to pee…watch my drink.”

He smirks, sliding your drink next to his and placing his jacket over the back of your seat. Your legs immediately start shaking as you make your way to the bathroom, your friend Stacey is coming out of the bathroom as you open the door.

“Hey! We’re going, do you need a ride?” She asks you.

You glance back at the bar. “No, I’m okay. I can take an Uber home.”

“By yourself? I don’t know if I feel right about that.”

You gently pat her face. “I’ll be fine. I don’t really wanna share a ride with you all crying about what happened on Love Island.”

She laughs. “Shut up, I know. I hate myself too. Okay, please text me when you get home. Don’t go home with any strangers.” She kisses your cheek.

“Yes, mom.”

Ha, if only she knew.

Although, was he a stranger?

Yes, dumbass.

But, a highly known stranger.

Not in the middle of nowhere USA.

You push open the stall door, quickly do your business and wash your hands. There was no one else in there with you, and you took a minute to look over yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed from the embarrassment of telling him you wrote a sex story about him, and also the fact that he was so…flirtatious and sexy. You adjust your high waisted jeans and pull your black cropped tank down. As of lately; you have grown to love your body and its shape, but you were suddenly feeling self conscious sitting next to a celebrity.

The door to the bathroom opens and you glance up in the mirror.

There he was. Smiling. Comedically tip toeing into the bathroom, locking the door while you stand there stunned.

“What are you-“ His hands are on your waist in a flash, and his soft lips press against yours, sweetly, gently. His hands go into your hair and a sigh escapes you, you almost fall backwards but he wraps his arms around your waist tighter, holding you to him. Your hands go to his chest, and you gently push him back, your lips falling away from each other with a smack. Your eyes dart back and forth from his eyes to his lips and he’s grinning at you.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait any longer.” He tells you and you still cannot find words.

He was a good kisser.

Maybe you could show him your story, but that could wait. You wanted to kiss him again, so you did. His tongue glides into your mouth and you groan, pushing your body against his, bumping into the wall, almost falling over the trash can. His hands find your thigh and squeeze gently, lifting you up delicately and your head slams against the automatic paper towel dispenser.

“Ow!” You laugh loudly as the paper towels come out behind you, vroooooom.

“Oh shit I’m sorry!” He pulls away from your lips quickly and holds your head. You laugh, holding his face and kissing him again. He smiles against your lips, his hand grips your waist and you sigh, moving your hands over his back, down past his ass and you pull his waist flush against you. He groans against your mouth, and lifts you on the bathroom counter. You didn’t care how gross this counter probably was, you just wanted to be close to him. He pushes himself between your legs and you could feel his hardness through his jeans. His lips find your throat and you gasp when he gently bites on your sensitive skin. His hand glides up your soft skin, over your bra and your nipple hardens as his palm grazes over your breast.

“Mmm…we should…stop…” You whisper against his neck.

“Do you want me to stop?” He whispers, his tongue flicks out over the vein at your throat and you moan, clawing at his back.

“No…but…not here…somewhere else.” You gasp.

He pulls away from you and smiles sweetly, kissing you again and helps you down from the counter. You unlock the door, surprised to see that no one was waiting to kick you guys out and as you exit the bathroom he takes your arm and pulls you to him, kissing you deeply. Your back hits the wall and you smile against his lips, his hands fisting through your hair.

“Yeah, get it girl!” A woman says as she makes her way to the bathroom and the two of you pull away laughing. You take his hand and take him to the outside patio, you patted yourself down to make sure your phone and wallet was still in your jeans. You find a vacant picnic table and sit on top of it, shaking the nerves out of your hands as you stare up at him. He smiles, his dimples showing and you blush.

His hand cups your face and you lean into it, he kisses your lips softly and sits down on the bench beneath you. You smile, opening your phone and go to your word document app. He lights up a cigarette and you cringe, holding the phone towards him.

His eyes light up. “Is this it?” And you nod. He giggles, his eyes scanning the first few paragraphs. “Wow, you’re a really good writer…oh…” he meets your eyes, his wide and playful. You blush looking away from him and he laughs, his hand gently squeezes your knee. “This is…horny.” His hand squeezes your thigh and you have to suppress a moan that is about to escape.

“He puts his mouth on your…whoa…whoaaaaa…” he meets your eyes again, his face is flushed. “It’s hot, is it hot? I’m sweating. If I read anymore I’m gonna take you on this table.” He hands the phone back to you and you giggle, covering your face with his hands. He stands over you, the cigarette dangling from his lips. You take it from him, inhale on it, and pull his face towards yours.

“Breathe in.” You tell him, as you exhale and the smoke comes out, your lips barely graze and he inhales, stepping back a little letting the smoke glide out of his lungs.

He blushes and smirks at you. “That was in there wasn’t it?”

You nod, biting your lip, handing him the cigarette. He smiles large, snuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray. He moves towards you, curling a piece of hair behind your ear. “You wanna get out of here?”

You stare into his eyes and nod. He grins, and as you’re about to open your Uber app he puts his hand over yours. “No need, I have a driver.” He nods to the back parking lot and you see a black livery car with a driver in the front seat. “Just tell me where to go.”

So, you tell him the direction to your house. You had snuggled up against his chest on the car ride, his hand softly rubs your shoulder and you pull up in front of your apartment building. He tells the driver to head back to the hotel and will call when he needs to get picked up. He follows you up the stairs to the second floor and you turn on your lights. You shut and lock the door, blushing again.

“Why do you keep blushing?” He teases, gently cupping your cheek.

“Because you’re in my apartment and have been kissing me all night.” You sigh. “And I’m confused on why out of all the beautiful women in the bar, you sought me out.”

“Well, none of those other beautiful women could sing Bohemian Rhapsody like you did.”

You roll your eyes. “If you were ten minutes earlier you would’ve seen my rendition of You Oughta Know.”

He laughs. “Now that would’ve made me beg for you.”

You’re not even all the way into your apartment before he’s kissing you. He practically drags you blindly into the living room and into the wall. He pushes his body against yours, kissing you deeply, his hands going over your belly and up your shirt. You gasp, gripping onto his forearms as he kisses down your chest, pulling your shirt over your head. His lips glide down your stomach until his on his knees, licking just above the button of your jeans and he pops the button. He gazes up at you, and your head falls back against the wall as he pulls your jeans down, and you step out of them. He grips your thighs, kissing them softly and his hands caress your backside. He pulls down your underwear and your entire body trembles, and you groan as his mouth goes on you like he was starving. You grip at his hair as he feasts on you, still pinching yourself because there was no way this was real and that he was doing this to you in your apartment.

His fingers glide inside you as he continues his feast, and you moan loudly, your body almost sliding down the wall but he holds you up with his free hand. He tells you to come in his mouth and your entire body reacts to his voice and how he curls his fingers deeper inside you. You tense up and you scream in pleasure loudly, holding onto the wall for support as you clench around his fingers and he moans against you. He pulls his fingers out of you and glides back up your body, kissing you passionately. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he lifts you, you direct him to your bedroom and pushes open the door with his foot and he falls backwards on the bed, taking you with him. His hands move up your back as he kisses you and unhooks your bra, it falls down your arms and you toss it to the ground, straddling him and he bites back a moan as you scoot yourself back, pulling off his jeans. He sits up quickly, pulling his shirt over his head and you run your hand over his slightly toned tummy, crashing your lips against his. You couldn’t wait any longer for this, you end up pulling him out of the hole from his boxer briefs and you immediately lower yourself down on him.

A broken moan escapes you as he fills you up and his head falls back against the pillows. You rock your hips against him, your body trembles as his lips catch your nipple in his mouth and he gently bites down, you gasp loudly.

“Do you want me to beg?” He groans and you whimper as you rock your hips faster. You moan, a soft laugh escaping you and you nod. You move off of him, moving up his body like a snake and you kiss him deeply. You take his hands, holding both of them above his head, reaching down to take the belt you had on your jeans. His eyes light up and he giggles.

“Oh, we’re doing this.” He says with a chuckle, biting his lower lip.

“You’re an actor.” You smirk, wrapping the belt around his wrists and attached it to the bars on your headboard. “Act.”

“What if I’m not acting?” He clasps his hands together in the restraint.

You smirk, gazing down at him. “Even better.” You meet his soft lips, straddling him, and you could already tell he was getting frustrated because he couldn’t touch you. Your hand glides down his abdomen, over his hips and over his length. His lips buck and his eyes flutter close, a soft sigh escaping him.

You kiss his chest gently, running your tongue over his nipple and he groans. You meet his lips again, grinding your hips against his and reach down to touch him, you grip him hard and then stop.

“Please.” He whispers, almost whining.

“Please what?” You ask, smiling against his cheek, taking his jaw in your hand, turning his head to look at you and a seductive laugh comes out of his mouth with your forcefulness.

“Keep touching me.” He says, moving his face to kiss your lips. “I’m begging you.”

You grin, wrapping your hand around his length and fist him slowly. You lean down to kiss his neck and he moans as your hand picks up speed and his body is arching. “Let me fuck you.” He groans, struggling again. You meet his eyes, gently kissing him as your other hand reaches up to untie the belt from the headboard. His hands come down so fast, the belt goes flying and he’s taking your face in his hands, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he forces himself on top of you. He hooks your leg around his waist and pushing himself inside you hard. You moan loudly as he rolls his hips, the sensation of his speed and his pelvis grinding against you was causing you to feel so many different things at once. His noises were loud and so were yours, beautiful harmonies of two feral beings just needing to feel something.

Your orgasm was approaching fast and he could feel it too, so he slows down. Rocking into you slowly, gently, his lips soft against yours. His hands gently go through your hair and you didn’t know what was hotter: him taking his time with you or how animalistic he was moments ago. A whimper escapes you as you feel your orgasm approach, his breath was hot against your lips as your head falls back, and you’re holding onto his back as you come, this orgasm so much more powerful than the last one and he comes soon after you. His sounds deep, raspy, beautiful.

He lays with his head on your chest, catching his breath and you run your fingers over his hair. He looks up at you, cheekily grinning. “Now, that was a smut story.” He laughs loudly as you giggle, pushing him off of you and he falls to the floor with a thud. His head pops up as he looks at you, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Now it’s your turn to beg.”

the end

[2knightt]

「 she’s barbie and he’s just ken! 」

IN WHICH—the gang is the ken to readers barbie!♡ ໋֢ 👒✧

🍵ヾFT. THE GREASERS࿐ྀུ ♡

⌗ 👒 notes !𖥔༌ ᰷ ﹅ barbie is reader. reader is barbie. go watch barbie NOW.

Johnny Cade ;

you were sweet, pretty, understanding, and somehow always had a good hair day.

you were smiling every time someone saw you, grinning from ear to ear. everyday was a good day for you.

while johnny was quiet, timid, not a good person for comfort at times and always had grease in his hair.

johnny cade only ever had a good day when y/n l/n acknowledged him.

you were walking down the streets of Tulsa, waving to everyone who said hi—which seemed like everyone.

“hi, y/n!”

“y/n!”

“how are you, y/n?”

you waved at each and every one of them, saying your own little greeting each time.

you flashed your famous smile, making johnny weak in the knees.

even though he was sitting, he felt like he still needed to sit down.

you were close to the bench where he and dally were sitting at. johnny was obviously nervous, wiping the sweat off his palms onto his jacket.

dally saw how his friend was getting anxious at the sight of you and instead of ignoring it or talking to him about it—he decides to tease him.

“hey look, johnny. ‘s your girlfriend.”

he mumbles, his new york accent coming out at the end. he points to you, making it obvious they were talking about you. he nudges johnny, pushing him over slightly.

johnny smacks his hand down, making sure you didn’t see anything.

“she ain’t my girlfriend, dal! cut it out.”

he says, quickly and in a hushed voice. his eyebrows furrowed, glaring at dallas.

johnny was about to say some snide remark, but that was before he saw you in his peripheral vision.

he turns his head to face you fast—so fast, dallas could’ve sworn he heard his neck crack.

“he-hey, y/n!”

johnny shouts, his voice cracking. he mentally scolded himself for being such a loser.

you look over to the voice just to see johnny sitting on a bench with dallas. johnny lifted his hand off his lap slightly, trying to wave.

you smile at seeing him, you always liked johnny. you wave to him just like you did the rest.

“hey, johnny!”

you greet before walking away without a second thought.

johnny felt a 10 pound weight released off his shoulders at hearing his name.

johnny wasn’t in a good mood earlier but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t smile more after that.

Dallas Winston ;

y/n l/n. the girl that made the sun envious with her smile, the girl that made everyone want to be her, the girl everyone knew.

dallas winston, the boy that was hand in hand with the devil himself, the boy who was in and out of the cooler, the boy that everyone knew.

y/n always had a good day. you just gave off that aura that surrounded everyone in peace.

dallas never had a good day. sure he’s had okay days, but good was pushing it.

he only has a good day when y/n talks to him.

dallas had stumbled his way into bucks bar, a black eye and a bloody nose.

he knew buck was throwing a party tonight and it seems that whenever a party has booze, two-bit is right there.

he tripped over his own feet searching for two-bit. he found him, sitting on the couch with you sitting right beside him.

you were giggling as his friend smacked his knee, absolutely dying at his own joke. dallas felt like dying when he seen how well the two of you got along.

two-bit glanced around the room, locking eyes with dallas. he shot up out of his seat, rushing to his friend.

you followed his gaze and saw dallas all beat up. you didn’t know the guy well but, you still worried for him.

you walked over to them, two-bit shaking his friend by the shoulders.

“don’t die on me, dal! don’t follow the light!”

“shut up and stop shakin’ me, will ya?!”

you let out an breathy chuckle as two-bit gets off dallas.

dallys eyes shift towards your direction and his eyes widen at the sight of you.

he grins, raising his chin like he doesn’t have dried blood all over him.

“hey.”

he says, his thick new york accent more obvious than before.

you smile, waving at dallas. you knew who he was, you’ve seen him around and heard all the rumours.

“hi!”

his lips were slightly parted, his eyes moving up and down—obviously checking you out.

he was about to say something else, probably something not so kid friendly. two-bit had shoved his shoulder, causing dallas to stumble back.

two-bit has a firm grip on his friends shoulders, spinning him around to the exit. your new friend looks over his shoulder as he guides dallas away.

“bye, y/n!”

“bye!”

two-bit leans in close to dallas, snickering.

dallas kisses his teeth, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“what was that ‘bout? freezin’ up when seein’ a pretty lady? tsk tsk, how unlike you.”

“shut up.”

maybe dallas did freeze up when seeing you, or maybe it was just shock that a bad day finally turned into a good day. all because of y/n.

how embarrassing.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

you always shined. people surrounded you all the time just to be around you. you were popular, everyone knew that.

ponyboy wasn’t outgoing but he wasn’t all that introverted either. he had the gang and that was enough for him.

but sometimes his eyes would wander towards where you and your friends were and wish he was over there with you, holding your hand.

ponyboy only had a good day when y/n invited him into stuff.

yeah, ponyboys had his fair share of good—even great days. but nothing like when you ask him to join you and your friends at the drive-in.

darry had gotten on ponyboy about his snide remarks during an argument, leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth for the rest of the day.

dally, johnny and ponyboy were walking into the dingo. dallas was talking about this broad he picked up last night while johnny and pony exchanged judging looks the longer dally went on.

the second they stepped in, they heard giggles and laughs in a booth seat. they sat at the counter, the old stools squeaking the second they sit.

ponyboy wanted to know who was having such a good day while his was absolute shit. maybe he could feel better about himself if it was one of dallas’ broads. he knew loads of embarrassing stuff about them through dally.

he leaned his elbows on the counter, slightly raising himself above his seat, trying to catch a glimpse.

that’s when he made eye contact with you. you were looking around the restaurant and just so happened to see ponyboy, looking like a weirdo.

he just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

you grinned, standing up in your seat. it’s been a long while since you’ve seen pony, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him.

“pony! come ‘ere!”

you shout, waving your hand. all your friends had turned to look at him. he got nervous, his palms started to sweat. there were some of the toughest greasers with you, so he thought they’d laugh at him.

they just grinned or gave a poor excuse of a smile to him before continuing their own small conversation amongst each other. he figured no one could really be mean with you around.

ponyboy got up out of his seat, his heart beating out of his chest. dallas was whistling as he got up with johnny trying to make him shut up.

when he made his way over, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stood infront of the table. everyone was looking at him again, tough looks on their faces now.

you flashed your famous smile and ponyboy’s body relaxed, getting a small, awkward smile on his face.

“are you busy friday?”

you ask, eyebrows furrowed. you were leaning on the table now, trying to get a good look at him.

he shook his head no, excitement filling his body. he felt butterflies in his stomach at hearing you ask that.

“good! i was wondering if you wanted to go to the double movie that night with me and my friends?”

a pink hue was now on ponyboys face. he could feel it and he knew you could see it.

he smiled, grinning from ear to ear. he put a hand behind his neck, rubbing it out of embarrassment. he looked away, not being able to meet your gaze with such a nerdy expression.

“yeah. i’ll go.”

he answers, finally looking back at you. the other greasers now with smiles on their face, yours sticking out to pony.

“cool! i’ll see you then, alright?”

you say your goodbyes, leaning back into the seat. suddenly—everyones small conversations didn’t matter anymore. everyone focused on you as ponyboy walked away.

the dread, anger, and annoyance in ponyboys body seemed to evaporate after speaking with you.

he kept thinking about friday, friday, friday. he was so into his thoughts, he didn’t hear dallas’ teasing or johnny telling him to shut his trap.

ponyboy’s terrible day turned into a good one in the matter of seconds. all because y/n invited him to go watch movies.

Sodapop Curtis ;

y/n l/n was a pretty lady. it wasn’t a secret. sure, she had other dudes interested in her but none too special.

y/n l/n was kind, had a one of a kind sparkle in her eye, and was that girl you could take home to mom.

sodapop curtis was that pretty boy all the girls talked about, the cute grease, the one you could—also—take home to mom.

they’re basically the same person. so, nobody was really shocked when they noticed that soda’s grin was wider whenever y/n came around the DX.

sodapop only has a good day when y/n comes around to buy a pepsi.

today at the DX was slow. yeah, there were a few customers here and there. no one worth remembering, though.

until you walked in. you had a small smile on your face—the one you always had. you payed no attention to sodapop at the register and immediately went to the drinks.

sodapop shot up immediately, his back straight and chest puffed out. he pretended to be checking himself out in the window, trying to act cool as you walked up to the counter.

“is this all?”

he asks, after pretending to be the coolest dude on the planet. all that, just so you can think about him in a positive light. soda knows you see the good in everyone but he wanted to be the one to stand out.

he wanted you to think of him the way he thinks of you.

you nod your head, smiling as you pull out your wallet.

soda stops you, pushing the pepsi bottle closer to you.

he leans on the counter, his elbows supporting his weight. he looks up at you, grinning. you looked down at him, lips parted and eyes wide.

“it’s on the house.”

you grin from ear to ear, putting your wallet back. you were about to grab your drink before stopping yourself. you put your hand on the space next to it, resting it there.

“really?”

“totally.”

soda confirms, tilting his head. you flash a smile, teeth and all before grabbing the drink.

you thank him, rushing to the door. before leaving you look back at him, waving goodbye. sodapop gets off the counter and waves back, the smile never leaving his face once.

once he knows you can’t see him anymore, his whole body relaxes. he exhales, a pink hue adorned on his ears.

soda slams a hand on the counter, the other hand on his knee as he bends down. he’s acting like he’d just ran a marathon when in reality—he just talked to you.

his boring old day turned into a good day. a day he can look back on before he goes to bed.

Darry Curtis ;

you were kind to people you don’t know, talkative, calm, and children like you.

darry’s quiet, aloof, calm in a scary way, and children cry when he stares at them for to long.

darry knows of y/n, just like how she knows of him. they don’t know each other to say they’re friends, though.

but it seems that every time y/n offers darry something—his terrible day turns into a good, bearable one.

darry’s never one to incline more on his day rather than just saying ‘it was okay,’ other than those days. then it’s, ‘pretty good.’

it was real hot in tusla and unfortunately for darry—he was roofing houses today. he had no water, no shade, and a black shirt on. as if his luck couldn’t get any worse—he worked past his lunch break.

you were walking to this cute place you and your friend had set up to meet when you walked by the house with some unfortunate man working. he was sweating, panting, and looked like he was dying.

you felt awful about it and you looked for some sort of solution to help him. that’s when you remembered the water in your bag. you were saving it for later but—you can always buy another.

“hey, mister!”

darry hears a shout from below. he turns his head and looks down, meeting your gaze. he immediately feels, well—humiliated. he’s sweaty, not in the best clothes, and is probably beet red.

he puts his tools down, shoving his hands into any sort of pocket he can find. he stuck his hand into his nail holder and regretted the choice.

“yeah?”

you raised the water bottle up, extending your arm. you shook it a little. you’re on your the tips of your toes, trying to show darry the bottle better—just incase.

darry tried to focus on the bottle but his attention shifted from it, to you. even though tusla was the temperature of the sun, you didn’t have a hair out of place, outfit absolutely perfect.

“do you want it?!”

“sure!”

he agrees, nodding his head. you toss the bottle up, praying that the throw wasn’t too long or too short. darry caught the bottle with ease, not even batting an eye.

the coldness from the bottle shocked darry at first, but nonetheless—he spun the cap open and started chugging the drink.

you stood there with a smile, happy to help. darry took the drink away from his lips, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he looks back at you, a small smile on his face.

“thanks!”

“you’re welcome!”

you shout, walking away while waving. darry watched as you walked away, admiration filled his eyes.

it seemed like the water bottle was a good luck charm, the wind started to pick up, the sun moved to the perfect spot, and eventually—he stopped sweating.

when darry got home, soda was the first one to ask how his day was. he opened his mouth, ready to say, ‘it was okay,’ until he stopped himself.

he looked down at the crumbled and empty water bottle, thinking of you.

“pretty good.”

Steve Randle ;

y/n was understanding, nice, pretty, and hated violence in anyway.

steve was rude, loud, and always found himself in fights—verbal or physical.

no one really knows how the princess like y/n heard of steve randle. but it happened and no one can really stop it now.

steve found himself in a cycle. one day he could have an okay day because the tuffest car came into the DX or he’d have a bad day, a rude customer ruining it.

he only ever has good days when you come around to fill up for gas.

steve and soda were outside, cooling off. they were talking about god knows what before the coolest car pulled into the DX drive way. it went to the gas pumps, the two boys watching it intensely.

steve smacks sodapops shoulder—telling him to get inside so the person can pay. soda kisses his teeth and rolls his eyes, walking towards the entrance of the store.

steve looks back to the car, seeing you pumping gas. he felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs when he saw it was you.

he spun around, facing a window. he’s focused in on his reflection, looking for any food stuck in his teeth or a hair out of place. when he snaps back into reality, he sees soda laughing at him on the other side.

steve flips him off before walking away. he walks towards you, stopping right beside you. you look over to see steve, admiring your car. he had sparkles in his eyes the longer he looked at it.

you smile, giggling to yourself. he looks over to you, a small pink flush on his cheeks.

“tuff car you got, ms.”

he mumbles, shifting around. by this time, your gas tank was full. you took the pump out and put it back.

“thank you.”

you say, grinning. you begin to make your way to the DX, ready to pay for gas. you’re stopped in your tracks with a hand on your shoulder.

steve wanted to talk to you more, so he couldn’t just let your attention be drifted away so soon. he wipes off any dirt on his hands onto his uniform before stopping you from moving any further.

you look over your shoulder, looking at him with curious eyes. you tilt your head, eyebrows furrowed.

“it-it’s free. on me.”

he stutters. mentally—he’s beating himself up about how stupid he was for stuttering. his eyes shift from meeting yours to the ground.

you grin, who are you to decline free stuff? let alone gas. excitement was obvious from your expression to body language. seeing you this happy made steve smile—just a little though.

“seriously?”

“yeah.”

he answers, trying to seem cool and collected as if he didn’t just stutter 10 seconds ago. he lets go of your shoulder, stuffing his hands in his pockets. he raised his chin, acting nonchalant.

you chuckle to yourself. what’s so bad about this steve guy anyway? you think to yourself.

“well, thank you.”

you say, walking towards your car door. steve rushes to it before you, opening it before you can even get the chance.

he, himself didn’t even know why he did it. he just did. his hand gestures to the inside of your car, telling you to get in.

your lips are slightly parted, eyebrows raised. you smile, flashing your teeth as you get in your car—thanking steve once more before driving off.

soda ran out of the store, cackling like a hyena at steve. he didn’t pay any mind to his best friends teasing, his mind was only filled with you.

sure, the ac in the DX stopped working, sure he had a nasty run in with several customers today. but you made it all worth it. he’d be willing to do it all again if it meant he could retry you guys formally meeting, without stuttering.

Two-bit Matthews ;

y/n was known all around. you were that girl. you were sweet, pretty, a good listener, and pretty funny.

two-bit was also known all around. not for the same reasons, no. not in the slightest. two-bit was snide, can’t sit still, always has to voice his opinion, but also—funny.

two-bit has some days that are better than the rest, without a doubt in his mind. but anything that sticks out? hell no.

two-bit matthews only has a good day when y/n l/n laughs at his jokes.

two-bit was sitting in a car with a bunch of his bar friends. all the windows were rolled down to drown out the smell of booze in the vehicle.

he was making jokes left and right, his friends hollering without a care that the cars on opposite sides of them could hear.

“then—the poor bastard tries to hit me but winds up with a black eye, from his own fist!”

he howls, almost falling out of the car window because he was laughing so hard.

you and your friends were one of the unfortunate cars beside them. your friends were groaning and complaining. on the other hand, you found it rather amusing. you rolled down your window just in time to hear the end of his story.

you laugh to yourself, finding the way he tells stories endearing. two-bit heard a laugh that wasn’t obviously from any of his buddys—too cute of a laugh.

he looks to his right, seeing you laugh at his jokes with your window rolled down.

two-bit stops laughing and starts admiring you, your smile, your hair, you. you were just—wow. you look back at the car beside you, wondering why the man isn’t saying anymore jokes.

you meet his gaze, embarrassment replacing all emotions. your lips tighten as you look down, trying to play it off.

two-bit snickers to himself, finding you interesting. he leans out the window, half his body left inside the car.

“hey, pretty!”

he shouts, grabbing your attention. you smile, waving back to him. your arm was out of the window, attached to the door of the car.

“you must have some humour to ya if you’re laughin’ at my jokes, huh?”

he teases, laughing out loud. he looks down at the grass as he continues to find his words absolutely hilarious.

“well, i like to think so.”

you respond, letting out a breathy chuckle. even though you didn’t find his words as funny as he did—his laugh sure did make up for it.

“if you think ‘m so funny, why don’t we hang out sometime, eh?”

two-bit offers, a giant grin on his face. you smile at his question and just as you were about to answer, your friend cuts you off.

“like hell she would, two-bit!”

they shout before driving off, obviously pissed off at his antics and jokes. you stick your body out the window, waving goodbye to two-bit.

he waved back as he watched the car you were in disappear. yeah, he was sad you left. but shoot, knowing y/n thought he was funny was the brag of the century!

two-bit had a terrible hangover the next day. he wished he could say he regretted drinking that much, but he really can’t.

because you turned a night he should regret into a night he’ll remember.

[scoonsalicious]

3.4 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of Bucky's past, minor fluff.

Word Count: 482

Previously On...: Bucky and Lily went out to brunch, and Bucky lied about his upcoming plans with you.

A/N: I'm going to let you all know well in advance that, once I finish posting through Chapter 5, I am going to take a small break from updating so I can write (I'm thinking maybe a week, tops). I've had some things going on recently that have been taking up a lot of my mental and emotional energy, which has prevented me from being as invested in the story as I want to be, so I need to take some time to get myself in the right headspace to where the story just flows out. I'm currently only two chapters ahead, and that makes me nervous, so I would like to build my buffer back up again. So, there will be a pause in updates starting on Tuesday, May 14th, and updates will resume on Tuesday, May 21st. I do hate doing this, and I know that, as a reader, it's so annoying when you have to wait between updates, but it needs to be done in order to provide you with the best story possible. I probably should have taken more time between finishing Unwanted and beginning to post With Friends Like These..., but I was too eager to share it with all of you to wait, lol. I want to be upfront and honest with all of you ahead of time, so I hope you understand.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You’d spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon digging up everything you could about Bucky’s trial. At first, you were getting nowhere, not being able to find any information about ‘Bucky Barnes,’ but then you nearly slapped yourself on the head when you recalled Lily referring to him as ‘Jamie.’ Obviously, ‘Bucky’ was a nickname, and once you searched ‘James Barnes + trial,” you were nearly overwhelmed by the number or results you got.

Meticulously, you went through them, as if you were gathering intelligence for a military op. You read all about his history in World War II with Steve (which, admittedly, you sort of already knew about from Nat), but things took a turn when you discovered he’d been declared MIA: Presumed Dead, only to resurface around 2014.

You nearly started crying when you read what had been done to him– the loss of his arm, the experiments, the serum, all under the control of the terrorist group, Hydra. The brainwashing. And you really did start to cry when you read about what Hydra had made him do for them. The assassinations, the murders. Screw whatever Zadie and Rand thought. This poor man was a victim. One who didn’t deserve to spend a moment behind bars. Your heart positively broke for him. 

You were wiping the tears from your eyes when Zadie popped her head in. “Hey, Major,” she said, a devilish smile on her face. “You got a delivery.”

You look back at her, puzzled. You weren’t expecting anything. Getting up from your chair, you made your way to the front reception area. There, on Zadie’s desk, was a beautiful gold bowl holding a live fuschia orchid plant. 

“There’s a note!” Zadie squealed, bouncing on her toes and wringing her hands together in excited anticipation.

Biting your lip, you reached over and picked up the note. Unfolding it, you tried to make out the messy scrawl:

‘Major,

Thanks for bringing some beauty into my life last night. Figure it’s only fair I return the favor. Looking forward to seeing you tonight for dinner. - Bucky’

“Oh. My. God.” Zadie picked up a piece of paper from her desk and began fanning herself. “I don’t care how many people that guy murdered,” she said. “That’s the most romantic fucking thing I’ve ever seen!” She paused. “How did he even know orchids are your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” you said, gently running your finger along the edges of the soft petals. “I guess I’ll have to ask him tonight.” You looked back at the note, rereading it, and smiling. You felt your stomach fill up with butterflies, as though you were a sixteen year old girl again, getting flowers from a boy for the very first time. God, but this man seemed absolutely perfect. 

But you were never this lucky. You couldn’t help but wonder when the other shoe would drop.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[heliosundercover]

Oblivious dick Grayson

Dick, "Am I missing something?" Grayson. A great leader, brother, and friend. But he's horrible at picking up signals, even though he’s a flirt himself.

 

Dick had constantly fumbled the bag. He had a tendency to completely miss signals; it became a joke between his friends.

 

"Wait, you’re telling me she was giving me “fuck me eyes.” Ha, you’re hilarious,” Dick says in air quotes after being told some girl on the street was flirting with him, as if it were unbelievable that he gets female attention. 

 

But with you, he was suddenly hyper-aware, hoping that he wasn't missing something with you. 

 

"Was she flirting or being nice?" He sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Today he bumped into you at the supermarket, and you complimented his hair, saying that it looked soft. You even leaned in super close, like you wanted to touch it.

"Dick I don't know. How'd you get that from what do you want on your pizza, dude?" Jason replies, rubbing his temples. 

 

Everyone thought this crush on a random civilian was getting a bit ridiculous, especially since she was clearly interested. But in his mind, he couldn't fumble this one. You were different, like you were too good for Gotham when you first met; he knew almost instantly but somehow missed the blatant attraction you had for him.

Dick wasn't the type to believe in love at first sight. 

But that night, he started wondering if it was real. When he first saw you, you were sitting in a bar drinking with a group of friends when he walked in, and he couldn't take his eyes off of you, and neither could you. At some point, you said fuck it and went up to him, chatting it up; it was an instant connection. But of course he missed your signals, thinking you weren't interested at first. It wasn't until you wrote your number on his hand and hearts around it that he realized you were attracted to him, but somehow he still felt like the guest could be friendly. The simple gesture has him thinking the entire night.

 

It took so long for him to ask you out officially; he had been too afraid to ask you out, afraid that he had misinterpreted your feelings. But when you agreed, his face lit up. Weeks of torment were finally over. You agreed to go to a small cafe for something casual.

 

Dick was on mission today. He was on a mission to not miss a single thing about you. Over the past few weeks, he has been meticulously honing his observation skills, pouring over self-help books, and practicing mindfulness. He's been so deep in this self-imposed mission that he has ended up ironically missing the most important thing: your clear, no longer subtle, signals of affection. 

 

You look up from your phone, and your lips curl into a smile that could make any man's heart flutter uncontrollably. You tilt your head gently, and he swears your eyes shimmer with a playful glint. That's your signal. It's always been your signal. But Dick, bless his soul, misses it entirely. He's too engrossed in everything, down to the intricate details, missing the big picture in the process. 

It was driving you crazy. Weeks of flirting felt like it was going nowhere, then suddenly he asked you on a date. It was so confusing. It had you thinking you were the issue. 

"Do you want to order anything?" Dick asks, his eyes glued to the menu. You giggle softly. He was cute, all focused like that, like the menu was the most interesting thing in the world. Gently shaking your head, suddenly it clicked. He was just nervous, overthinking, or both. After you've been trying to get him to notice the signals for weeks now, Dick was just being a bit awkward.

 

"Hey, Dick," you murmur softly, extending her hand across the table to gently touch his, causing him to finally look up. You meet eyes; you can see him searching your face for anything, and you giggle again.

"Im going to be honest here, Dick," you squeeze his hand softly. 

"I've been flirting with you for weeks, and I can't tell if you're not interested or what, but it's driving me mad."

 

His eyes go wide, and the irony of the situation kicks in almost immediately. This whole time, he was so focused on not missing something that he missed weeks of flirting that he wanted to kick himself. 

"No, no, it's just," he laughs, like the weight of the world is off his shoulders. 

 

"I like you too; I like you a lot, actually, but I was so afraid of reading the situation wrong that I ended up doing just that."

 

He laughs again. His laugh sends relief down your spine, so you weren't crazy; he was just overthinking it. It was kind of cute knowing that you made him flustered. 

 

The date pretty much flies by after you get over that not-so-small hurdle. The connection had been there for weeks, so it was easy for you two to talk. And when the date ended, neither of you wanted it to end, so he walked you home.

 

"I really liked spending time with you. Do you want to see me again?" 

He asks when you get to your apartment door. The question makes you roll your eyes. 

 

"No, I don't want to see you again," you say jokingly, but you see the panic on his face.

"Of course I want to see you again, Dick. I really, really like you."

You step closer to him, and suddenly the hallway is fifty degrees hotter. Dick looks down at you, and his breath hitches.

You stand in the hallway for what feels like eternity, just looking at each other. 

 

"Do you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you right now?" Dick breaks the silence. 

 

"I thought you'd never ask."

His hand cups your cheek, and his eyes look so beautiful that even in the horrible lighting of your apartment building's hallway, they never leave yours. You suddenly realize how close you are standing—close enough to see your reflection in his gaze. You see anticipation, desire, mirrored in your own eyes, and something else. Something deeper, something that makes your heart flutter. It was a really intimate moment. 

 

But Dick just had to make a joke.

"Just making sure I'm not missing something, and you like me, right?"

You can't help but giggle, playfully pushing him away.

 

"Yeah, this means I like you."

Laughing softly, you place one more kiss on his cheek before going into your apartment.

 

Dick couldn't help but celebrate silently when your door was fully shut. When he got back to the manor, he had a noticeable smile on his face.

 

Damian looks at Jason with a raised eyebrow when they see him happily skipping by. 

“So do we think that girl is real? Orrr…”

 

“For his sake, yes.” 

Jason looks back at what he was doing, and the room is back in a comfortable silence. 

So i just wanted to say thank you sm for loving my Jason fic! I started on wattpad and stuff on wattpad takes forever to get noticed/ popular i look forward to writing more but i genuinely expected it to not take off how it did:)

Im working on a thank you piece with more dc characters called “how they talk about you”

[shamrockqueen]

Omega retreat : Chapter 2

Pairing: Alpha Bucky × Omega Reader

Warnings: R18, Eventual Smut, Not what it seems, talk of medical issues/illness, dating site, ABO dynamics

Word count: 2477

Chapter 1

Bucky masterlist

Summary: As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat.

You are paired with a compatible alpha to spend your heat or just a week at a luxurious cabin at a forest resort. Amenities and Utilities included. Enjoy the beautiful scenery, fresh air, as well as the company of an alpha of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong?

The blue screen of your laptop lit up the dark and gloomy room as you booted it up and set your sights on the internet explorer icon.

Your eyes shift back and forth from the slightly crunched flier to the keyboard as you type up the website in the search bar.

Upon clicking enter, there is a cascade of red and pink hearts across the screen before the main page comes into view.

From the photos, it seems kind of like a glamping thing, with each couple or pairing having their own semi-remote cabin.

Singles retreats weren’t a new concept—not that you’ve ever been to one, but this would be a whole week alone with a stranger, a man, an alpha.

That familiar twang of anxiety twisted in your chest at the thought, only for it to be snuffed out by another.

‘We all have to grow up at some point’.

You eyed the two packages listed on the screen, one labeled as Silver and the other Gold. The silver package went by, Forget me knot.” and you felt yourself chuckle a little at how cheesy it sounded. It was a 4-day stay at one of the cabins with an alpha provided by the website's dating algorithm.

The Gold package had another cheesy line listed as “Heat of the Night." It listed a full-week stay for the duration of the omega’s heat with your new Alpha.

The prospect was, of course, very tantalizing, but it still didn’t fail to make you nervous. You had never spent a heat with someone before, and it seemed a little scary. Was a week with a stranger worth seeing what you were missing out on?

You clicked the icon for the Gold package without thinking further, blinking at the screen as it shifted to the sign-up page. You’d only wanted further info but it looked like only members could access it. It was, however, free to sign up, a claim made by many websites and apps before it. Yet, even at the free level, it seemed you could at least get to look at the Alpha bachelors they had in their database. Just another step to pull you in closer to spending the big bucks.

It asked for a photo at first, making you hesitate before finally deciding on one simple photo of yourself. It had been your birthday, and your mother was by your side, hugging your shoulder. You had to crop out most of your mom, but your big smile still beamed just as brightly across the screen. You typed in a shortened version of your name for your little profile, along with your age, before clicking the next button.

The page flipped to a quick questionnaire, asking about your likes and dislikes—everything from your bedtime routine to your bedroom habits. It barely toed the line of TMI, but you supposed it had to be thorough to find you a match. You clicked through each question, making sure every answer felt right. Before you could tell, it had been half an hour and you were only almost finished. You snuggled yourself into your plush couch as you finally clicked the submit button.

A little spinning heart pops up on the scream alongside ‘finding your perfect match’ underneath it. The heart spun around on the screen until the loading bar hit 100 and the page shifted over to show your results.

Your eyes widen at the selection of handsome men flooding the screen. There are more Alphas flashing over your computer than you’ve ever seen in one small space, and already there are too many to choose from.

Part of you figured that to a seasoned romantic, it would seem like small potatoes, but to you, it was more men than you knew what to do with. The only distraction that could tear your eyes away was a heart-shaped character at the corner of the screen babbling away in a little text box. His happy little demeanor reminds you of a certain talking paperclip from old office software. Only you found this little guy less irritating.

‘We have selected 20 of your most suitable partners. Please choose from the profiles below to chat and find your match.’

You clicked the speech bubble away, only for another to pop up.

‘Don’t forget to check out our selection of getaways for your official meetup’ popped up across the page.

You clicked again, and another bubble came after.

‘If for any reason you are unsatisfied with your matches, please take the quiz again.’

You take the little heart man’s words into consideration before clicking back towards the alpha profiles.

The first was a rough-looking man named Brock. Too macho for your type, and you shied away from his profile immediately.

The next one was a sweet, gentle-looking man named Steve. He seemed really interested in a lifetime mate, but as romantic as it seemed, you just weren’t too sure that was what you wanted just yet.

It was a little overwhelming. All these men were stunning, and yet the scared little omega inside of you kept turning tail at the gleam of each of their smiles, leading you to click at the next button again and again.

You’d gone through 12 profiles until you stopped on his picture. His brown hair sat at the base of his neck, looking soft and supple enough to tangle your fingers through, and his smile was immediately infectious.

The name James ‘Bucky’ Barnes sat below the photo in bold, but you barely noticed as your gaze locked on his light, smiling blue eyes.

You feel both your heart and your core flutter, leading to a wave of warmth and a bit of unearned embarrassment. You didn’t think any further before clicking his profile, showing you more about this ‘Bucky’.

It gave a broad list of hobbies, his likes and dislikes, as well as so many more dreamy photos.

His profiles stated he was interested in a mate but “wanted to test the waters first." Not interested in being too serious, but not scared of a commitment.

Even though this man seemed like an absolute dream, you couldn’t help but second-guess yourself. Yet, the butterflies in your stomach overpowered the worries in the back of your mind. You let your cursor hover over the match button on his profile before slowly clicking down on the mouse and watching with bated breath as the screen changed again.

That little heart man, now less animated, was the last sight you saw after you clicked. He was accompanied by a few speech bubbles saying, “The alpha you have chosen will be notified; please feel free to browse our events as you wait.”

The word ‘events’ was lit up in another color separate from the text and clearly a link to the rest of the website. At the end of the day, they WERE trying to sell you something, but curiosity got the better of you, and you clicked the link without another thought.

You looked over the two packages they offered and let your cursor hover over the gold package. You stared at its short description, comparing it with the smaller vacation bundle that sat beside it on the screen. You think it over and cautiously click on the icon.

The prices were the first thing that struck you, as none of them were very expensive for what they were advertising. Saving a few bucks always seemed to sweeten the deal, but it really made it all seem too good to be true.

The resort has a full staff available in case of an emergency and are simply a call away. All meals would come in the form of meal kits or ready-made gourmet dinners, as well as a selection of wine and spirits for those 21 and over.

There was a little policy note at the bottom, in smaller letters.

“All reservations are refundable upon cancellation 7 days before the date of the reservation. If you cancel your stay after 7 days, you will be charged a cancellation fee. In the event that your desired partner declines your match, you will be prompted to choose another alpha from the list given to you.”

The idea of being rejected by a stranger online made some of the appeal wear thin. You x-ed out of the pop-up, only to notice a notification lighting up your screen.

He had matched with you immediately, causing another flutter of hearts to pulse over the computer for one moment. On the little message icon sat the number one to indicate somebody had reached out to you, and you clicked on it right away.

The chat room opens up on your screen to show a little chat box bubble saying, “Hi beautiful ;)". The old-style winky face gave his age away and made some of the insecurities in your belly melt.

This 'James' had matched you so soon, and to have him reach out to you on your screen still made you nervous.

The bouncing dots popped up below the first message to indicate he was still typing. You're frozen on the spot as the messages just keep popping up.

“Hello?”

It seemed a bit impatient, but you didn’t think to care; you were too thrilled by this new encounter.

“Hi, sorry, I was..” Oh god, what could you say? “…away from the phone.” Not true, but telling your possible new beau that you were frozen with fear upon seeing his message seemed, well, lame.

“That’s ok.”

“You new here? I haven’t seen your profile before.”

“Yeah. I just signed up.”

“Does that mean I was your first choice? ;)”

You felt you should be honest after your previous fib, and answered immediately.

“ I just saw your profile and clicked it right away. I didn’t expect you to get back to me so soon.”

“Leave a beautiful Omega like you waiting? Not a chance, doll.”

Every word made the air grow thinner, making your head just swim in the rising heat that started to subtly overtake your body. It was such a new feeling to have warmth in your body feel so good.

Those three dots danced across his next speech bubble, and you waited every second for his next word.

“Have you ever been with an alpha before? I’d hate to come on too strong and scare you away.”

Your breath felt shallow before you answered truthfully. “No, I haven’t.”

There have only ever been two people you’ve given yourself to like that. Two particularly nice betas who just couldn’t help you as you needed, but tried anyway. Being with an Alpha seemed like so much more of a big deal, but the idea of a big, horny monster sinking their teeth into your flesh makes you start to hyperventilate. It was permanent, and you didn’t want to just throw away your forever to someone who could be cruel to you.

But something about this felt different. He looked so soft and kind, you could nearly feel his finger gently caressing your cheek as each word popped up on your screen. Something about this encounter felt safe.

You typed without thinking, letting the question fill the screen as anxiety ate away at the warmth that once sat in your belly. “Does that bother you?”

You waited for a response, watching those little dots until they disappeared without a new message. A solid minute felt like an eternity, and your heart sank further as each one ticked by.

You typed out a quick “I’m sorry," hoping you weren’t the one scaring him off instead with your lack of experience.

You breathed a sigh of relief as his response popped up. “Do not be sorry. There is no problem with wanting to wait.” Followed by another “I feel like a lucky guy.”

“I guess I’m just a little embarrassed; I’m glad it doesn’t bother you.” You typed away, fully engrossed in his attention.

“Don’t be; that kind of thing means more than you’d think in this day in age.”

It popped across your screen, giving you much-needed relief, only for the next message to set your nerves ablaze all over again.

“What made you decide to join the site?”

It popped over your screen faster than you could shoo it away. The reason for you was obvious after dragging yourself through that doctor's office. You needed help, and somehow that simple red flier had shown out to you like a beacon on a stormy shore.

You wanted to be honest, but some things felt better kept close to yourself than within the reach of others. You answered with the shallow truth.

“Dating can be difficult. I found the advertisement today and decided to check things out.” You tapped the enter button and sent the message, but your fingers continued to type. Maybe it was an attempt to keep his questions from probing into your answer even further, as you sent him an inquiry of your own.

“What about you? What made you decide to join the website?”

The laptop sat silently, aside from the whirring of its little fan. No bouncing dots, no indication of his response. Maybe his reasons were somehow more personal than your own.

You began to lose a little faith as the chat room continued to sit empty until his chat bubble finally popped up. Each second it took for the words to show was a second too long.

“I’d say it’s about the same. I guess I just wanted to try something different.”

“And how’s it working out so far?”

“I’d say, far better since you popped up.”

It was such a cliche line, but you loved it. You even laughed a little as you typed back.

“That fast, huh? It’s been less than a day "

“But you’ve already made my whole week.”

It brought an immediate smile to your rosy face. It was so fun—almost a fantasy. No danger, no recourse, no fear. You looked back at his little picture on the screen, his smiling face; it was a far cry from any other alpha already, and you hadn’t even seen him in the very flesh.

But it had been less than a day, and it was an obvious blow to this little oasis that had built around you in the matter of minutes. You didn’t want this moment to end, not when reality was waiting for you afterward.

The hours passed as you did each playful word with this ‘James’.

“I can’t wait to meet you, Omega.”

Your heart fluttered to an unnatural rhythm the moment it popped onto your screen.

"Omego,” you repeated his use of your denomination.

For a whole week, you could be the omega to his Alpha. You thought about the glamorous getaways your matchmaker had advertised. So you thought that, just maybe, that could be you.

Chapter 3

Tag List : @bethyruth-deactivated20231124 @scott-loki-barnes @wintrsoldrluvr

[deliciousangelfestival]

Underworld Insomnia - 5

Character : assasin!Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

What could the CIA want from Bucky? He had never worked for them. And for someone like August to walk into a bar where contract killers gathered, it had to be something precious.

The reason must be you and Conroy. August came here to get you. Remembering how you ran from your captors to save Conroy, Bucky realized you must have been running from August, too.

“I won't give it,” Bucky said firmly. He admitted he knew what August was after but wouldn't help. Why should he? You were the answer to his insomnia.

August chuckled, a sound that held no absolute amusement. “I should’ve known. Sadly, I thought we could be partners.”

“Working with the CIA? That's a fairy tale,” Bucky replied, smirking.

“Not them. I’ve gathered talented people to make the world a better place. You're a perfect addition to the organization,” August explained, his tone growing severe.

“Greenpeace? No, thank you,” Bucky shot back, his smirk widening.

August took a breath and sighed, his expression one of exasperation. “It seems like you won't take any of this seriously.”

Bucky tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, giving a look that said, "You don't say."

Before leaving, August offered one last piece of advice. “Don't trust her that much.”

He knew it must be about you. This took Bucky's attention, and August smiled. “I knew she has a charm. But... it's not just us who wants that boy.” After August said those words, he left.

Bucky was left with lingering doubts, questioning you for a moment. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it. The CIA was known for sowing seeds of doubt to ruin someone's trust.

How could someone like you, who was willing to enter this den of killers to hide Conroy from people who wanted to get him, be anything but genuine?

That was dedication—a rare quality in this messed-up world. Bucky gulped down his whiskey, trying to forget what August had said to him.

💤💤💤💤💤

He returned to his place, burdened with the decision of whether or not to tell you the truth about meeting August—the person who had forced you into hiding. The moment he stepped into the house, he heard the sound of tiny footsteps. “You're back!” Conroy welcomed him, wearing only pajama pants.

You were chasing him, holding his pajama top. “Conroy, I'm not done yet. And it's impolite,” you said, putting the shirt over his head.

Conroy puffed his fluffy cheeks. Then he looked at Bucky, his head moving left and right as if searching for something.

Bucky knew what the kid wanted. He chuckled and patted Conroy's head. “You can't have chicken every day. It's not good for you.”

Conroy puffed his cheeks and grabbed Bucky's hand. Then he stopped. “You met him,” he said, running to hug you.

Bucky flinched and looked at you. You were surprised too.

“How did you know?” Bucky asked.

“His smell still lingers on you,” Conroy said, pinching his nose.

Bucky sniffed himself, wondering if it was true. But he remembered that Conroy was a ‘little Sherlock.’ What made him nervous was what you thought.

“I didn't tell him,” Bucky said.

“I know you won't,” you replied, looking at him while calming Conroy.

Bucky felt a pang of heartache seeing the little kid. “Who is this August Walker?”

"Let's sit down first." You contemplated whether to tell Bucky the truth, but knowing August had come here meant he wasn't playing cat-and-mouse anymore.

“I told you before that we came from a facility,” you said.

Bucky nodded.

“And August Walker is… how should I say this? He's the supervisor of the facility and…” you hesitated.

“And…?” Bucky prompted.

“He's Conroy's uncle,” you admitted.

Bucky widened his eyes and gasped. “Let me get this straight. Conroy and he are related, but you both hide from him?”

“Because he's a madman!” you said, glancing at Conroy, who had fallen asleep on your lap. You gently touched his cheek with your finger. You couldn't let August have Conroy.

August has this crazy idea. He planned to make a better world, but the truth is, he wanted to create the perfect soldier. That's why he wanted Conroy back. His nephew was the fastest successful human subject—high IQ, independent, strong, and never sick.

Bucky kept silent as he processed this, looking at the kid who was still sleeping peacefully. His heart ached at the thought of what Conroy had been through.

“Don't worry. I won't let them near you,” Bucky promised.

“Thank you. Thank you,” you said, tears of relief in your eyes.

Bucky nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He would protect you both, no matter the cost.

💤💤💤💤💤💤

The next day, Bucky brought you and Conroy to a kindergarten known for its safety and secrecy. It was a gray area that even other killers couldn't reach.

Conroy looked at the kids his age. He turned to the adults and asked enthusiastically, “Can I join them?”

“Sure, buddy,” Bucky said.

Conroy ran to join the other children, who welcomed him eagerly since there weren't many kids around.

You felt a wave of relief and happiness seeing Conroy so excited. Turning to Bucky, you said, “Thank you. You're a great help to us.”

Bucky felt a warm flush of shyness and something more as he looked at you. He wasn't used to such gratitude; your smile made his heart race. He was starting to have feelings for you, a realization that both excited and scared him.

“Do you want to pick him up together later?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile.

After dropping Conroy at the kindergarten, both of you went your separate ways. Three hours later, Bucky found himself at Dr. Ben's practice, eager to pick you up. He had arrived early, hoping to surprise you.

He didn't see you at the reception desk when he walked in. Perhaps you had stepped out for a moment. He glanced out the window and noticed a park across the street.

There, he saw you talking to another man, the conversation looking secretive. Being a killer made him keenly aware when someone was lying or hiding something. From what he saw in your body language, you were clearly hiding something.

Bucky's heart sank as August echoed: “Don't trust her that much.”

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[sidekick-hero]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, prompt "spring" | wc: 1.000 | also written for the Stranger Things writing guild prompt "new beginnings" to celebrate @pearynice's birthday 💜| tags: second chances, blind date, exes to lovers, modern au

Eddie often wonders why he can't say no to Chrissy. It's become as much a part of his life as his love for Metallica or his ambidexterity. Whenever Chrissy insists, "You can't stay home every night and mope, Eddie. It's time to get out there and meet new people. You should start dating again, Eddie. New city, new opportunities." he tries to reason with her. He explains that he's not moping, for heaven's sake, and that he's meeting lots of people through his guitar lessons. He insists that he's content to be single. But Chrissy is relentless, wearing him down until he finds himself clad in black jeans and a burgundy button-down he never knew he owned, heading to his favorite bar to meet the mysterious blind date Chrissy has arranged for him.

Chrissy hasn't provided much information about the guy, just that he's about Eddie's height, athletic, and apparently very handsome and 'dreamy' - whatever that means. Eddie isn't convinced that this is his usual type, nor is he sure that he fits the bill for what this guy might be looking for. But Chrissy has a point; it's been over five years since Eddie's last serious relationship, and none of the guys he's dated since have been anything more than casual flings. Maybe it's not such a bad idea to try something different.

Since moving to New York eight months ago - first as Chrissy's roommate, then as her friend - Eddie has been searching for a sense of purpose. Los Angeles had lost its allure; too superficial, too jaded, too artificial. The only real connection he had there was Steve, who left the city and Eddie years ago, leaving Eddie adrift. Eventually, Eddie came to terms with the unlikelihood of his rockstar dreams and decided it was time to face reality.

Hence his move to New York in search of a fresh start. And maybe, just maybe, a chance at a lasting relationship - one that can mend the Steve-shaped hole in his heart.

It's hope more than anything that brings Eddie to the Hideout to meet his blind date on a warm spring night in late May. According to Chrissy, the guy would stand out with his overly preppy attire - a stark contrast to the Hideout's dive bar atmosphere.

The bar is bustling, as usual for a Saturday night. As Chrissy predicted, Eddie spots his date almost immediately - not because of his outfit, but because of the familiar figure perched on a barstool, nursing a beer.

It's Steve Harrington sitting across from Eddie, every bit as captivating and alluring as the day they first met seven years ago, when they were both waiting tables in Los Angeles.

The moment Steve spots him is unmistakable and his wide eyes convey that Steve, too, had no idea that Eddie would be his blind date - a twist of fate that brings them together again after so many years and miles apart.

"Steve," Eddie croaks, his throat dry and his heart racing as he approaches. "I had no clue, I swear. If I'd known Chris was setting me up with you, I would've warned her that you'd probably never want to see me again. Been there, done that, right?" He chuckles nervously, realizing he's on the verge of putting his foot in his mouth - his usual tendency. "God, I'm so sorry, really."

Steve continues to stare at him, blinking as if trying to make sense of the situation. Slowly, like shifting tectonic plates, he returns to the present, acknowledging the awkwardness of being set up on a blind date with his ex.

His voice, slightly breathless, finally breaks the silence, accompanied by a faint smile. "Well, you didn't ramble quite as much on our last first date."

Eddie can't suppress the laughter that bubbles up from within him, recalling fondly their first first date. "I have no idea how I pulled that off, to be honest. I was so nervous, I thought I was going to puke."

Steve's laughter fills the air, drawing a grin from Eddie. "Yeah, you looked even paler than usual, and the bar for that was actually pretty low."

"Oi, just so you know, it's called alabaster skin and it's considered very sexy."

Steve lets his eyes roam over Eddie's slender form in a way that still manages to fluster him, heat creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks.

"Sure," he agrees easily after a moment's pause. Then, meeting Eddie's eyes, Steve continues, his tone serious. "Listen, I had no idea you'd be my blind date, but now that we're both here... maybe we can catch up? It's been a while, and truth is, I miss you. I've been thinking a lot about you, about us. I know we broke up for a reason, but I feel like... maybe we could've tried harder, y'know? I could've tried harder."

That's so Steve, Eddie thinks, feeling a pang in his chest. He's never met anyone who wears his heart on his sleeve the way Steve does.

Pulling a five-dollar bill from his pocket, Eddie places it on the bar before reaching out to Steve. "Wanna get out of here? Take a walk and talk?"

"There's nothing I'd rather do," Steve replies, intertwining their hands as they leave the bar and step out into the warm, spring-scented night air.

They find themselves in a nearby diner, where they spend the night talking - about their past, their present, and, tentatively, their future. They only part as the sun begins to rise, a soft kiss goodbye all they allow themselves to end this magical night.

A kiss and a confession.

"I'm so glad we got a second chance, Eddie," Steve whispers, voice full of sincerity. "I don't want to start it off with a lie.A friend stood me up; that's why I was at the bar. Not as your date."

Spring, with its promise of new beginnings, has never smelled sweeter, Eddie thinks as he kisses Steve again with a grin on his face.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

candy girl 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you’re about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend’s dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

You sit on Magni’s bed, your back to the wall as the noise of an engine revving comes from the sound bar vibrating under the large television at the other end of the room. He hunches over the controller as he races his digitized foes and you try to see the race around him. You’re dead board and all that grease is making you sleepy. 

You yawn and check the time, looking for some segue to get out of there. He swears at the screen and throws the controller, giving you a start. He’s so wrapped up in that game, he might not even notice if you just left. 

“Woah, Mag, it’s just a game,” you sit forward with a nervous giggle and eyes the screen, “second isn’t too bad.” 

“Second won’t get me the trophy,” he sneers. 

You get on your knees and crawl across the bed, reaching for him. As you touch his shoulder, he stands kicks the rolling chair by his gaming desk. You wince and sit back on your heels. 

“Mag, chill out,” you whine. 

“Don’t tell me to fu--” 

“Getting late,” Mr. Odinson’s voice cuts through his son’s as he pushes the door fully ajar. You made sure to keep it halfway open.  

“Uh, yeah,” you turn and bounce across the bed, thankful for the interruption. When Magni gets like this, he’s scary. And for what? Some Forza? “I should head out.” 

“Mm, driving home in the dark isn’t very safe,” Mr. Odinson comments, “you don’t have to go.” 

You flick your lashes and give a strained smile, glancing over at Magni. You’re definitely not bold enough to stay the night with his father there. You search around and grab your bag from where it hangs from a dresser knob. 

“Really, I should just head out,” you insist, “you two, enjoy the leftovers.” 

“Well, er, I made up the couch in case...” Mr. Odinson begins and shrugs with one arm, “I just thought, well, you’ve worked all day and--” 

“God, dad, you’re lame,” Magni puffs, “she can just stay in here.” 

You yawn and your hips ache. You can feel a day of driving throbbing at the base of your spine. You don’t really want to make the thirty-minute drive home. The couch is a happy medium. 

“Really, thanks, .” you stammer, “if you don’t mind, I will crash on the couch. Gotta be out early though.” 

“Great,” he drops his hand, “you know where everything is.” 

“Dad,” Magni groans, “why are you even here?” 

“Love you too, son,” Mr. Odinson scoffs. 

“Um, I’m tired, so I’ll...” you look around, “I’ll lay down. Night, Mag.” You cross the room to offer him a kiss and he rolls his eyes. He leans down and you peck his cheek, turning back as Mr. Odinson looks conveniently at the floor. “Alright, uh, good night then.” 

You go out into the hall as Magni grumbles and you hear the noise of him exiting the end screen to start another race. He hardly seems to care about anything beyond his X Box. You trod down to the front room and see the couch neatly made up with a sheet across the cushions, two pillows, and a quilt.  

“Wow, thanks,” you say as you put your purse on the end table, “awesome, Mr. Odinson.” 

You pull back the blanket and sit, still in your uniform, and stretch your neck. You look at Mr. Odinson as he watches you and give a sheepish grin. Is he expecting something? 

“Um, right,” he claps his hands, “I was going to offer, if you needed, something to sleep in? I think one of my shirts might fit.” 

You look down at yourself then at him. You shrug. Probably. He is a pretty big guy. 

“If you don’t mind, but I can manage,” you assure him. 

“Not at all,” he assures and trots off. 

You stand as he leaves the room and take off your belt, easing the pressure around your middle. You’re stiff all over. You fish your phone out of your bag and check the time. The battery is about to die. You find your charge and bend over the side of the couch to reach the plug behind the end table. You groan and strain until you manage to hook the prongs into the socket. 

You stand and brace your lower back. As you turn around, Mr. Odinson is right there. You wince and let out a strange hiccup in surprise. 

“Oh, I didn’t hear you,” you trill, “thanks, Mr. Odinson.” 

You take the shirt as he offers it. 

“You know you can call me Thor,” he intones, “you’ve been around long enough.” 

“I know, it’s... habit, I guess,” you clutch the shirt to your stomach.  

“I’ll, er, leave you to it then,” he backs up, “you know where to find me if you need anything.” 

“Sure,” you smile and sit down again, stifling another yawn as you tuck your chin down. 

“Good night, little one,” he drawls and slowly stalks off, his footsteps creaking down the hardwood. 

You wait until you can’t hear him then unfold the shirt. It’s a light weight fabric with a logo on the left side of the chest. Probably one of many. Usually, when you come around, he’s on his way to some gym session or he’s in the basement beating the boxing bag. At his age, he’s a lot more active than you or your peers.  

You peel off your uniform shirt and groan as you unhook your bra. Your chest drops heavy and your massage it for a moment. You pull on the fresh shirt and undo the button of your fly, letting out a sigh. Much better. 

You reach behind you and shut off the lamp, the house growing dark. You lay down and let yourself deflate. Oh, that’s a nice couch. It’s even better than your bed at home. Everything about the Odinsons’ is nicer; quieter, too. 

You jostle onto your side and nestle into the cushions, tucking a hand under the pillows. The stretch in your back muscles feels nice as you bend your legs, one hip popped up as you poke a knee out from under the blanket. 

Your eyes close and you welcome the scratchy fatigue that makes your lashes cling. Sleep always comes easily. You’re usually too tired to think and your dreams unfurl in a surreal repetition of reality. You can hear yourself snoring but don’t rouse at the low rumbling. 

It isn’t until the pressure settles in your bladder that your eyes open. You’re on your back, the weight of your chest throbbing in your spine. Oof, you don’t usually sleep like that. You pull down your shirt as it’s ridden up your stomach and the blanket pools around your feet, messed in your deep slumber. 

You push yourself up and stagger to your feet. You rub your eyes as you come down the hall, the darkness pulsing around you. You look up as you hear the hardwood creak but find the space empty. You near the bathroom and drag your feet inside. 

You close the door and tend to your full bladder. As you come back out, you’re hardly more awake. You hear snoring coming from Magni’s room. It must be pretty late if he’s asleep. 

A light flicks on, nearly blinding you. You blink over at the open archway into the kitchen. Mr. Odinson’s naked back faces you as he pushes a glass against the fridge filter and the water flows out.  

His back is thickly muscled above the waistband of his grey pajamas and a little bit of extra doughiness bulges over the sides. His arms are corded and rounded with strength and his grey hair fans over his broad shoulders. He hardly seems small before the fridge as he leans and drinks the water thirstily. 

You tear your intrusive gaze away and head back to the living room. You pull the quilt up as you recline, your pulse thumping behind your ears. You don’t know why. That moment just felt strange. Like you shouldn’t have seen him. 

You close your eyes and hum, rolling onto your side once more. The floor creaks and you open your eyes. You yelp as a shadow stands in the doorway. The light flicks on in the hall and Thor stands in its sheen, giving a toothy grin. 

“Didn’t mean to frighten,” he still has the glass in hand, “came down to get water and was just checking in.” 

“Mm, okay, thanks,” you utter and hug the blanket around, “just surprised me is all.” 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, “sleep tight, little one.” 

He flips the light off again and you listen to his departure, his feet taking each step decisively. Your adrenaline continues to flow through you. Or maybe you ate too many garlic knots. 

[milliondollarwomen]

Well Hello

tom blyth x fem reader

word count 1.9k

mature content 18+

https://www.tumblr.com/daemonslover/740468521162653696/well-hello-part-2?source=share

Part 2 ^^^^^

overview: you meet him and the bar and he has to claim you.

hey y’all this is my first time writing like this! so please let me know if you guys liked it.

As you entered the bar, you could hear people talking and drinks clinking. A captivating figure was leaning casually on the counter. His commanding British accent drew you in right away. You decide to head over his way to see if he will notice you and as you stand next him waiting for the bartender he looks at you. "Well, hello," this mysterious man greets me. His smile is charming without being overly cheesy and he possesses dark curly hair that isn't too curly, along with the most stunning blue eyes you've ever laid eyes on. He was probably wondering why I did not react after I stared at him for a while.

"Hi" you responded not knowing what to do or how to act and all he did was say hello but already you felt anxious. "Are you from around here, love?" The way it slipped from his lips, love, was enough to make you melt. "No, I just moved here for graduate school. I'm going to NYU, and you?" When you told him you were a graduate student, he tilted his head slightly, which made you wonder what it was about that interested him; however, you refrained from making too much of it. "Ah well, congratulations, but yes, I am, and I've been here for quite some time,"

you were intrigued and wanted to learn more about him. As he spoke, he sipped from his cup; you couldn't help but notice the way he held it, how it landed on his lips, and how his Adam's apple bobbled as he swallowed. It was enough to make your mouth water. It was puzzling to you how a guy you had only known for five minutes could evoke such strong emotions in you. "so, what do you do for work or are you in school as well?"

With a look of surprise on his face, he shifted his gaze towards you. "I do a lot of things, none of which concern you, dove, but I would love to buy you a drink. So tell me all about yourself." you can't say that you blame him for avoiding the subject; after all, you are just an odd woman who wants to know where he works or if he's in school. In the course of your conversation, you told him that your undergraduate major was sociology, that you were lonely here, and that you had hoped to make some new friends if you ventured out more. After blabbing your mouth for the next 30 minutes, you realized how open you were to this man you had never met. He may be a murderer for all you know. His eyes pierced through you as you pondered why you told him these things about yourself, and then he assertively said, "Tell me what you're thinking about." It jolted you out of your nervous thoughts, "I just told you about myself and I have no idea who you are."

Unexpectedly, he grinned at you. To him, it seemed like you were exactly where he wanted you to be. Before you stepped next to him, Tom spotted you—even though he hadn't planned on meeting a woman tonight. He could tell you were a newcomer to the city. Your awkwardness when approaching the bartender for a drink and your rushed search for someone to talk to was clearly noticeable. He could see right through you. He took pleasure in the idea of dominating others, particularly those who sought out his presence and placed their trust in him. Claiming that you were lonely and in need of someone sparked his interest in you.

He grasped your fingers, entwined them, and rubbed circles around your thumb. "my love, let me apologize for my rudeness earlier I just don't open up to many people but you have made me feel comfortable." This made you feel relieved. "I'm a teacher, but I grew up in Birmingham, I moved here a couple years ago for the job and have loved it ever since" He realized he needed to exhibit his softer side to entice you back, and that is exactly what he did. The way your eyes softened when he discussed relocating here and teaching made him want to do unexplainable things to you. This was so easy for him all he had to do was throw the word love or dove around and you would cave.

After that, you gradually picked up on his flirting, massaging your thumb, and calling you pet names. With the courage of alcohol, you thought you could seize this opportunity. You move forward and whisper in his ear, "Well I think teachers are sexy," and you can see his jaw clench as he realizes how forward you are being with him. He glanced at you with passion before grabbing your waist. You were so close you feared you'd be unable to breathe. "Don't start something you can't finish," his aggressiveness made you weak in the knees. You began to feel the warmth rise between your legs. All it took was you to look at him like you were begging for him to be inside you. he grabbed your arm and lead you out of the bar. "you're coming home with me" this instantly made you regret your decision, you'd thought it be fun to tease him but you didn't think he would take you home.

Before he called a taxi, you looked at him with nervous eyes, "Honestly I should get going, I just moved in and need to get settled I-" before you could finish your sentence, he pulled you to the side and leaned into you, "Oh dove, you can't tease me in there and expect to get away with it" he lightly grabbed your throat and ran his hand up to rub his thumb across your mouth, "You're going to be a good girl okay?" This made you think this man is bad news, but his dominance over you gave you chills. "okay I'm sorry" was all you could manage out of your mouth.

When we arrived at his place, all you could see was how immaculate and tidy it was. Coming from college, most boys/men's homes are awful. After scanning the room, he observed how interested you were. Simply adoring you. You look over at him as he sits on the couch, straight passion in his eyes. This made you want to puke since you knew what he wanted. "Come here" he said, making your stomach drop. you cautiously approach him, and he places his hands on your shoulders and forces you to your knees. "Now I just met you and I understand you may not know how things work but teasing me and then trying to back out isn't going to work dove" As he reprimands you, he effortlessly puts his thumb into your mouth. He moves it around, gets wet, and rubs it against your lips. Your eyes were wide and large, ready for his next move. This makes your panties soaked for him.

He keeps a close eye on me, knowing that you have no idea what his next move will be. With that, he unbuckles his pants and removes his boxers, revealing that he is very well endowed. His cock is extremely hard for you. You observe how the veins transport so much blood to the tip. It's crimson with precum. "Now be a good girl and suck my cock," he demands. You shove him into your mouth and beginning to bob your head back and forth. He immediately begins to grunt as he watches you suck him off. "Fuck, you're being so good for me," he says. It makes your pussy ache for him. Looking up at him and seeing him appreciate your lips around him only makes you desire him more.

You get bored of giving him head, which makes him angry. He grabs the back of your head and fucks your mouth till you are unable to breathe. After he is pleased, he pulls you up and clutches your neck, "You will stop when I tell you to stop." This instills terror in your eyes, which turns him on and uses to fuel himself. He pushes you onto the couch and begins pulling your clothes off left and right. He hovers over you while you lay there naked and exposed. "Please touch me" you implore. "Please what?" he taunts you, as if your pussy isn't throbbing to be touched. "Please, sir, please touch me" and he begins to rub circles on your pussy, causing you to jerk and squirm. He enjoys witnessing how easy it is to fulfill you.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," you moan, and he promptly stops. "You don't tell me what to do, I've been too passive with you; you need to learn a lesson," he says as he flips you over and shoves his cock inside you. His size made you shout out, unable to adjust. After a few strokes, pleasure begins to surge in your stomach. "Sir, you feel so good." Those words caused him to slam into your tight pussy even harder. "You're such a good girl, taking all of me in your tight pussy." Hearing him speak to you in such a humiliating manner turned you on. His cock began to twitch inside you, eventually spilling all of his seed. He pulled out and watched you collapse on the couch, watching all of his sperm run out of your pussy.

"you are mine now"

Two weeks later

It had been two weeks since you last saw the man you met at the bar, and you still hadn't gotten his name. You awoke this morning ready to begin the day because it was your first day of graduate school. You were worried but eager to begin courses. You'd gotten up, showered, blow-dried, and styled your hair. You wanted to make a good first impression because you did not know anyone yet. You put on light makeup and got dressed.

Fortunately, when shopping for apartments, you discovered one close to campus, so you could walk to your first class. Today, you had your first class at 9:00 a.m. Walking through New York, you simply absorbed everything in, watching people and soaking up your surroundings. You had a feeling this was the right place to be, and you were excited for the journey to begin. When you arrived on campus, you entered the building and found your classroom. You arrived a little early, so you decided to walk in and take a seat. There were a few students already in the room.

The girl sitting next to you looked over and smiled, "Hi, my name is Emily," which let you relax even more. "Hi, my name is y/n." With that, we began talking about where we were from and what other classes we were attending. The class became larger, and it was finally time to begin. The professor strolled in and said the normal hey, my name is yada yada. After reviewing the curriculum and taking notes, a man walks in. "I'm sorry for being late, professor; it won't happen again." Before lifting your head, you knew that British voice. It made you shiver in your chair. "Sorry for the interruption, class. This is Tom Blyth; he's been working for me for two years and will be assisting this semester." You cautiously raise your head, hoping it's not who you think it is. And there's the man you met in the bar, smirking at you.

[comet-forgot-you]

Hiii comet, how are you? I'm the anon who asked for bassist reader x Max (reader eats Max backstage after the show) and it was the most perfect thing I've ever read!!

I was thinking about a part 2 (if you want to do it, if you don't want to that's fine!!) where R's band need to hire a photographer to take their pictures for an album and it turns out Max is the photographer hired, so they pose for the photshoot and at the end R tells the band to go ahead and stays behind to help Max "organise her stuff", but R acutally ends up eating Max again (reader loves giving Max head confirmed!!). At the end R is trying to ask Max out on a date but it's too nervous about it and Max is like "🤨🤨 you just eat me out like its the air you need to live and now you can't ask me out? 🤨🤨" but kind cocku about it because well its Max... she'll be cocky about it!

Again only write this if you feel like it, no pressure and no need to do it 🫶🏼🫶🏼

yes ofc bby. pt. 1 here.

smut. 18+ pls.

do not repost for any reason.

music blasted through the speakers of your car as you sped down different streets, heading to some rundown part of town for a photoshoot. your band had grown over the past few months, your fans begging for any new music from you guys. you had spent almost 2 years working on your newest album, and it was finally finished and ready for release.

you pulled into an almost empty parking lot, the only other vehicles there being ones of your bandmates. you parked next to them before getting out, heading into the studio. your band’s music rang through the small building and you followed the sound until you found them.

“late as always,” your drummer, alex, spoke the second they saw you, a bright smile on their face.

“shut up,” you mumble, moving to join their small group, wrapping an arm around the guitarist. they laugh at you and you cant fight the smile that makes its way onto your lips.

“this is max,” alex introduced, nodding over to the girl standing in front of them, camera in hand. you recognized her the second you saw her, of course you did. you hadn’t been able stop thinking about her after the concert. she always seemed to pop into your mind the second you were horny and alone in bed. you always thought back to the pretty noises she made, her taste, her smell, her. you has been hoping you’d meet her again at some point, this time making sure that you would see her again.

“max,” you mumble, nodding towards her, “nice to see you again.” a faint blush crosses her cheeks at your greeting, a smirk pulling at your lips.

“hey,” she greets quietly, suddenly nervous.

“wait you guys know each other?” you look over to your bandmates, nodding.

“yeah, met her at the last concert.” you glance over to the girl, the memories of your last encounter running through both of your minds. she nods slowly in agreement.

“lets get started, yeah?”

hours pass before the shoot finally ends, your bandmates starting to head out, talking about heading to a bar. “i’ll catch up with you guys later, i’ll stay and help her out.” your group exchanges looks before nodding, shooing you back into the studio.

the music had changed since your group had walked out, changed to a much softer tone of music. “max,” you call out, walking into the now empty studio. she lets out a startled scream, jolting at your sudden appearance. you cant help but laugh, shes so cute.

“jesus fuck, you scared me. i thought you guys left,” her hand is against her chest as if she were slowing her racing heart.

“im sorry,” you laugh out, leaning over slightly. “im sorry. they left, but i forgot something, had to come back.” why did you lie? your heart was pounding and you could feel your cheeks flush. max looks around the room, searching for anything you could’ve left behind, but you fix her attention back to you.

her large eyes meet your own, flickering down to your lips. “hi,” she says shyly. you smile, letting your hand drop from her jaw to her neck.

“hi,” you whisper back. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” you confess quietly, eyes flickering down to her lips. max’s head tilts slightly, eyebrows furrowing.

“im surprised you remembered me,” she mumbles quietly. the statement makes you scoff, hand dropping even further, holding her hip.

“how could anyone forget you? i told you i wanted to see you again.” max looks away, flustered. she scoffs.

“yeah right, im sure you say that to everyone.”

you don’t. you tend to be forgetful, never seeming to maintain a memory of names, but max’s stuck with you like it was handwritten in your brain. “i don’t.” max rolls her eyes, her hand dropping to hold your wrist. you tug her closer to you, “can i kiss you?”

max doesn’t respond, her eyes searching your own. your eyes cant choose where they want to be, flickering between her eyes and lips. “please,” it’s desperate, you need to kiss her so badly.

max doesn’t respond, her hand instead cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. her lips are soft, and you’re reminded of when the first time when she told you her name, the way she bit her lip.

you take her bottom lip between your teeth, tugging it as you moved to press kisses against her jaw. max’s hands find your head, her fingers tangling in your hair. “i need you,” you whisper in her ear, your hot breath sending a shiver down her spine. max takes your hand in her own, tugging you through the studio into a small lounge area. she tugged you on top of her as she laid back on the small couch, your lips connecting once more.

your hands wander all over her, you fingers caressing the skin just beneath her clothing. “please,” she whines out, arching into you. you smile against her lips, pulling her shirt off. your trail kisses down her body, sucking deep marks into her pale skin. one hand held you up, the other struggling with her jeans, too caught up in covering her body with decorations of you to focus your full attention on getting her pants off.

the second you’re able to unbutton her jeans, you pushing yourself off of her, pulling the denim off of her, underwear, too. your eyes meet her soaked cunt, the one you always thought about. you’re tongue is on her before you know it, lapping away at her folds.

max is a whining mess between you, unable to keep herself still. her whines slowly turn into moans as you continue against her cunt, your tongue swirling around her clit in a slow, teasing manner. max’s fingers tangle in your hair once more, bucking into your face.

“stop,” she groans out, referring to your teasing actions against her pulsing clit. you cant help but chuckle, the vibrations leading to more moans from the girl. your tongue goes from teasing her sensitive clit to prodding at her entrance. “please,” max is desperate, she needs you as badly as you need her. you give in almost immediately.

you wrap your lips around her clit, fingers slowly sinking into her cunt. its more like they’re sucked into her cunt, her pussy greedily taking you in. “fuckk,” you groan out against her cunt. her walls flutter around your fingers, a pathetic whimper leaving her lips.

you scissor your fingers in and out of her, lapping at her cunt like it was your final meal. max arches her back off of the couch, pushing her cunt into your face. she was close, you remember the way her body reacted the last time.

her walls clamped around your fingers, loud moans bouncing off of the walls. its not long before her orgasm is washing over her and you’re lapping it all up, not a single drop wasted.

you help her ride out her orgasm before fetching her clothes, the ones you had thrown mindlessly throughout the room. you were stalling, really, trying to build up the courage to ask her out.

you handed her her clothes, watching her intensely as she redressed herself. she glances up at you, eyebrow raising. “need something?” you swallow your nerves, now or never.

“you, um. i just wanted,” you huff at your inability to get yours words out, eyes avoiding hers. “i just, do you, fuck.” this was so stupid, how were you stuttering this badly trying to ask her on a date?

max scoffs, pulling her shirt over her head, “you just ate me out like your life depended on it, whatever it is you’re trying to say, say it. quit being nervous,” she spoke,

moving to stand only inches away from you. you reach a hand out to hold her waist, her words making you feel even more nervous. you groan out, head falling back slightly before you respond.

“do you want to get dinner sometime?” max smiles, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“yes, i do.” she smiles, walking away from you to retrieve a pen from the small table beside the couch. she holds her hand out and you place your hand in hers. she writes her number down on your palm, the sensation making you want to cringe but you stay still, too afraid to pull away.

the second she lets go of your hand, you’re pulling it back to read the numbers written down, they’re clear, a small heart drawn beside it. you don’t even make it out of the building before you’re entering her phone number into your phone and saving her contact. you didn’t want the ink to accidentally smudge, did you?

[geeminz]

ᯓ A CHANGE OF HEART // giselle x oc ; smau

03 | the exit

↳ in which: mihye has been secretly dating giselle, her best friend’s older sister, for four months. what happens when their relationship turns toxic, and their secrets become public?

word count: 2.1k

taglist: @thefckghost @emphobics @jisooftme @xszn @gtfoiydlyj @wonysugar @bluhuir @baewonlove

a.n. GUYS i am so so so SORRY for the insanely long wait! also i'm so sorry for not being able to go with the double update, i was busy getting my graduation affairs in order T^T to those who are still up for reading this, i hope this update can make up for my absence!

at the strike of the sun’s blinding rays, mihye’s eyes fluttered open and awake. her first instinct was to stretch her arms out and search the bed for the warmth owned by the person who was supposed to be sleeping beside her — which, to her dismay, was alarmingly absent. upon realization that she was all alone in her bed, mihye jolts awake, and panic settles in her body.

giselle’s not here.

she must’ve gotten up early to make coffee — she always does.

…and she must’ve seen shotaro.

mihye blinks, and the thoughts sink in to her — as well as the acknowledgement of just how much trouble she’d be in later.

i am so fucked, mihye thinks to herself. in a flash, she harshly wipes the thick covers off of her body, and her cold feet slip right into her slippers. mihye sprints out of the room, opening the door to the sight of a giselle behind the bar counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee — just as mihye expected.

and across her was shotaro, who seemed to be enjoying his own cup as well.

“good morning, mihye.” giselle says, not even bothering to look at her girlfriend — who was still in a daze at the scene unraveling in front of her.

“had a good sleep?” giselle continues, this time sparing mihye an empty glance – one with so little emotion; one that made mihye nervous due to how inconspicuous giselle’s true thoughts were.

there is a man in my living room. mihye starts to shake. giselle hates it when i have someone over, much more when i have my male friends come over.

she must be fuming right now.

“you okay?” giselle asks once more, this time, a hint of worry laced the older’s words. the question snaps mihye back to reality, and she nods her head lightly to answer giselle.

the younger approaches the two, and she makes eye contact with shotaro, who seemed to be just as clueless — if not more — as mihye. with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes switch from giselle to mihye, and to mihye and giselle again, just alternating his perplexed stare between the couple.

‘what the fuck?’ the boy mouths, and mihye shakes her head, eyes widened, to answer him.

“want coffee?” giselle offers, and mihye nods. hesitantly, of course. giselle takes this as her cue to get to work and make mihye (who stood like a little deer in headlights) a fresh and warm cup of coffee.as the younger girl observed giselle, she sensed a darkness around giselle, and a feeling that something was definitely brewing, and it wasn’t mihye’s coffee.

silence flooded the entire room, and neither shotaro nor mihye wanted to disturb the eerie peace looming over the three of them. luckily (or maybe not), giselle was there to break the ice.

“so, shotaro. how long have you known about me and my girlfriend?” giselle says casually, but each word coming out of her lips feels like a thousand sharpened knives, all pointed towards mihye’s feet. mihye’s eyes stay peeled, her senses all going alert. it hasn’t even been 10 minutes since she woke up and she already has to deal with both giselle’s smoothly masked fury and shotaro’s… well. shotaro’s self.

“like a month ago? i don’t really remember. why do you ask?” shotaro replies honestly, trying to understand the situation as it unfolds in front of him. he sees the rapid blinking of his friends eyes, and just like that mihye’s anxiety infects him like a disease.

shotaro’s never seen how mihye and giselle interacted before, and to him, this all feels like the disturbing calm before the storm.

“mihye and i… we’ve been dating for 4 months. but we haven’t told people yet. it’s our secret.” giselle says, before turning around and giving the boy an empty yet cold stare. shivers run down shotaro’s spine. the oldest spares him a small, almost non-existent smile, before handing the cup of coffee to her girlfriend who was frozen in her place.

“drink, baby. i know you’re tired from all the drinking you did last night.” giselle gently says, and mihye takes her words like a command. once the warm coffee hits her tongue, mihye almost lurches from how bitter it was.

giselle stares at her intently — as if confused at mihye’s reaction. mihye stares back at her.

giselle knows i like my coffee sweet.

so why…?

then it clicks. and mihye feels pieces of her heart chipping away inside her.

we’re definitely fighting.

mihye drinks the coffee anyway, despite the flavor of the coffee making her nauseous. she wants to vomit — but she’s scared of giselle right now. 

this is giselle punishing her.

upon seeing mihye continue to drink the coffee, giselle turns her attention back to her girlfriend’s friend. shotaro scrambles for a response to giselle’s statement.

“i know you guys aren’t public yet… so, yeah. if you’re scared that i told anyone, i didn’t, so don’t worry.”

giselle just nods and her eyebrows lift. “well, thank you for understanding, shotaro. i’m glad mihye has you as her friend.” 

the three went mum after giselle’s statement. the word ‘friend’ rolls off of giselle’s tongue like subtle poison — with each second the three spent in total silence, the potency of the poison grows and with it, mihye’s pain and worry.

as soon as giselle turns her back on the two of them, mihye quickly sends shotaro a signal with her eyes. when the boy gives her a bewildered look, mihye mouths:

‘leave. right now.’

and shotaro nods.

“oh um, wow! w-would you look at that! my roommate’s texting me now,” shotaro makes up a total lie as he hurriedly places the cup of coffee on the counter, and rushes to grab his other things on the living room of mihye’s apartment. “... uhh she says i have to go help her with… um, her computer. i have to go now.”

giselle gives him a nod, while mihye tracks her every move with only her sight.

“thanks for the coffee, giselle, and uh… yeah. take care mihye. text me for… whatever.” shotaro says as he reaches the door. he shoots mihye one last concerned glance, before exiting mihye’s apartment — leaving the couple together.

an uncomfortable silence falls upon the two for a few seconds. in mihye’s hands was still the cup of bitter coffee that giselle handed her, and giselle leans on the kitchen counter with her arms crossed.

as always, it was giselle who blows up the peace.

“you told him?!” giselle yells — arms now uncrossed, and mihye could only sigh. she puts the cup down on the counter.

it’s starting.

“i didn’t. he found out — “

“you are unbelievable, mihye.” giselle shakes her head at the younger girl, who seems defeated. uncomfortable in her position, and unable to shake off the anger seeping within her, giselle harshly walks away from the kitchen and someplace else. somewhere not near mihye.

“how could you be so goddamn careless?!”

“i really didn’t tell him! it was taro who put two and two together, okay?! i swear i didn’t give him any ideas about us! please believe me, giselle.” mihye begs and attempts to approach giselle. giselle moves away.

“and you even had him sleep over here last night. you know how i feel about other people staying here! especially men!”

mihye shuts her eyes in frustration. “shotaro’s not like that, giselle. and for the record, this is my apartment.”

“and you’re my girlfriend! you shouldn’t be having people sleep over every single time i’m not here!”

“you saw taro sleeping over one time, giselle. one time! why are you making it seem like i had a whole ass house party here last night?! if anything, i was waiting for you to come home! it just so happened that taro needed a place to crash!” mihye tried to explain, but based on giselle’s head shaking and her refusal to make direct eye contact with her girlfriend – just staring off into the distance with total disappointment in her eyes.

“you were waiting for me?! then what the hell are those bottles?” giselle points an accusing finger at the empty bottles of soju on the corner. mihye follows the direction in which giselle was pointing at, and feels her heart break.

“shotaro brought those to console me, okay?! he knew i was miserable here because you! were! ignoring me! you weren’t picking up my calls, and you weren’t answering my texts!” the words come out from mihye’s lips like jabs thrown towards giselle.

mihye hopes giselle would just back down after this revelation, but to the younger’s dismay, it elicits a totally different reaction. giselle’s once stoic, almost unmoving facial expressions had contorted into unbridled fury in a snap.

“you told him that we were fighting?! mihye, what the fuck is wrong with you!”

at this point, mihye sinks down on herself and begins crying. upon the sight, giselle feels her heart soften, and she halts her fit of anger for a moment of silence. giselle lets mihye cry, but she doesn’t let herself console her girlfriend. giselle breathes, and closes her eyes as she listens to the sound of mihye’s sobs.

once mihye gathers herself – not fully yet, but just enough to be angry again, she throws an accusatory look towards giselle. “well how about you giselle? where were you last night? what were you doing? were you drinking all night long with your number one best friend karina?” mihye spits out, and giselle gives her a confused look.

“what? why are you even bringing that up now?”

this time, mihye gets back up on her feet. “am i not allowed to question your whereabouts? i’m your girlfriend, right? so i have the right to ask where you are and what the fuck you were doing at a club so late at night! and with karina, too!”

“what the hell is your problem with karina?” giselle shouts back at her, this time getting all up in her face about it. mihye looks up at her with nothing but tears and anger in her eyes. 

“you’ve always been giving me shit for hanging out with karina when she’s been by my side since we were in high school! she’s my best friend, mihye! she was there for me when no one was!”

“then maybe you should have just fucking dated her, giselle!” mihye yells, and giselle backs off, a disbelieving look plastered on her face.

“w-what…?” giselle stammers, but mihye’s not done yet.

“you’re always with her when you’re not with me, you’re always going to her whenever we fight! do you even know how that makes me feel?! you’re always so vague about your… activities with karina, and i never question you about it! so don’t you dare tell me that i give you shit about her because i keep calling you and texting you, but you never pick up when you’re with her! do you have any fucking idea how that makes me feel?! i feel like i’m always blindly trusting you — always! but what do you do with me, huh? you always get suspicious of me when i’m with my friends, you get mad at me when i have people sleep over in my own house – hell, you even pick fights with me when i’m hanging out with your own fucking sister! and i’m the bad guy? does that sound fair to you, giselle?!” mihye chuckles angrily after delivering her furious piece.

giselle just stares at her incredulously, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows crunching.

“what, giselle?! you can’t say anything? i trip over myself trying to explain things to you when you’re mad at me but when i’m the one asking you questions, you can’t even say shit to me?!” mihye lets out her anger once more.

unsurprisingly, giselle can’t take the heat (or refuses to). so she turns away from her teary-eyed girlfriend, grabs the keys to her car, and goes for the door.

mihye laughs, but nothing in her current situation is worth laughing for. “and now you’re running away?!”

giselle leaves without uttering another word.

the sound of the slamming door is deafening, and just like that, mihye is alone in the solace of her empty apartment once more. she collapses once more, her mind still stuck on the fight that occurred earlier. she replayed the words that giselle yelled at her, and the ones she had let go as well. she crawls around the carpeted floor of her house, and heads towards the living room. mihye drags herself towards the seats of her couch and continues sobbing there. by a force of habit, she reaches out for the plushie that giselle gifted to her — a fluffy seal plushie, which she clutches as tears spilled from eyes.

shotaro left, and so did giselle.

now no one else is left to listen to the sound of her anguish, but herself.

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