#message in a bottle: coco!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

purplereina11 · 9 days ago

Text

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 14 Other Parts

Wordcount: 9.5k

Final 3k comes with a warning ⚠️🔞

The training ground felt quieter not empty, just… less vibrant. The internationals, including Alexia, had all left for camp. Their absence left a noticeable gap in the energy of the place, and in your chest too, though you didn’t show it.

You arrived at campus early, Teddy tugging on his lead beside you, happily sniffing at patches of grass outside the facility while you sipped your coffee. It was a comfort, having him there a little piece of normal, you greeted the security staff, a few physios, and the handful of players who were still around.

Ellie jogged up beside you, breath visible in the cool morning air, Jonny bounding behind her. “Teddy pulled you here again?” she teased, grinning.

You gave a small smile. “He’s the boss.”

Inside the training building, it was a slower morning. No buzz of media, no chaos of full-team sessions. Just five of you left, including a couple of the younger players.

You went through your session, focusing on touch work and small drills, pushing through the quiet with an intense kind of purpose. If nothing else, football gave you structure something to hold onto.

Afterwards, in the gym, you and Ellie stretched out next to each other.

"You okay?" she asked eventually, softly.

You didn’t answer right away, letting the silence sit for a second, then you nodded. "I think so. It’s easier when I’m busy."

Ellie offered you a bottle of water and nudged your knee gently with hers. “You’ve been a machine since the moment you landed here.”

“I don’t know what else to be.”

“Human?” she suggested, and you chuckled.

You glanced toward your phone on the bench, resisting the urge to check it wondering if Alexia had landed safely, if she’d sent a message, a big part of you missed her already, missed her grounding presence.

⚽️

Later, you sat in the lounge area of the campus, boots undone, watching Teddy nap beside you. The others were scattered, some in treatment, some lifting weights but you had a moment to yourself and that’s when your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Landed. Already miss you, Coco.

You smiled small, tired, but real.

You: Same. Just me, Ellie, and the dogs running Barça now.

Alexia: Then it’s in very good hands.

You stared at the message for a second, then typed out another one.

You: Come back soon.

A few seconds later, the typing dots appeared.

Alexia: I’ll come home.

Your phone began ringing you have expected it to be Alexia but when you saw the name on the screen, your heart did a little skip.

Sarina Wiegman

You sat up straighter, quickly brushing stray hair behind your ear before answering.

"Hello?"

“Hi, it’s Sarina,” she said, warm but straight to the point in the way only she could be. “How are you doing?”

You hesitated for a moment, not expecting such a simple question from her. “I’m… coping. Football’s helping.”

“I watched your debut,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “I was really impressed, not just with your performance, but your control, your form, your leadership. I wanted to call you personally.”

You felt your chest tighten slightly, like it suddenly became harder to breathe in a good way.

“There’s been an injury in camp,” she continued, “and we’d like to bring you in. I know it’s short notice and there’s no guarantee of minutes against Spain, but… we want you with us again.”

You blinked, absorbing her words. “Of course,” you said quietly, then stronger. “Yeah, absolutely. Thank you, Sarina.”

There was a pause on the line. “I know it’s been a hard time. We’re not bringing you in to add pressure, I just want you back in the fold on the run up to the Euros. We believe in you. Take it at your pace.”

That nearly undid you. “I’ll pack my things,” you replied, throat tightening as you tried to keep it together.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Travel details will be sent shortly. Safe journey.”

When the call ended, you just sat there for a second. Ellie wandered into the lounge with a banana in her hand, already chewing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she mumbled.

You shook your head, a smile forming slowly. “Sarina just called. I’m going to camp. Replacing an injury.”

Ellie blinked, then grinned wide. “You serious?”

You nodded.“No promises of minutes,” you added, still trying to process it all. “But she just… wants me there.”

Ellie tossed the banana on the counter and flung her arms around you, almost knocking you off balance. “You deserve this,” she said into your hair. “And I swear if you play against Spain and Alexia tries to mark you, I’ll be in the stands with popcorn.”

You laughed through the sudden burn in your eyes.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, it didn’t feel like you were just surviving anymore. You were still in it. You were still wanted and for now that was enough.

⚽️

The chill of English air clung to your coat as you stepped out of the car at St George’s Park, everything felt familiar yet foreign the long drive through the grounds, the crispness of the Midlands air, the low buzz of staff going about their routines. But this time, it was different. You weren’t just back at the national setup. You were walking in with grief stitched into your chest.

You barely had time to take it in before you heard it the unmistakable voice of Georgia Stanway.

“Oi! Look who finally decided to come home.”

You turned just in time for her to barrel into you, arms locking tight around your shoulders. She held on longer than usual, and you let her, burying your face into her hoodie for a second as you felt your lungs squeeze.

“I missed you,” she muttered, barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, mate.”

“Thanks, G,” you said thickly, pulling back with a watery smile. “Missed you too.”

From there, it was a chain reaction. One after another, the Lionesses made their way over. Leah was next, gentle and grounded as ever, her hug firm and steady. Lucy gave you a cheeky grin and a soft squeeze to the back of your neck, “Took long enough for you to get called back, superstar.”

Millie gave you a tight hug and a joking “We’ve been bored without you,” but you could see the compassion in her eyes.

Keira didn’t say much, just wrapped you in her arms and whispered, “Glad you’re here.”

You could feel it in the way they spoke to you their words carefully chosen, their energy warm but cautious. You appreciated that, you didn’t want a big scene, just their presence, their support and they gave it.

Even Sarina when you finally saw her, gave your shoulder a light squeeze, a flicker of softness breaking through her otherwise composed expression. “Welcome back,” she said. “Just take it day by day.”

As you set your bag down in your room later, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. This place, this team they weren’t just teammates, they were your people and today, that mattered more than ever.

Your heart warmed the moment you saw Alexia’s name flash across your screen returning your call quicker than you’d even expected. You stepped out of your room into the corridor for some quiet, and pressed the phone to your ear.

“¿Hola?” Her voice came through with a note of urgency, just enough to make you smile.

“Guess where I am,” you said, your voice playful.

There was a beat of silence, and then her hopeful smirk practically echoed down the line. “I’m hoping… naked in bed, because that’s an image.”

You burst out laughing, head tilting back against the wall. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“You called me,” she replied lightly. “Don’t act surprised.”

You took a breath and softened. “No. I’m at St George’s Park.”

There was a pause not long, but long enough for you to imagine the wheels turning in her head. “England camp?”

“Yeah. Sarina called this morning. Someone got injured. No guarantees of minutes, but… she said she was impressed with my debut for Barca so wanted me back in the fold before the euro’s.”

Alexia’s voice lowered, tender. “Coco… that’s amazing.”

You nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “Feels weird, coming back under all this, but it’s good. The girls have been unreal.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said quietly. “And I’m glad they called you. You deserve this not just for how you play, but for getting up and showing up.”

The knot in your chest loosened just a little. “Thanks, Ale.”

“I wish I could hug you right now.”

“Me too.”

“Although,” she added, teasing, “if you were actually naked in bed that would have been a better start to the conversation.”

You chuckled again. “I’ll save that image for your next FaceTime.”

She groaned dramatically. “Don’t tease me” but then she sobered, her voice gentler again. “Go show them what you’re made of. I’ll be watching.”

“I know.”

“I’m free for that FaceTime now by the way”

You smirked, eyes narrowing slightly at the way Alexia’s tone shifted all honey and heat wrapped up in playfulness. “Oh, are you now?” you leaned back against the wall again, glancing down the empty hallway to make sure no one was coming. “I thought La Reina was busy with national team responsibilities.”

“I am,” she replied, and you could hear her grin through the phone. “But I figured I could take a short… strategic break.”

“Strategic?” you repeated, laughing softly. “That what we’re calling it now?”

“You’re the one who dangled the idea of a FaceTime from bed, Coco. I’m just following through.”

You chuckled under your breath, already biting your lip as you shook your head. “And here I thought you were worried something was wrong.”

“I was!” she protested. “But now that I know you’re okay and looking incredible in an England hoodie, I can shift my priorities accordingly.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You're impossible.”

“And yet,” she said, voice low and warm, “you called me first.”

“Because you’re my person.”

There was silence on the line for a moment the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket. “Still up for that FaceTime, by the way. I’d like to see you… even if you’re not in bed.”

You glanced back toward your room, a smile curling slowly on your lips. “Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she murmured, before hanging up.

And sure enough, when you opened the app two minutes later, there she was already smiling, eyes soft and tired and full of something that made your chest ache. Not La Reina. Not the captain. Just… her.

“You’re too cute coco”

You tried to hide the blush rising on your cheeks, but it was hopeless especially with the way Alexia was looking at you through the screen, that lazy, fond smile lighting up her whole face. “Don’t start,” you warned, lips twitching as you bit back a grin.

“What?” she said innocently, propping her chin in her hand, elbow resting somewhere out of view. “I can’t call my girlfriend cute now?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said. You said you’re cute. Like it was a discovery.”

Alexia laughed, soft and genuine. “Fine, then. Still cute.”

You shook your head. “You’re dangerous when you’re in a good mood.”

She leaned a little closer to the camera. “No. I’m dangerous when I’m in love.”

The words hung in the air for a beat, and you swore your heart skipped at least two. You blinked, then let out a quiet breath. “That a confession, Putellas?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I just miss you already.”

You smiled, gaze softening. “I miss you too.”

“And you’ll crush it in camp,” she added, more serious now. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, but if you do get minutes against Spain…”

You grinned. “I’ll try not to nutmeg you.”

Alexia laughed, full and unfiltered. “Try. You won’t succeed.”

“We’ll see.”

There was a pause, just the two of you, quiet and wrapped in each other’s presence even from miles apart. Then Alexia whispered, “You really are cute, you know.”

This time, you let yourself blush. “Shut up” you laughed as she made herself laugh laying back on her bed going out of view, “It wasn’t that funny”

⚽️

The media room at St. George’s Park was buzzing. Cameras clicked into place, journalists leaned forward with recorders at the ready, and the hum of anticipation filled the space. You sat between Sarina and Leah, strategically placed by your captain and manager to protect you. you were trying to look calm even though your heart was beating a little faster than usual. It wasn’t your first time in front of press, but it was your first time back in an England camp since you were dropped due to no minutes and since everything had changed.

Sarina opened with some expected remarks. “We’re obviously disappointed to have had an injury in the squad, but we’re very pleased to welcome Y/N back into camp. She’s had a brilliant start at Barcelona and shown resilience and professionalism in very difficult circumstances.”

You nodded politely, eyes flicking to the front row where a few familiar media faces watched with interest. Leah leaned toward her mic. “It’s been really good to have her back. You’ve all seen what she can do on the pitch, but the way she’s carried herself personally? Honestly, it’s inspiring, she's made of strong stuff our Y/N and she's proving it that every day with what she's doing on and off the pitch”

You tried not to visibly swallow, that meant more than she probably knew then came the questions directed at you.

A journalist in the second row raised his hand. “Y/N, first of all our condolences on your loss. It’s incredible to see you here. Can I ask what it’s meant to you personally, being called back into the England fold?”

You took a breath, “Yeah, it means a lot. After everything, football’s been one of the few constants I’ve had, it's given me that outlet to leave whats happening away from football outside of the lines and just focus on whats going on between them. Being back here… it’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way. I’m grateful to Sarina, to the staff, to the girls. It’s felt like coming home, in a way and the support has been incredible.”

The next question came quickly. “There’s a lot of attention on your move to Barcelona and your debut certainly didn’t go unnoticed. How are you adjusting to life over there?”

You smiled slightly. “It’s been a whirlwind, but it’s an incredible club. The players, the staff, the fans… they’ve made it really easy to settle in. I’ve had support from some amazing people and players, which has helped, especially with everything going on off the pitch.”

Leah gave your knee a subtle nudge under the table giving silent support, without drawing focus. Another reporter raised a hand. “Sarina, could we see Y/N on the pitch against Spain?”

Sarina smiled. “We’re not making any decisions public yet, but she’s ready, and that’s all I’ll say. All the players are available”

There was a ripple of laughter, and the tone lightened for a moment, another question came from the back. “Y/N, there were rumours you had offers from clubs in England too. Was it a difficult decision to go to Spain?”

You nodded, thoughtful. “Of course. There’s a lot of quality in the WSL, and England’s home, but sometimes a decision isn’t just about football. It was the right move for me on every level and I don’t regret it.”

“Y/N, obviously Spain's squad is full of world-class talent, many of whom you’re now teammates with. Have you had much contact with them away from the pitch? And, if I may ask, what kind of captain has Alexia Putellas been for you personally, especially during your recent grief?”

You sat forward a little, heart picking up just slightly. You were well-practised with this sidestepping the personal while still answering the question. Alexia wasn’t just a captain to you, but very few people knew that. Not publicly. Not even all your England teammates.

You gave a small smile and kept your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve had a good amount of contact with some of the squad. A few of them have reached out since leaving for camp, checking in. It’s a special environment, there’s a real sense of unity at the club, and I’ve felt that straight away.” You glance across the room, keeping your tone light but sincere. “As for Alexia… she’s the kind of captain who leads by example. She doesn’t have to say a lot to make you feel supported, she's a steading presence around the club for sure. Whether it’s on the pitch or around training she makes sure you know you’re part of the team, that you’re seen.” You pause for a beat, the emotion threatening to edge too close. “And with what I’ve been going through personally… all of the girls, at Barça, here with England, and the girls from Bayern, have been incredible. So yeah, I’m really grateful for that.” You clear your throat as your voice wobbled, "It's been the hardest time in my life and" You nodded just the once, "I've needed all the support they've offered.”

Leah nodded beside you like she felt the weight of it. Sarina gave you a reassuring look she knew how careful your answer had been especially regarding Alexia. Another journalist started to raise a hand for the next question, but the echo of your words still hung warmly in the room.

You didn’t say “Alexia stayed with me every night for a week.”

You didn’t say “She held me while I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

You didn’t say “I’m in love with her.”

⚽️

Boots laced tight, shoulders squared, you stepped out of the England dressing room to bring up the rear of the line, the hum of the tunnel hit you immediately, camera crews shifting, match officials checking watches, and the thud-thud of adrenaline in your chest syncing with the bass of the stadium.

You saw her the second you lifted your head from sorting your jacket, Alexia was at the back of the Spanish line. Hands behind her back, shoulders held in that effortless calm she always carried, but her eyes, her eyes were already on you your feet hesitated, just for a beat.

She didn’t smile, she didn’t have to. The corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, but her gaze stayed steady. The weight of shared things passed silently between you in that moment, grief, growth, quiet nights spent holding each other together.

You gave a tiny nod, letting your fingers twitch against your thigh, just enough for her to notice. She did, her fingers brushed her wrist like she was adjusting her imaginary bracelet, but you both knew what it was acknowledging your signal, like a soft I see you too.

Keira turned slightly ahead of you. “Alright?” she murmured, eyeing the way your eyes lingered.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, dragging your eyes forward. “Just focused.”

Alexia finally looked away, fixing her gaze on the pitch ahead, putting on the professional mask again, but that invisible tether between you both was still there tight as ever.

You were doing your best to stay composed, eyes forward, jaw set but Georgia turned in front of you, catching the subtle exchange.

With her usual smirk and just enough sass to make you blink in warning, she looked between you and Alexia before muttering under her breath, “No flirting at work please.”

Your eyes snapped to her, mouth parting in disbelief as you tried not to laugh. “I wasn’t—” you started, instantly defensive.

Georgia arched an eyebrow. “Mate, you were practically having a silent romance novel in the tunnel. I'm just trying to keep professionalism alive.”

You nudged her with your elbow. “You’re impossible.”

She just grinned wider, clearly proud of herself. "Not to mention she looks like she's mentally undressing you right now" Georgia muttered, barely keeping the laughter out of her voice.

You huffed a short laugh, tugging lightly at your collars as if trying to hide the heat crawling up your neck. “I haven’t even put out in weeks, it’s not fair.”

Georgia coughed out a laugh, then caught herself, straightening with mock seriousness. “Tragic. Truly tragic.”

You nudged her side with your elbow. “I've had other things on my mind.”

Georgia hummed, "I'm still judging, no reason you shouldn't be hoping on that every chance you get" Georgia leaned even closer this time, voice hushed. “You know she’s listening to every word of this, right?”

You blinked, glancing sideways sure enough, Alexia was standing very still, trying very hard to look forward but her ears visibly pink, her jaw tightening like she was fighting a smirk. "With your accent doubt she's caught a word"

Georgia grinned, triumphant. “Girl is thirsty, babe. Put her out of her misery.”

You snorted, hand coming up to your face to scratch it in an attempt to hide your smile when Leah looked down the line. “You are not helping.” You muttered to Georgia

“Oh, I’m not here to help,” Georgia said, casually rocking on her heels. “I’m here for the show.”

Alexia hadn’t heard, or at least didn’t react, she was focused, totally poised, but as you walk beside her on the way onto the pitch, just for a second, her hand brushed yours ever so slightly a finger coming out to run along yours, barely noticeable but definitely deliberate and Georgia was definitely going to bring it up again later because she of course saw.

⚽️

You were already exhausted as the second half was ticking on legs burning, lungs aching but you dug deep again, surging forward down the right. The space opened up and you shifted into top gear, brushing past the defender like she wasn’t even there. It was one of those runs that made the crowd rise, the kind that made your blood roar.

You felt something clip your ankle not a stray leg or a mistimed tackle, but deliberate. Your body pitched forward and you hit the turf hard, grass and dirt scraping your palms and knees. The whistle didn’t even matter in that moment your instinct had already kicked in.

You popped right back up, fury simmering just beneath your skin, and turned sharply toward the sideline. Montse Tomé stood there, just barely back in her technical area, arms folded as if she hadn’t just tripped you in front of thousands.

You were up in an instant, white-hot rage burning through the fatigue, “Are you fucking kidding me?” you shouted, storming toward the sideline, fists clenched. “You think you can get away with that shit?! You’re not even on the pitch!” The England bench saw it unfolding a second too late, coaches, subs, physios they scrambled to intercept you as you charged.

“She fucking tripped me!” you yelled, pointing violently toward Montse as Georgia and Lucy grabbed at your arms. “What kind of coach does that?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! No need your fucking winning already!”

“Y/N!” came Sarina’s sharp voice, cutting through the chaos, but you didn’t stop.

“Touch me again and I swear I’ll put you on your arse!” you bellowed, fury twisting your face as Alex Greenwood threw herself between you and the Spanish manager, arms braced against your chest, grounding you. “She’s a fucking coward! That’s a red card!”

Montse stood still, smug, unmoved, as the fourth official frantically tried to settle things down. “Get her out of here!” one of the England coaches shouted, as a stream of Spanish came from their bench added to the madness.

“You think just because you're the coach you get to put hands on a player?” you kept going, even as you were dragged back a few steps. “You messed with the wrong fucking one today!”

The referee arrived just as the England staff managed to start pulling you away, her whistle blowing sharp and short red card up for Montse.

The crowd erupted in boos and gasps, the cameras catching every second. You were still fuming, chest heaving, heart hammering against your ribs as Sarina stepped into your line of sight.

“Breathe,” she said calmly, her hand on your shoulder. “I saw it. The ref saw it. Everyone saw it, but you need to let us handle it now.”

Your jaw was clenched tight, the red mist only just beginning to lift. You gave a single, curt nod, your entire body trembling with leftover adrenaline. Alexia stood in the centre of the pitch, unmoving her eyes hadn’t left you once.

You stormed into the huddle in-front of the English bench like a storm cloud breaking open, boots thudding against the grass. Leah had one eye on the ref and one on you, raising both hands in a silent plea for calm as you approached.

You just shook your head, jaw clenched. “I’m fucking fuming,” you spat, the heat still radiating off you like a furnace. “She tripped me. Like what the actual—”

“I know,” Lucy said, firm but gentle, stepping slightly in front of you as a buffer. “We all saw it.”

“Ref gave her the red,” Georgia added, eyes darting toward where Montse was being ushered down the tunnel by security. “Let it go now. We’ve got twenty minutes left. We need you.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, like you were trying to swallow fire. “She’s a fucking disgrace.”

“She is,” Leah agreed quietly. “And the world just saw it. Now put that energy into the game.”

Your hands were still trembling at your sides, but the way the girls stood around you close, protective helped anchor you back into the moment.

Across the pitch, Alexia was still watching, not with fear, bot with judgment, with something closer to awe, like she'd never seen someone defend themselves like that before. Like maybe she hadn’t realised just how much fire lived inside you.

Back in the huddle, Sarina had her hands on her hips, looking between you all. “We play smarter now,” she said. “They’ve lost their head coach, you don’t lose yours. You’ve got fifteen, maybe twenty minutes left. Win it.”

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your shirt and nodded. “Let’s fucking go.”

⚽️

You walked slowly, clapping toward the England supporters who had travelled, their voices unwavering even in defeat, some of them still sang your name. A few banners with your number were held high. It stung, the loss, especially in a game like that close, messy, personal.

You felt a hand press lightly to your back, Leah didn’t say anything, just kept pace beside you, clapping too.

“To be fair,” Georgia murmured from your other side, “you looked like a menace the whole game. Nearly broke the sound barrier down that wing.”

You huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Didn’t matter, though, did it.”

“It will,” she said simply.

You were always good at hiding your feelings under humour or silence, but this loss, after everything burned deeper, your first international game your mum wasn’t there for and you lost.

The post-match chaos slowly gave way to small pockets of quiet. Players swapped shirts, fans waved from the stands, cameras hovered but you barely noticed any of it. You’d caught Alexia’s eyes across the pitch again, and without really thinking, your feet took you toward her.

She met you halfway, her ponytail slightly frayed, sweat still glistening at her temples, but her expression was warm.

She stepped forward as you stopped, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but enough that your feet touched.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft beneath the ambient noise of the stadium.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice still hoarse from the shouting, from the frustration, from everything.

Her eyes searched yours for a moment not scanning for answers, but checking in, grounding you. “You alright?” she asked.

You nodded with a soft sigh. “Tired, frustrated, but I’m alright.”

She gave a small smile and lifted her hand gently. Her thumb brushed something off your cheek, dirt, sweat, maybe a tiny smear of black from your under-eye but the touch lingered for a second too long. To anyone watching, it was a simple gesture, but to those paying attention, it was more, the softness in her touch, the way her eyes didn’t leave yours, the intimate silence shared between you amidst the noise.

From the sidelines, a few whispers started journalists noting the quiet exchange, a few teammates casting looks that said are we seeing what we think we’re seeing?

“You were incredible,” she said under her breath, just for you.

You shook your head, eyes fixed ahead. “Didn’t win.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, and when you glanced sideways, her eyes were soft. “I’m proud of you.”

You swallowed, feeling something twist in your chest. “I’ll take that, capitana.”

Alexia smiled faintly, brushing her fingers against yours before the moment passed.

Georgia gave a low whistle from behind you, not loud enough for the media to catch, but definitely enough to be heard. Alexia smirked faintly at that and leaned just a little closer, dropping her hand.

“You’ve got people talking,” you murmured, eyes still locked with hers.

“They’ve been talking since you got here,” she replied just as softly. “Let them.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not subtle anymore, are we?”

Alexia tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m tired of hiding things that make me happy.”

The weight of those words settled into your chest. You couldn’t find your voice right away so instead, you just smiled, nudged her foot with yours, and said, “You’re lucky I didn’t get sent off.”

She laughed quietly. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch Montse myself.”

You and Alexia lingered just a little longer than necessary at the centre of the pitch, half-heartedly kicking at the grass beneath your boots, hands brushing occasionally but never quite holding. The crowd had thinned, cameras moved on to their next target, but the pull between you hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You always this flirty after a win?” you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

Alexia smirked, slow and smug. “Only when the person I’m flirting with plays like that. Shame the ref couldn’t give you a goal for pure rage and speed.”

“Montse’s lucky I didn’t go full WWE,” you muttered.

Alexia chuckled, shaking her head. “You were about five seconds from doing it.”

“I still might. Depends if she looks at me wrong on the way to the tunnel.”

Alexia gave a quiet laugh and stepped a little closer, her voice dropping. “Maybe don’t get suspended just yet. We’ve only just started this thing.”

You blinked, and your mouth parted to respond but footsteps approached fast behind you. “Oi, save it for later, yeah?” Georgia’s voice interrupted as she strolled over, sweaty hair stuck to her forehead, eyes twinkling with mischief. Keira was beside her, less chaotic but just as curious, arms folded loosely over her chest.

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t have one moment.”

Georgia ignored you. “Just came to say you did good. And also” She turned to Alexia, smirking. “please stop undressing our girl with your eyes in front of everyone.”

Alexia laughed under her breath, but didn’t step back. Keira squinted between you both, her brow creasing slightly. Then she tilted her head. “Wait.”You tried to keep your face neutral, but Georgia was already grinning. Keira pointed between you two like she was solving a murder mystery. “No way. No, hang on. This—this isn’t just flirty banter, is it?”

Georgia folded her arms smugly. “Took you long enough.”

Keira looked at you. “Are you—? Are you dating?”

You opened your mouth. Alexia beat you to it. “You’ve not been telling people?,” she said smoothly, tugging gently at the hem of your England top, eyes twinkling. “Impressive, i’ve been telling anyone who will listen about you.”

You flushed and Keira blinked, jaw dropping just a little. “Oh my God,” Keira said. “You’re dating Alexia?!”

Georgia patted her shoulder like she’d just cracked a world-class code. “Congratulations, detective.”

Alexia winked at you, you smiled sheepishly, cheeks warm. Keira laughed, still a little stunned. “Well damn.”

Georgia gave you a gentle nudge. “You two better not break up. I’ve invested feelings.”

You groaned as they both wandered off, already gossiping. Alexia reached for your hand briefly and squeezed it. “Still want to keep it quiet?”

You looked after Georgia and Keira. “Honestly?” you said. “I wasn’t trying to keep it quiet, i just, wasn’t telling people and now i don’t think i have a choice anymore”

Alexia smiled, eyes soft. “Good.”

⚽️

The sun was long gone, the buzz of the stadium replaced by the stillness of Alexia’s home her scent already curling into your clothes, your dog asleep near the edge of the sofa where you sat, wearing an old hoodie she’d tossed to you as you came in complaining you were cold.

“I won’t be long,” Alexia had said, pressing a kiss to your lips before disappearing upstairs, the sound of the water soon echoing softly through the quiet home.

You sat there, legs curled beneath you, picking absently at the edge of your sleeve. The match was still rattling in your chest, the sprint, the fury, the sharp twist of your ankle when Montse sent you flying. But more than anything, it was the moments after the final whistle that had stuck, her touch, her eyes, her voice softened with worry even when she smiled.

And then Georgia’s voice popped into your head. Put her out her misery, girl is thirsty.

You laughed to yourself, rolling your eyes, but the sound of the shower hadn’t stopped just yet. You headed up stairs and found the door was still slightly ajar that casual way Alexia always left it when she wasn’t expecting company… and yet maybe, just maybe, she was.

You hesitated, biting your lip and padded softly into the bathroom which was steamed up, the mirror fogged, and the glass door of the shower slightly misted over. Through the blur, you saw the silhouette of Alexia’s back to the door, head tilted beneath the stream, hair dark and wet down her back.

You swallowed as you undressed yourself and opened the door stepping inside as Alexia looked over her shoulder, closing it behind you.

Her mouth twitched. “You alright?”

You nodded, letting the warm mist kiss your skin. “I just remembered something Georgia said…”

“Oh?” Alexia turned, droplets rolling down the curves of her body, steam rising between you.

You reached for her gently, fingertips trailing the edge of her jaw. “We were gossiping” Alexia just smiled as her hands slid over your hips, “I then realised it was sometime since i saw you naked”

Alexia laughed, breath catching slightly as your palm found her hip. “So that’s why you’re here”

“Well,” you smiled, stepping closer into the heat, “you did say you weren’t going to be long. So i thought maybe we could save time and shower together, i’ll wash your back if you wash mine”

Her eyes darkened but there was so much softness there too, all the weight of the match, the loss, the months of hidden moments, aching hearts and missed chance

“Come here,” she murmured, your arms coming around her neck, and in the mist there was nothing but the sound of running water and quiet laughter between kisses.

The steam curled around you both, softening every edge. Alexia’s touch was gentle at first fingertips tracing the curve of your back, your waist, the hollow at the base of your neck. You leaned into her, noses brushing, mouths meeting in a kiss that deepened quickly, all slow heat and weeks of held-back want slipping free.

The water cascaded over you as she pressed you gently against the cool tiles, your hands gripping her hips, hers tangled in your damp hair. The mix of warmth from the water, from her body, from the look in her eyes made your knees feel unsteady, your heart pounding against your chest.

“Still want to help me finish my shower? I have another idea” she whispered against your lips. You laughed softly, but it melted into a sharp breath as her mouth moved lower, along your throat, across your collarbone. Words gave way to touches, to the quiet stutter of breath, to fingers curling and the wet slide of skin on skin. There was nothing hurried only knowing, tender pressure and unspoken understanding, like you’d both been waiting for exactly this kind of peace.

Her teeth grazed your hip on her way to your thighs, you would come undone the moment you looked down at her on her knees in-front of you so you didn’t look. Your head went back as her hand caressed your leg, “Open your legs” she mumbled,

Your hands found their way to her hair, guiding her as she explored you with a hunger that made your knees wobble. Each touch of her tongue sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, making you gasp for air. You felt her smile against your skin, the warmth of it spreading through your core like molten lava. The scent of her soap mingled with the heady aroma of arousal, creating a potent perfume that attached to your senses.

The water glided over both of you, tracing the lines of her shoulders and back as she moved closer, her breasts pressing against your thighs. You could feel her heart beating, matching the tempo of your own pulse. The warmth of her breath on your most intimate parts sent shivers through your body, making you quiver with anticipation. Her teeth grazed your inner thigh, and you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out too loudly.

Her hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as her mouth worked its magic. The sensation of her tongue swirling around your clit was exquisite, a dance of pleasure that made you want to arch into her touch. You felt yourself growing wetter, the heat between your legs a testament to the fire she was building inside you.

Her eyes looked up at you, a silent question in their depths. You nodded, the only answer she needed. She slid a finger inside you, the sensation of her digit joining the warmth of the water made you moan. You could feel yourself stretching around her, welcoming the intrusion, eager for more, a rhythm that had your hips bucking. Your hand tightened in her hair, guiding her, urging her to go deeper, faster, harder.

The water streamed down her face, mixing with the slickness of your desire. Her eyes never left yours as she pleasured you, the intensity of her gaze as powerful as her touch. You felt your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that grew with each stroke of her tongue, each pulse of her finger. Your breaths grew ragged, your body tightening as you approached the edge.

The tiles grew slippery underfoot, but she remained steadfast, her grip on your hip unyielding. Her mouth was a warm, wet heaven, her tongue painting patterns that no artist could replicate. You could feel the muscles in your thighs quivering as you approached the peak of ecstasy. The water continued to cascade over the two of you, a gentle caress that seemed to amplify each sensation.

Her finger curled inside you, finding that perfect spot, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You gripped her hair tighter, pulling her closer as you whispered, “Oh, god, yes, right there,” your voice echoing slightly off the tiles. She responded with a hum of approval, the vibrations adding a new layer to the symphony of sensations. Her teeth grazed your clit, and you moaned, the sound music to Alexia’s ears.

The moment your climax hit, it was like a dam had broken. Your legs gave out, but she was there, supporting you, her mouth never leaving your sensitive flesh. You convulsed with pleasure, the waves of your orgasm crashing over you like the waves of a stormy sea. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched you fall apart, her tongue still working you through the aftershocks.

As your breathing began to even out, she stood, her body pressing against yours as the water continued to rain down. You wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss, tasting yourself on her lips. Her hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of your skin as if it was the first time she’d ever felt it. The heat between you was unbearable, the shower doing little to cool the fire she had stoked.

Your kiss grew more urgent, your tongues dancing together as your bodies moved in a silent symphony of need. You reached for the soap, your hands shaking slightly, and began to lather it over her neck, shoulders, arms. The feel of the bubbles popping against your fingertips was a stark contrast to the slickness of her skin. She moaned into your mouth as your soapy hands slid over her back, the scent of the soap mixing with the scent of your shared arousal.

With a gentle push, you turned her around, her back now towards you. Your hands roamed over her, soaping her up, each touch leaving trails of bubbles that only served to make her skin more tantalising. Her breath hitched as you reached around to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples in a rhythm that made her hips push back against you.

You couldn’t resist the urge to kiss down her spine, feeling her shiver as your lips traced the path of her vertebrae. You kissed lower, reaching the base of her spine, your tongue teasing the sensitive spot that made her legs tremble.

Her legs parted willingly, you took a moment to breathe her in, the scent of her arousal mixing with the sweetness of the soap. With a gentle touch, you traced the line of her thigh, feeling the muscles tense in anticipation. You kissed her softly, tasting the sweetness of her skin, moving closer to the apex of her legs. She whispered your name, her voice a shiver of need that sent a thrill through you.

With a smirk, you slid a hand between her legs, finding her already wet and ready for you. You slid a finger inside her, and she moaned, her head dropping forward as you began to move in time with the pulsating beat of your heart.

Her hand reached behind her, finding your neck, and she pulled you back up closer, your bodies melding together in a dance of passion. You felt her tighten around your finger, and you knew she was close. You added another, curling them up to hit that perfect spot, making her legs quiver. The sound of her moans grew louder, echoing in the shower, mixing with the water’s patter.

You leaned back, watching her face contort with pleasure, the droplets of water running down her cheeks like tears of joy. Her eyes met yours, a silent plea for more, and you gave it to her, your hand moving faster, your mouth finding hers in a kiss that was just as desperate. Her orgasm hit her like a storm, her body convulsing, her hand smacking the tiles in front of her to steady herself. You held her up, your arm wrapped around her waist, feeling the aftershocks of her climax ripple through her body and onto your fingers.

When she was finished, she turned in your arms, her legs unsteady but her eyes alight with satisfaction. She kissed you deeply, her tongue exploring your mouth with a new urgency. The soap was forgotten, the water growing colder, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the heat between you, the connection that had only grown stronger with every shared touch.

You reached for the shampoo, the bubbles sliding down your arms as you poured it over her hair, watching the suds cascade over her shoulders. As you began to massage her scalp, she let out a contented sigh, her eyes closing as she leaned into your touch.

The tension in the air had shifted, the urgency of earlier replaced by a tender intimacy that was just as potent. You washed her hair with care, the scent of the shampoo mixing with the scent of your love. Her hands found yours, her fingers weaving through the bubbles, and for a moment, you just stood there, holding each other, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

The water grew colder, the steam dissipating, but the warmth between you remained. You rinsed her hair, the water running over your hands in a clear stream, taking the last of the soap with it. She opened her eyes, her gaze locking with yours, and you knew that even as the water grew cold, the fire between you was still burning bright.

Turning her around, you kissed her neck, your teeth grazing the soft skin beneath her ear. She shivered, her head tilting back to give you better access, a silent invitation for more. Your hands roamed over her body, feeling the curves and angles that you had come to know so well.

Her hand slipped between your thighs, her touch feather-light as she found your clit again, now swollen and begging for attention. You gasped, your body tightening around her, the sensation of her touch sending sparks through your veins. She began to stroke you, her movements deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours, watching as you succumbed to pleasure once more.

The cold water was forgotten as the heat grew between you, your bodies moving in a silent dance of need. Your hips rocked against her hand, your breaths mingling in the space between your mouths. You could feel the tension building, the anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach, threatening to unravel at any moment.

Her other hand slid around your waist, her fingers digging into your hip as she held you against the tiles. You wrapped your leg around her, your movements growing more desperate. Her strokes grew faster, more insistent, and you could feel yourself racing towards the edge again.

You reached up to tug at her arm, pulling her closer, your mouth finding hers in a kiss that was as desperate as it was gentle. Your teeth nipped at her lower lip, and she responded with a groan, her hand moving faster, her fingers pressing harder. The sound of the shower was a white noise backdrop to your shared moans.

The orgasm crashed over you, a tidal wave that left you gasping for breath. You clung to her, your body spasming with pleasure as she held you upright. She kissed you deeply, her tongue exploring your mouth as if she could taste your release. You felt the warmth of her hand on your cheek, wiping away the stray droplets of water that clung to your skin.

When the tremors finally subsided, you leaned into her, your forehead against hers. The water grew colder still, but you didn’t move, didn’t want to break the spell that had been cast in this small, steamy chamber. Her hand remained between your legs, the gentle pressure of her fingers keeping you on edge, the aftershocks of pleasure pulsing through you.

With a final kiss, you pulled back, you turned off the faucet, the sudden silence deafening in comparison to the cocoon of sound you’d been in. Reaching for a towel, you stepped out, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth you’d been basking in. She followed, her eyes never leaving yours, a silent promise that this was only the beginning.

The bathroom floor was cold underfoot, but the warmth of the towel wrapped around you was a comfort. You dried her off, taking your time, each stroke a gentle caress that spoke volumes. She did the same to you, her touch lingering on your skin, as if memorising every inch.

She wrapped her arms around you, her body warm and welcoming, and together you stepped out into the hallway, the steam from the shower the only evidence of the heat that had just passed.

“On the bed” she murmured into your ear as she came up behind you holding her hips, “Loose this too” she tugged at the towel wrapped around you, it pooled at your feet as you turned to her.

You wanted to be the one in control however “Lie down” you tilted your head as you unfolded the towel from around her, “Don’t make me tell you again” Alexia smirked, “You’re infuriating.”

Alexia moved around you perched on the edge of the bed and leaned back on her hands, taking you all in, “You’re so sexy” You took a moment to appreciate the art that was her, she reached up, her hand tracing your jaw, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fervour of moments before.

“I’ll put clothes on if you don’t lie down”

Alexia couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she pulled her self up to rest her head on the pillow, the bed was cold but you didn’t care, the warmth of her body was more than enough.

Her legs parted for you, an invitation that made your pulse quicken. You knelt between her thighs, your eyes devouring the sight before you. She was wet, not just from the shower, but from desire. The scent of your combined arousal was intoxicating. You leaned in, your breath hot against her skin, and kissed her inner thigh, feeling her shiver.

Her hips arched as you kissed closer to her centre, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. You felt the warmth of her, the slickness of her arousal, and you couldn’t wait to taste her. Your tongue flicked out, a soft touch that made her moan. You explored her with gentle strokes, the sound of her pleasure music to your ears. Her hands found yours, lacing her fingers with yours, her grip tightening as you found her clit, swollen and eager for attention.

You took your time, savouring each gasp and tremor that passed through her body. Your tongue danced around the sensitive bud, teasing it before finally giving it the attention it craved. She bucked her hips, pushing herself closer to your mouth, her breathing ragged. You got comfy between her legs because you planned on being here for a while, giving her all the pleasure you felt you should have been all these weeks.

You took her in, exploring every fold, every curve, with a hunger that surprised even you. Your tongue, flicking and teasing until she was whimpering, her hips bucking against your face. You felt the tension in her thighs, the tightness of her grip on your hand, and knew she was close. With a deep, satisfied groan, you sucked her clit into your mouth, your tongue flicking it rapidly. Her body arched, her hand tightening in your hair, and she came, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave the first of many you had planned for her.

⚽️

You were tangled in the sheets, legs brushing, skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and curling against your temples. The bedroom was quiet, low-lit by the soft city haze filtering through the curtains. Alexia lay on her side, her hand tracing slow, thoughtless patterns on your stomach.

“Wasn’t planning on doing that tonight,” she murmured, a lazy smile curling on her lips.

You turned your head on the pillow to look at her. “What, showering?”

She gave you a soft look, then rolled her eyes with a grin. “No, tonta. You joining me in it and the events following.”

You smirked, reaching to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You looked like you needed company and motivation.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be that motivating,” she teased, lifting herself up slightly to kiss your bare shoulder. “You always surprise me.”

You exhaled slowly, letting the comfort of the moment sink in. “Is that good or bad?”

Alexia’s eyes met yours, serious now. “It’s good. You make everything feel… I don’t know. Lighter. Easier.”

You watched her hand rest just over your ribs, thumb pressing gently into your side, grounding herself in you. “Even now?” you asked quietly.

“Especially now.” She paused. “You’ve been through something I can’t imagine, and you still found your way back to the pitch, to me. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t either,” you admitted, voice softer than before. “I think I’m just moving. If I stop moving, I’ll fall apart.”

She nodded slowly, brushing her nose against yours. “Then I’ll keep walking next to you, until you’re ready to stop.”

You smiled faintly, heart tugging at how sincere she sounded. “You’re too good to me.”

“No,” she said, firm. “I’m exactly what you deserve.”

There was a long silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable it felt heavy with safety. You traced her forearm with your fingers. “You ever think about the future? Not just with football.”

Alexia’s lips twitched into a playful smile. “What, like kids, a dog and a villa by the sea?”

“I meant like... this. Us. If there’s an ‘us’.”

She leaned closer, kissed the corner of your mouth. “There is. And I think about it all the time.” You swallowed, the weight of her words settling somewhere warm in your chest. “I told you and I meant it, I could marry you,” she whispered suddenly, the tease in her voice not quite covering the truth behind it. “If you keep motivating me like that… I’d marry you tomorrow.”

You laughed softly, but your heart was doing things it hadn’t done in a long time. “You better be careful with promises like that.”

Alexia pulled you in, burying her face into your neck, her voice muffled but certain. “Coco,” she murmured, “I don’t make promises I don’t plan to keep.”

You lay there wrapped in her arms, the world quiet for once your grief softened, not gone, but lighter knowing that if nothing else, she wasn’t going anywhere. She shifted slightly beneath you, and you lowered your head just enough to meet her eyes. “What?” you asked softly, noticing how she was looking at you.

She blinked, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No, don’t do that. You’ve got something written all over your face.”

Alexia gave a quiet laugh, almost shy, which was rare for her. “I was just thinking... how stupid it is that I’ve wanted to say something for a while and haven’t just said it without making it a joke.”

You straightened a little, propped yourself up on your elbow, watching her closely now. “Say it then.”

She hesitated not because she was unsure of what she felt, but because she wanted to say it right and then, in true Alexia fashion, she just told you the truth. “I love you.”

You blinked. The room didn’t shift, the sky didn’t fall, but your whole chest tightened all at once, like everything inside you had been waiting to hear those words and finally, finally could exhale.

She sat up a bit, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I think I knew for a while, but I didn’t want to say it too soon or scare you or make it… I don’t know, a bigger thing when everything else in your life has already been so heavy.”

You were quiet. Not because you didn’t know what to say but because you felt it too. “I love you too,” you said, voice small but firm. “You haven’t scared me off, Alexia. You’ve kept me standing, I wouldn't of gotten through everything with out you”

She let out a breath, like she’d been holding it forever, and pulled you into her arms without a word, kissing your temple, your forehead, then your lips soft, slow, and full of meaning. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

You nodded against her, closing your eyes. “I know.” you smiled, "Not when I can make you come like that" Alexia threw her head back laughing.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

388 notes · View notes

hamilton-here · 28 days ago

Note

Can I ask for a one shot of Lewis Hamilton falling for a random,normal fan, maybe got attracted to within the sea of people he meets at the race. Specially during a tuff weekend, but seeing her, gave him a light breeze that made him want to peruse her. You can make it an open end, that people do cross each other’s path in life

𝒜 𝒢𝓁𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! I tried my best to write related to this request. I’m sorry if it’s bad. I had to add Coco because I miss her and I love Roscoe. Anyway fingers crossed for Ferrari! Lots of love xx

Summary: A fleeting moment at a Grand Prix stayed with you both, until fate brought you together again on a rainy London street.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You almost didn’t come.

The early flight had been a nightmare a delay, then turbulence, then a screaming toddler seated directly behind you for the duration of the trip. By the time you landed, your head was pounding, and your body was aching from the cramped seat. Then came the overpriced ride share, the overpriced food, and the even more overpriced trackside bottle of water that felt like it had been steeped in the sun.

And still, you were here.

You weren’t the kind of fan who painted their face or wore team colours from head to toe. You didn’t carry signs or memorise sector times. You weren’t someone who shoved your phone in a driver’s face for the perfect selfie. You didn’t have a Lewis Hamilton flag. You didn’t need one.

Because you carried him with you in quieter ways.

You had followed his career since 2015 the year everything shifted. The year he became more than a name on a leaderboard. You were in your early twenties then, struggling through university and the slow ache of a family falling apart. That year, your father moved out. That year, your mother stopped smiling. That year, you realised childhood was something you didn’t get to hold onto.

And that year, on a Sunday afternoon with your headphones in and your bedroom door closed, you found Formula 1.

You weren’t sure what had drawn you to it. Maybe the adrenaline. Maybe the precision. Maybe the fact that for two hours, the world outside could quiet down while the world inside your screen roared to life.

And at the centre of it — Lewis.

At first, it was the way he drove. Fearless, fluid, graceful. Then it became more than that. It was the way he spoke in interviews, thoughtful and composed even under fire. The way he carried himself, unashamed and unafraid to be different. The way he gave credit to his team but held the weight of expectation alone.

You watched him rise, year after year collecting poles, wins, championships.

And in a way you never said out loud, you grew with him.

Each podium was a comfort. Each radio message a familiar voice. Through heartbreaks, through exams, through quiet nights spent questioning your place in the world there he was. A constant. A symbol of what it meant to rise above.

So, when your best friend surprised you with a last-minute weekend ticket to a Grand Prix, you hadn’t known what to say.

“You always talk about wanting to see him race,” she grinned. “You don’t shut up about him when he’s on screen.”

You laughed, embarrassed. “I do not.”

“You do. It’s cute. Honestly, I’m just glad you finally have a reason to leave the house that doesn’t involve your laptop and a blanket.”

So here you were.

And today he was struggling…

It was 2018. He wasn’t at Mercedes for the glory days anymore. The car had been a fight all season - inconsistent, temperamental. The paddock buzzed with questions. Headlines grew impatient. Armchair experts grew louder.

You could feel it in the air even before the race began with the tension. The weight. The pressure that clung to everything.

He’d raced poorly in FP1. The car had looked twitchy, awkward. It wasn’t him. Not really. But he drove it anyway, pushing, fighting even when it clearly wasn’t giving him much to work with.

He finished outside the top five.

Some people groaned. Others shrugged, already shifting focus to the next big moment a crash, a pit stop error, a bold overtake. But you felt your chest tighten when you saw the number next to his name.

It wasn’t disappointment. It was something else.

Empathy.

Because no matter how much you admired the wins, it was his resilience you loved the most. The way he showed up, even when things were falling apart.

And that’s why you found yourself alone, leaning against the barrier near the paddock exit after the race. Your friend had gone to grab merch. The crowd was thinning, buzzing with secondhand adrenaline. You just stood there, your hands loosely gripping the metal railing, watching the space where the drivers would pass through.

You weren’t really waiting for anything.

Just being.

Just hoping to catch a glimpse.

And then the atmosphere shifted.

Like a ripple in still water. People started lifting their phones. Voices rose with sudden urgency. Heads turned. You didn’t have to ask.

He was coming.

Lewis walked with purpose fast, composed, head down. His curls were loose under a cap, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the golden burn of the setting sun. But you could still see it in the tension of his shoulders, the set of his jaw he wasn’t just tired. He was weary.

It wasn’t just a bad race. It was everything that had led to it.

Years of dominance behind him. Doubt ahead. People questioning, analysing, criticising. They forgot he was human.

And then, in that storm of noise something happened.

His pace faltered for a second. Not much. But enough.

His head turned.

Just slightly. Just enough.

And somehow his eyes landed on yours.

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Your breath hitched and caught somewhere in your throat. You stood completely still, caught in that fragile thread of a moment.

He looked at you.

Really looked at you.

Not like someone scanning a crowd. Not like someone glancing past. But like he had been searching for a reason to breathe and had finally found one.

He blinked. His lips parted not quite a smile, but something softer. Something real.

Your heart was thudding so loud you were sure someone could hear it.

And for the briefest, most impossible moment it felt like he saw you. Not the noise, not the fandom, not the thousands of strangers. You.

The girl who had been watching since 2015. Who had been cheering for him through dorm rooms and broken families and 3 a.m. qualifying sessions. The one who never asked anything of him except to just keep showing up.

And now he had.

Then as quickly as it came the moment began to slip.

He looked down, adjusted the strap on his bag and kept moving.

But just before he crossed the paddock gate, he turned one more time.

Quickly. Subtly.

And looked back.

At you.

And then he was gone.

You didn’t move.

Not for a while. The sun dipped lower. The crowd faded. Your friend returned with a bag full of merch and a breathless story about a driver she’d seen up close. But you barely heard her.

You just stood there.

Heart full. Eyes wide. Breath shallow.

You didn’t get a photo. You didn’t call his name. You didn’t need to.

Because in a moment you never expected, and maybe will never get again, he saw you.

And that for reasons you’ll never be able to fully explain felt like everything.

Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a passing glance, forgotten by him before he even got back to the garage.

Or maybe people cross paths for a reason.

Even if they never meet again.

Even if it ends there.

Even if it doesn’t.

You told yourself not to overthink it.

But you did.

That night, sprawled across the stiff hotel sheets with your clothes still clinging to the heat of the day, the hum of the TV barely registered. Race highlights flickered across the screen slow-motion replays, pit stop close-ups, the usual montage of adrenaline but none of it landed. Your phone vibrates every few minutes, your best friend’s excitement pouring in through bursts of emojis and breathless commentary from her room next door. She’d made it her mission to photograph every team hat in existence.

You barely replied.

Not because you weren’t excited. But because your mind, your whole body was still somewhere else. Still leaning against that metal railing. Still suspended in that impossible moment.

Had it really happened?

You replayed it like a film you didn’t trust. The way he slowed, the way his head turned, the slight parting of his lips as if he wanted to say something but didn’t. The weight of his gaze how it didn’t skim past but settled. Landed. Like recognition. Like breath.

Maybe it hadn’t meant anything. Maybe he had just been caught in a moment of stillness, and you happened to be there. Maybe the sunlight had tricked you into believing in something fragile.

But it had felt like something.

And sometimes, feelings carry truths that logic can’t touch. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Day two started the way most race weekends did: with a headache.

Your legs ached from the endless walking, your shoulder was raw from your tote bag strap, and your neck had a fresh stripe of sunburn you hadn’t noticed yesterday. But your chest - your chest felt strange. Lighter. Warmer. Like someone had peeled back the grey and let something golden in.

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t mention it to your friend as you lined up for the shuttle or scanned your wristbands at the gate. But your eyes were doing something you didn’t quite admit to.

They were searching.

Not for merch. Not for drivers in golf carts or pit lane drama. Just for him.

Even though you told yourself you weren’t. Even though you pretended it was just curiosity. Even though you knew better.

It was after FP3 when you returned to the same spot by the paddock exit.

The crowd had thinned slightly most people were lining up at the main fan zones or buying ice-cold drinks in plastic cups. You stayed where you’d been the day before, fingertips brushing the warm metal of the railing, heart already starting to pace ahead of your thoughts.

And then he appeared.

Lewis.

Same black team tee, different cap. Sunglasses, water bottle, his signature walk measured and quiet, like every step mattered.

But this time, he wasn’t looking down.

His head was up. His posture relaxed. And his eyes, they were scanning.

Your breath caught.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t shout his name or lift your phone like the others nearby. You just stood there, hands folded tightly in front of you, like something sacred might shatter if you moved too suddenly.

And somehow again his gaze found yours again.

This time, there was no pause. No uncertainty. He looked straight at you like he expected you to be there. Like maybe he’d been hoping you would be.

The corner of his mouth lifted not a wide grin, but something smaller. Surer. A knowing smile that said, I remember.

You smiled back, a little slower, like your face had to relearn the shape.

Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted his sunglasses and rested them on the brim of his hat.

His eyes met yours fully now dark, expressive and so much more open than the day before. They looked tired. But not defeated.

And maybe that was the part that hit you the hardest: he didn’t look like a man weighed down by expectation. He looked like someone remembering something.

Remembering himself.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t say anything. But he slowed, just enough for you to notice. Just enough for it to feel deliberate. And as he passed, his gaze lingered for one more heartbeat longer than it needed to and before you knew it he gave you a quick wink.

Then he was gone.

Back to the garage. Back to the noise. Back to the world.

But something had shifted.

You stayed rooted in place for a long time, your pulse thrumming like an engine still cooling down. Around you, the crowd slowly returned to their routines, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

But for you, it had.

When qualifying began, you held your breath without even realising. Lap after lap, Lewis pushed. The car looked alive beneath him again not perfect, not dominant, but dancing with fight. Every corner he took felt like a reclaiming of something.

The commentators buzzed with confusion and praise.

“Where did this come from?”

“He’s wringing the neck of that car.”

“Vintage Hamilton.”

And when the times came in, when he crossed the line in P3 up seven places from the day before you didn’t cheer.

You exhaled.

It wasn’t about the position.

It was about the way he had driven like himself again. Like he had remembered who he was. Not just the numbers or the titles or the legacy. But the man beneath it all.

You didn’t see him again that evening.

Security tightened. The paddock gate became a wall of elbows and cameras. Even your friend gave up trying to push closer, her arms full of team hoodies and lanyards.

But you stayed.

Just for a little while longer.

You leaned against the rail one last time, the metal cool now as the sun began to dip. Your fingers curled loosely around it like you were holding onto something invisible something you couldn’t name but didn’t want to forget.

Maybe it meant nothing.

Maybe it was a shared moment between two strangers on parallel tracks, destined never to touch again.

But maybe it was something else.

Not a love story.

Not fate.

But a reminder.

That even in the loudest places, even on the hardest days, someone might see you. Really see you. And in doing so, remind you of yourself.

Just like he reminded you without a single word why you came.

Why you’ve stayed.

Why you’ll always remember.

Even if it ends there.

Even if it doesn’t. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Race day arrived with the kind of electricity you could feel.

Even before the engines screamed to life, there was a tension in the air like the whole circuit was holding its breath. The sky was clear and cruelly blue, and heat shimmered off every metal surface. Fans poured in by the thousands, their excitement bouncing between grandstands like static.

You moved through it all like someone underwater. A little slower. A little quieter.

Your friend was buzzing again, practically vibrating as she dragged you from one fan zone to the next, taking selfies with merch girls and mapping out the best screen angles. You followed, smiled when you were supposed to, but your mind kept drifting not to the race, not even to the grid but to him.

You hadn’t seen him again.

Not in the paddock tunnel. Not walking past the gates. Not even from a distance. The moment yesterday had felt like the edge of something a promise not spoken aloud.

But maybe that was all it was ever meant to be.

A soft tether. A kind reminder.

Still, as the hours passed, you kept checking. Kept glancing back toward the garage entrances, the hospitality suites, the stretch of track where he’d walked. Just in case.

By mid-afternoon, the cars lined up on the grid, engines rumbling like thunder beneath your ribs. You had a decent spot, just off the main grandstand, close enough to see pit crew scrambling in bright bursts of colour.

When the lights went out, the crowd roared.

The race was chaos in motion tire strategies shifting by the lap, battles fought in millimetres. But Lewis? He was different again.

Sharp. Calculated. Composed.

Every overtake was timed with eerie precision. Every lap, his confidence grew like whatever he'd found yesterday hadn’t faded overnight.

And you watched, unable to look away, like it mattered in some quiet way that you were still here. Still watching.

He finished the race in second.

Not a win. But damn close. And hard-earned.

The crowd surged against the fences when he stepped onto the podium glittering in the afternoon light, champagne in hand, smile stretching wide but tired. His suit was soaked through. His curls clung to his forehead. But his eyes even from a distance looked softer.

Not triumphant. Not feral with victory.

Just at peace.

You didn’t scream when they played the anthem. Didn’t try to shove your phone through the crowd for a better angle. You just stood there, hands tucked into your pockets, letting the noise crash around you.

Because that was enough.

Knowing he made it through.

Knowing you had seen each other.

Knowing that for two brief days, in the middle of everything, you had touched something real wordless and delicate and maybe never meant to last.

The sun was low by the time the crowd started thinning. Your friend wanted one more trip to the merch tent. You agreed half-heartedly, dragging your feet through the dusty gravel paths, heart already starting to ache with the finality of it all.

Until a voice low, quiet, almost apologetic stopped you.

“Hey.”

You froze.

Your friend looked up too, confused until she saw him.

Lewis.

Standing a few feet away, dressed in a loose black hoodie now, sunglasses dangling from his fingers. No entourage. No security detail. Just him.

Just Lewis.

Your heart slammed into your throat.

“I didn’t want to interrupt earlier,” he said, scratching lightly at his jaw. “But I saw you.”

You swallowed. “Yesterday?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Yesterday. And today.”

A beat passed.

“I wasn’t sure if I imagined it,” you admitted, voice soft.

“You didn’t.” His eyes flicked down, almost shy. “I wasn’t sure either.”

Silence stretched between you, fragile and full. You could hear your friend shifting awkwardly beside you, the crowd buzzing distantly in your ears.

“I just wanted to say,” he added, looking up again slower this time, steadier “whatever that was it meant something. Even if it was just a moment.”

You nodded, chest too full to speak.

“Some days, you forget people see you,” he continued, quietly. “Not the driver. Not the brand. Just…you. So, thank you. For looking.”

You finally found your voice, warm and trembling. “Thank you. For seeing me back.”

He smiled again gentle this time. It wasn’t fake, it was genuine. And then, before you could say anything else, he gave a soft nod.

And turned to go.

No number. No promise.

Just a moment shared fully respectfully. Completely.

Because sometimes, it’s not about where a story ends.

It’s about how it makes you feel.

And for the first time in a long time…

You felt seen. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Two Months Later – South London

You weren’t thinking about him.

Not really.

You were just out running errands hoodie up, headphones in, tote bag thudding rhythmically against your hip with every step. It was filled with a mishmash of your day: library returns, milk, a loaf of seeded sourdough, and that overpriced exfoliator you’d stared at three times this week before finally giving in.

The air was damp in that uniquely London way not raining, but not dry either. The kind of weather that settled into your clothes and under your skin, making you feel tired in a way that had nothing to do with how far you’d walked.

It wasn’t a cinematic day. Nothing special. Just grey clouds layered like wet wool, traffic lights blinking without urgency, people passing by with umbrellas they didn’t really need. The kind of afternoon you’d forget by next week.

And then you heard it.

A soft, low bark.

You looked down to find a bulldog nosing at the hem of your jeans, tail wagging, eyes bright and stubborn.

You blinked, half-smiling, tugging your headphone out. “Hey there, sweet girl…”

Before you could crouch to greet her properly, a voice floated through the drizzle — familiar, unhurried, unmistakable.

“Sorry, darling. Coco’s got a thing for strangers.”

You straightened.

Your heart didn’t thud so much as halt. Like it had leaned forward to listen.

And then you saw him.

Lewis.

Joggers. Windbreaker. Hoodie pulled up and cinched loosely at the collar. Sunglasses despite the dull sky. Casual. Comfortable. Out of place and perfectly at home all at once.

He held the leash loosely in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket like he hadn’t just stopped your entire world from spinning. Another muscular bulldog walked by his side who you recognised to be Roscoe. His attention was on his dogs until he looked up and then it wasn’t.

His eyes found yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And in that blink of a second, London faded. The cars. The sidewalk chatter. The too-loud busker two streets over playing Oasis.

It was just the two of you again.

His mouth curled slowly, not in surprise but like he’d been expecting you, in some quiet way. Like something had found its right place again.

“I keep running into you,” he said, voice a little lower than you remembered. Warmer. Like it belonged in this ordinary street, on this not-so-ordinary afternoon.

You tried to laugh, but your breath caught on the way out. “Maybe you’re following me.”

He tilted his head, amused. “I could say the same.”

You both looked down at the bulldogs, who had now planted themselves stubbornly between your feet like they’d made a decision. They both glanced up at you, then at Lewis, tails wagging.

The breeze picked up, tugging at your sleeves and the corners of paper signs in nearby shop windows. A woman passed with a stroller. A man cursed at a parking meter. Life went on.

But you stayed in that quiet pocket that suspended moment.

“What are the odds?” you murmured.

Lewis was still watching you, and this time, the smile didn’t come. Not immediately. Instead, there was a pause. Not uncertainty, but thoughtfulness like he wanted to say the right thing.

And then he did.

“Maybe the odds don’t matter,” he said.

You swallowed, the words hitting somewhere low in your chest. They sat there, warm and startling. True.

You looked at him really looked and saw the tired beneath his eyes, the weight he wore even on an off day, but also something lighter. That same flicker you’d seen trackside. Familiarity. Recognition. Maybe even relief.

You crouched, reaching down to scratch the bulldog behind the ears. “So…do you always let one of your dogs go play Cupid?”

He let out a soft laugh, one that unfurled slowly. “Only when they got good instincts.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through each of the bulldog’s soft fur before standing and as you did, your hand brushed his. Just a feather of contact.

But neither of you pulled away.

It was the smallest touch. But it felt like a decision.

You glanced down at your tote bag, now slightly damp from the drizzle. “I was just heading home.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

Silence again. But not awkward. Not uncertain. Just full.

Like something was breathing between you.

“I mean,” you said, a little bolder now, “you could walk with me. If either of them don’t have other romantic missions today.”

Lewis looked down at Roscoe and Coco, who offered him a short, grumbly bark and then nudged their heads into your leg again.

“They approve,” he said softly. Then, looking at you again really looking: “I do too.”

So, you walked.

Not far. Not fast.

Side by side through damp streets and puddled gutters. Past pubs warming up for the evening rush, past rows of terraced houses with chipped fences and small, tidy gardens. Past the city you both knew and the version of yourselves that existed before this moment.

And somewhere between the bookshop and your front step, that feeling crept in again.

Not love. Not yet.

But the sense that maybe this wasn’t random. That maybe the story hadn’t ended back at the track. That maybe fate had just been waiting for the right kind of quiet to bring you back together.

When you reached your door, neither of you reached for goodbye.

Instead, Lewis looked at you eyes soft, hands in his pockets, the leash slack in his grip and said, “You ever think about that weekend?”

You smiled. “Sometimes.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

And then, gently, “Maybe we don’t leave it at that this time.”

You stepped closer, heart thudding somewhere between fear and faith. “No,” you said. “Maybe we don’t.”

The dogs sat again, huffing softly at each other, as if their work here was done.

Maybe it was fate.

Maybe it was chance.

Maybe it was just two bulldogs with impeccable timing.

But as you stood beside him on a damp London sidewalk no roaring engines, no grandstands, no distance between you it didn’t feel like a coincidence.

It felt like a beginning.

And for the first time, you didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #x reader #lh44 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #f1 one shot #f1 drivers #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic

162 notes · View notes

ravennaortiz · 1 month ago

Text

Hello Loves!

This is the event page for my December 2025 event! These stories will come out in December. The plan is for these to be darker more out of character stories for our guys.

I will accept requests until 5/24/25 for this event!

When sending in your request please include that it is for the Dark Days event, character name and the prompt! Please feel free to message me with any questions! Below you will find Characters and the prompts! Please feel free to elaborate on them if you wish! I am also open to other ideas if you cant find a prompt that works!

Curious as to what to expect? Click here to see past Dark Stories!

Who You Can Request!

SOA

Chibs

Clay

Half-Sack

Happy

Jax

Juice

Kozik

Opie

Tig

RatBoy

Mayans

Angel

Bishop

Bottles

Coco

Creeper

Gilly

Guero

Manny

Nestor

Prompts!

Running doesn't matter. I'll hunt you down if I have too

You were beautiful in the photos I took....but even better in my arms.

No one else makes me feel this way! I can't lose you!

I did this out of love. I'm doing this for love!

I'd cut your tongue out if it would stop you from flirting with anyone else.

I'll let you know when you've learned your lesson.

Who were you talking to?

Give me your phone. I'm going to go through it.

Don't cry. He didn't love you like I do and he never could. Let me help you heal.

You are so cute when you are asleep

Don't worry, the blood isn't mine.

I will mark/claim you in front of everyone.

Why are you crying? Aren't you happy to be with me?

I claimed you with this tattoo.

This hurts me more than it hurts you babe.

Beg.

You think it’s funny to flirt?

You really should have known better.

You can trust me…..I would never hurt/lie to you

I wouldn’t have lost it if you didn’t push me! You make me act like this—do you even hear yourself?

Oh, so now I’m the bad guy? Typical. You always twist things to make yourself look innocent!

I made you who you are. Don’t forget that.

You’re overreacting. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

No one else would ever put up with you. You should be thanking me

If you really loved me, you would do this for me.

I noticed how long you spent getting ready today. Who are you trying to impress?

Oh, so you had time to hang out with your friends, but not with me? That’s cool… I guess I’m not that important anymore

Why is there a stranger in my bed?

You’re no longer of use to me

Do you know how easy it was to get inside your house?

You were screaming too loud. I had to make it stop.

Don’t bother calling the police. I cut the lines ten minutes ago

Guess what? I can see you

I’ve been watching you for weeks. You never even noticed, did you?

Let’s play a game… how fast can you run?

You scream, you die. Understand?

Do you think locking the door will stop me?

You’re not seriously wearing that out, are you?

You don’t need to go out with them tonight. Stay with me instead.

Don’t you want to make me happy?

Everyone thinks you’re a whore.

I could be gentle, but where’s the fun in that?

Oh? Are the handcuffs a little tight?

Run. Please. I do love a good chase.

I’m in control here

Did you move my things?

I should kill you for what you’ve done.

A little girl shouldn’t be roaming around here by herself

I need to know where you are at all times.

Say that again, and I swear I won’t hold back this time.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Killing you would bring me nothing but joy

This would be much easier for you if you just held still.

This will be the last time you lie to me.

What do you mean you kissed them?

How dare you speak to me like that!

That's right, princess. fight back. make it difficult... give me a reason to get rough.

You're mine, and if you ever forget that, I'll remind you.

You will always be my property.

You look so pretty when you're helpless.

Why did you stay out so late?

If I can’t have you, no one else will.

Who keeps calling you?

I paid a good sum of money for your body tonight.

You belong to someone else. I know that. It doesn’t matter because you will submit tome tonight.

56 notes · View notes

clocainiac · 2 months ago

Text

MORE HEADCANONS! this time for Greaseball and Electra SPECIFICALLY Mykal Rand and Jamie Capewells versions in the UK tour because look at the skrunklys :3 ALSO i use all pronouns for Electra because they are gender fluid, no questions needed. ALSO ALSO although im basing these headcanons on these two, it’s going to be set in modern day because i want to :P

ELECTRA:

- Is extremely into Project SEKAI like that mf will play The Intense Voice Of Hatsune Miku on Expert level like it’s light work (if he does somehow miss a note and not get perfect he throws the fattest tantrum and will chuck the phone while ranting about how it’s rigged to Wrench, thereby forcing her to deconstruct and look through the code of the phone because they do no wrong so it’s the devices fault), definitely mains Emu Otori and will watch all the Wonderlands x Showtime stories without skipping a single sentence.

- LOVES Animal Crossing: New Horizons, his island is literally perfect and she restarted the game 80 times until he got the Cherry trees. She also bullies the ugly islanders off by not talking to them and is obsessed with Nook-mart, talking about Tom Nook, Electra has unfathomable hatred towards him, which is so visceral Electra will have nightmares about him and wake up in a cold sweat. Electra’s favourite thing in animal crossing is to invite the components to his island so they can send silly messages (but they would never admit that!)

- Electra adores touching silk, it hits all the right spots and when it’s really good silky fabric he stims so hard (yes they have autism because I have autism so yes) This bitch has a whole closet of silk robes and pajamas all with diamond encrusted messages or nicknames on the back, because she is a diva encapsulated.

- Very VERY good at the worm, like this lil guy loves to bust it down, they can do the worm, shake their ass like nobody’s business then finish in a split with no sweat at all, and yes, she looks absolutely gorgeous while doing it.

- Will force his components to scratch her, mostly on her back or arms, but if they are feeling really extra they will just put a whole ass leg in the components faces and then clear their throat as if to say ‘why haven’t you started yet?’ His favourite scratches are from Volta because they always have long acrylics that feel like heaven.

- When Electra is really focusing something such as racing, he always has a bit of her tongue poking out, but if anyone tries pointing it out they will gaslight them until they back down because Electra would obviously do no such thing!

- After a very overstimulating day, Electra loves to get in a cuddlepile with his components with those colouring books from Coco Ryo and special glittery markers.

- DEFINITELY a chronic tiktok user, like absolutely obsessed with tiktok shop and would buy the stupidest gadgets that he really doesn’t need, if you can’t tell they are very easily influenced.

GREASEBALL:

- The best shower singer in the world! This man can’t belt for days, and he will even do his own guitar solo. When he gets really into it, Dinah likes to pull the shower curtain back and scare him making him release the most perfect wilhelm scream.

- NOSE PICKER! Greaseball really is disgusting and will pick his nose constantly, not only that but if he’s on the move and can’t get a finger up there he will snot rocket bogeys out like no tomorrow leaving trails on the tracks as his own source of vandalism. When Dinah first caught him doing this she gagged so hard she uncoupled and had to take 20 minutes off the tracks to compose herself while heaving. Dinah will slap him round the back of the head or tug his ear when she catches him now so to protect himself at home he hides his treasures under tables or chairs, anxiously awaiting the day she finds his disgusting collection.

- ALWAYS STINKS OF BISCUITS, because of tanning himself! This lil guy loves self tan and the whole bathroom is full of bottles. He begs Dinah to help him so it doesn’t go patchy, so every saturday night she gets the exfoliating gloves on and helps rub it in head to toe, Greaseball has enough money to get it done professionally but he believes doing it with Dinah helps them bond and he also uses it as an excuse for her to touch him. Sadly, this addiction means all the bedsheets and towels have brown stains on them, which infuriates Dinah but she loves her man too much to make him stop, and she does love that sunkissed glow on him.

- Hairspray Whore, this mf is single-handedly ruining the ozone layer with the amount of hairspray he uses. He can’t stop though which means he has the crunchiest hair, like if you touched a strand it would sound like stepping on a bag of crisps.

- Constantly steals Dinah’s makeup but will vehemently deny it and say his face naturally has bronzer, contoured cheeks and eyeliner!

- Disgustingly addicted to coke floats, literally his favourite drink. If he could he would have a bucket full of coke with a litre of vanilla ice cream, that would be his final meal. When he’s had a long day at work Dinah always has a coke float ready for him and he just collapses into her while also slurping it with a bendy straw because he likes making different shapes with it such as dicks, because he has the mental age of a 5 year old.

- Mains Donkey Kong on Mario Kart and will sulk if someone else chooses him.

- Not a head canon but Dinah GET UP! Why are you punishing yourself with this man 💔💔

#starlight express #stex #greasedinah #dinah the dining car #electra the electric engine #greaseball the diesel #stex greaseball #stex uk tour #mykal rand #jamie capewell #stex electra #electra #greaseball #headcanons

44 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

Text

TheWall! Series Part Two: Ambush - Bishop Losa x Reader (feat: Riz Ariza)

Tagging: @wakeama @fanfic-n-tabulous @dreamlandcreations @anime-weeb-4-life @keyweegirlie @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @purrrrfect @adaydreamaway08 @stressed-chas @spookyboogyuniverse@librarian1002 @msjava1972 @thanossexual @kishie8 @saltyunicorn079 @nessamc @thebaileybugle @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @justreblogginfics @beccabarba @legally-a-bastard @trublu2u @irishavengersassemble @fanfic-n-tabulous @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond

Companion Series to:

Complicated - Bishop already knows your secret.

The Wall - Bishop comes home to find you covered in blood.

TheWall! Series:

Part One: Poker Night - Bishop's poker night is interrupted by gunshots.

References in to Burning Love and Grief!Series Part Two: Blame

It’s Gilly that carries you upstairs into the bedroom you’ve been allocated, Coco follows closely behind snapping on a pair of surgical gloves he’s snagged from Hank’s first aid kit. Bishop waits until the door closes before he turns his attention to Riz, who is perched on a barstool having glass pulled out of his face and scalp by Hank. Bishop surveys the collection, each jagged and blood-stained piece sits in a white ramekin, reflecting the light from above.

“What the fuck happened?” Bishop asks him, his voice dangerously low. “She isn’t even meant to be in the fucking area.”

Riz tilts his head towards Bishop, wincing as Hank pulls another piece of glass out of fleshy part of his neck.

“I was at the community centre finishing up some of the intake paperwork for the mentor program we’ve been working on.” Riz tells him, his eyes flicking up to meet Bishop’s. “Carmen popped her head in, said she’d gotten a call form one of her contacts telling her someone was coming over the wall tonight. They gave her a very specific set of coordinates. They told her it was a girl they thought had been trafficked, that she wouldn’t trust men…”

“You think they were trying to get her to come alone?” Hank asks, his palm guiding Riz’s head to the side so he can get a better look at the wound in his scalp.

“Yea.” Riz says frankly. “I think Carmen did too, which is why she asked me to go with her. We decided to take my truck just in case someone was on the lookout for her vehicle.”

“Why even go in the first place if she suspected it was a trap?” Taza asks picking up a set of glasses from the bar and a bottle of Vicki’s top shelf whiskey.

Bishop knows why. You couldn’t take the risk that there was someone out here that needed help. He thinks the caller knew exactly what they were doing when they used the term trafficked to lure you to the wall.

“Carmen’s sister…” Bishop trails off, shaking his head. “She can’t help herself when it comes to something like this.”

He doesn’t need to say anymore, he can see they all get it.

“I called Rosa and Nestor, told them to meet us at the crossing point.” Riz continues his story. “I figured it was better to have some back up just in case. We were five minutes away when the first shot came through the windshield, that’s what all the glass is from.” He says gesturing at himself. “The first bullet hit Carmen; the rest are in the seat because she managed to get low after that. They tried to block us in, cut off our escape route but Rosa and Nestor intervened. They managed to take down a few of their guys before they disappeared into the darkness. The two of them are hunting them as we speak.”

It gives Bishop a level of comfort to hear that. El Cuchillo and their braided prospect are a deadly combination, he knows that before the night is over they’ll be seeing even more bloodshed.

“You recognise any of them?” Taza asks as Bishop’s phone bleeps signalling a message. He removes it from his pocket, studying the details of the screen intently.

“Dennis Reed, Alice’s son.” Riz says knowingly. “I saw him, he saw me. There’s no way he would do something like this if he wasn’t acting on her orders.”

He picks up the glass of whiskey that Taza has poured before looking meeting Bishop’s eyes.

“They’re gonna be expecting retaliation. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided on a pre-emptive strike, I think we need to get the girls out of here and through the tunnel, take stock of the weapons we have on hand…”

“There’s no need.” Bishop cuts him off with the swipe of his hand before tilting his phone towards the group. It’s a video from Nestor, a grainy one of an inferno, flames licking up towards the night sky, tearing through a large farmhouse. It’s the Reed residence, and the HQ of Santo Padre’s very own white pride militia, the Reed Coalition.

“Fuck.” Taza says before taking a sip of his whisky. “I see retirement hasn’t diminished Rosa’s skill set.”

“Carmen’s her friend.” Hank says distractedly as he applies a butterfly stitch to the wound across Riz’s cheek. “They’re lucky Nestor has mellowed her out over the past couple of years otherwise she’d have burned them all alive.”

It’s true, each of them know it. The young girl they’d watched grow up had become the thing of nightmares after what happened to her overseas. The name El Cuchillo still instils fear to this very day. There were rumours that she’d died up in Reno, but the reality was Rosa had retired, settling down in Santo Padre with her lover.

Instead of taking lives, she was helping people coming over the wall, leveraging her contacts to guide them towards a better future. You had played a big part in that, helping Rosa to overcome her own demons and use her skillset into a tool for good. Bishop knew how much Rosa valued that, how she’d come to think of you as one of her closest friends. He knows the other woman is hurting as much as he is, that she’s taken care of a problem that has needed solving for a very long time.

“I need to see Carmen.” Bishop tells the others, his hand coming to rest on Taza’s shoulder. “Hold down the fort for me while I’m gone.”

Love Bishop? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Want more Bishop? Read his masterlist here!

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#bishop losa #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo bishop losa #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa x you

69 notes · View notes

venactricisfics · 4 months ago

Text

Malibu Desert

Chapter 23

So sorry for the long ass time since my last chapter. Let me know what you think. 18+

Master List

My fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the worn wood of the bar, the only sound in the empty clubhouse. The place was spotless—every surface wiped down, every ashtray emptied, every discarded beer bottle tossed. I had run out of things to clean, but they still weren’t back.

A thousand different things could have gone wrong. A deal turned sour. An ambush. A bullet meant for the wrong man. Or maybe it was just business as usual—biding time, handling what needed to be handled, making sure the message was clear.

All for revenge.

I shifted in my seat, a sharp sting flaring through my shoulder. The dull ache that followed was a reminder—of the chaos, of the blood spilled, of the life I was still lucky enough to have. I pressed my palm over the sling, exhaling slowly. I was still here. But at what cost?

The soft hum of approaching motorcycles pulled me from my thoughts, the distant vibration growing into a low, thunderous rumble as they neared the clubhouse. Relief flickered through me for a brief second—until I saw them.

They weren’t the same men who had left.

There was something heavier in the way they carried themselves, a darkness that clung to them like the dust from the road. Their shoulders were tense, their faces unreadable, their kuttes bearing fresh smears of grime and something darker. Whatever had happened across the border had changed them.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of the bar. I wanted to ask if it was done, if they got what they went for—but I already knew the answer. The weight in their eyes told me everything.

Revenge came at a price. And they had paid it.

—-

The shift was subtle at first, but over the next few months, it became impossible to ignore. The border was locked down tight, ICE crawling all over Santo Padre like vultures picking at a carcass. It put a strain on the club, on business, on the whole damn town. Everyone felt it.

And inside the clubhouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on.

Bishop started pulling away. He spoke less, drank more. The weight of it all—what happened, what came after—pressed down on him, widening the distance between us.

Now, that same door rattled from the force of angry voices behind it. The muffled shouting carried through the clubhouse, but I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t need to. I already knew what the fight was about.

Angel, EZ, Gilly, and Coco had gotten into it with a bunch of soldiers at a bar. Their way of blowing off steam, I supposed. Not the smartest move, but what the hell was anymore?

“They’ll want drinks when they come out,” I told the new prospect, who nodded stiffly before busying himself behind the bar.

I exhaled, bracing my hands against the counter. When that door finally opened, things would either be settled—or they’d be worse.

“Use a tray—” but it was too late.

Steve, ever the eager but hapless prospect, had loaded his arms with too many beer bottles and trotted across the floor like a newborn foal on ice. Some invisible force—clumsiness, bad luck, or maybe just the universe having a laugh—sent him sprawling face-first onto the dirty hardwood. The crash echoed through the clubhouse as bottles scattered in every direction.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Gilly and Hank barked in unison.

Steve groaned from the floor. “Sorry, Hank.”.

Shaking my head, I grabbed a couple of beers from behind the bar, stepping carefully around the mess. Or at least, that was the plan.

Coco, moving faster than I thought he was capable of, brushed past me in a blur, and the sudden gust of air or sheer momentum sent me slipping. My stomach lurched—this was about to be humiliating.

But before I could face-plant next to the prospect, Angel’s strong grip closed around my arm, yanking me upright just in time.

“You good, Malibu?” he asked, smirking.

I exhaled, heart still racing. “Yeah. Just wasn’t looking to kiss the floor tonight.”

He chuckled, steadying me before letting go. “Might be cleaner than Steve’s face at this point.”

From the ground, Steve groaned. “I can hear you, man.”

EZ sighed and reached down to lift him up while the others surveyed the damage.

“Clean that shit up,” Hank barked at the prospect.

I barely paid attention as Steve scrambled to gather the broken glass, my focus already shifting elsewhere. I stepped forward, beer bottles still in hand, and walked toward the open stained-glass door. Leaning against the frame, I waited until Bishop met my gaze. His nod was subtle but unmistakable—an invitation.

“Can you believe these fucking kids?” Bishop grumbled, shaking his head as he turned to Taza, both still seated around the table.

Taza smirked, rolling a toothpick between his fingers. “Don’t be so hard on them,” he said.

I stepped forward and set the bottles on the table, my presence in the room feeling heavier than I’d anticipated. The air in Templo always carried a certain weight—business conducted here was never light. That weight settled on my shoulders now, and I instinctively turned to leave, not wanting to overstep.

“We were never this dumb,” Bishop added, the words more to himself than anyone else.

Before I could take another step, his hand caught my wrist. It wasn’t forceful, just enough to stop me. He gestured toward the empty chair beside him.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said softly, glancing between them. “Everything good?”

Bishop let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “No,” he muttered, voice laced with frustration. “But ain’t shit we can do about it ‘til this border thing is done.”

Bishop snuffed out his cigarette and placed his hand on my thigh as he said to Taza, “Between the Feds and a fucking Reaper rotting out there in the ground somewhere and the bullshit with the other Kings.”

“What about Palo?” Taza asked, his voice edged with something unreadable.

I was never privy to this deep of a conversation about club business. I knew better than to pry, but I heard things. The younger guys—the ones Bishop called dumb—were easier to read. They let things slip, pieced together with half-whispered warnings and violent aftershocks.

I felt Bishop glance at me, and for a brief second, I wondered if he regretted letting me hear this much. But instead of shutting me out, he turned back to Taza and said, “It’s fucking done. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”

That was it. That was all the closure I was going to get. But closure didn’t mean clean. It didn’t mean safe.

He stood from the table and looked back at me. “Let’s go.”

I nodded at Taza, something silent exchanged between us—understanding, maybe. Or acknowledgment. Then I followed Bishop back into the clubhouse.

Something was off. Not just with the club. With him.

I felt it in the way his hands found my hips, the way he pulled me against him, not just with want, but with something deeper. Something unspoken.

“Come with me, querida,” he murmured into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

I followed without question. Down the hall, past the muffled noise of the clubhouse, to the apartment behind closed doors. The moment they shut, he had me against the wall.

His hands pushed my skirt high on my hips, yanked my panties down with urgency. I gasped, my body already responding, but my mind still tangled in the weight of everything outside this room.

I felt the heat of his need pressed against me through his jeans. His zipper came down in a swift motion, and instinct took over. My legs wrapped around his waist, my fingers curled into the worn leather of his kutte.

He didn’t bother taking our clothes off. Didn’t whisper sweet words. Didn’t waste time with tenderness.

He fucked me. And I let him.

I wanted this. Needed it.

Because this wasn’t just about sex.

It was about anchoring ourselves to something solid when everything else was slipping through our fingers. It was about claiming something real, something tangible, when the world outside this door felt like it was closing in.

His grip was bruising, his pace punishing. He drove into me like he needed this to breathe, like the act itself could burn away the tension curling in his spine. I clung to him, moaning as his rhythm grew rougher, more desperate.

It was raw. It was primal.

It was Bishop, stripped down to his most honest self.

And when his movements faltered, when his breath hitched and he groaned my name like it was the only thing holding him together, I followed him over that edge. My body clenched around him, taking him in, taking everything he had to give.

When it was over, neither of us moved for a long moment. My heart pounded in my chest, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. His forehead rested against mine, his breathing ragged.

I wanted to ask him if he was okay. If the club was okay. If we were okay.

But I didn’t.

Because in this world, in his world, some things didn’t need to be said.

And some things couldn’t be.

I stood there for a moment, my breath still uneven, my body still humming from the way he took me. But the warmth of his touch faded quickly, replaced by the cold emptiness of the space he left behind.

"I’ll be home late tonight."

That was all he said before pulling away, before walking out like nothing had just happened. Like I wasn’t still standing here, legs unsteady, heart pounding, mind spinning.

I nodded, but the words never made it past my lips. Maybe because I knew they wouldn’t matter.

He didn’t wait for me. Didn’t look back. Just opened the door and stepped out into the noise of the clubhouse, slipping right back into his world as if I hadn’t been part of it at all.

And I was left leaning against the wall, trying to decide whether I’d just been pulled closer to him… or pushed even further away.

—-

As soon as the MC pulled out of the clubhouse off to present a show of force for the Kings, I slid in behind the wheel of my SUV and drove home. I wasn’t sure how we were going to get through this.

Or if we would get through this. Did Bishop even want to anymore?

He’d been colder, more distant since everything went down. I tried to understand his anguish. Everything he’d built for the club was crumbling around him and he was trying to pick up the pieces.

The drive home felt longer than usual, the silence in the SUV stretching out between my thoughts. Headlights illuminated the dark road ahead, but my mind was stuck on everything behind me—on Bishop, on the club, on the way things had been before. Before the border closed. Before the Reaper in the dirt. Before the weight of it all started pressing down on him, on us.

I wanted to believe this was temporary, that once the dust settled, he’d find his way back to me. But there was a nagging voice in the back of my head whispering doubts I wasn’t ready to face.

Bishop had always carried the burden of the club on his shoulders, but now, it felt like he was shutting me out completely. I understood the stress, the pressure, the rage simmering just beneath his skin. But that understanding didn’t make it any easier to be on the receiving end of his distance, to watch the man I loved become a stranger to me, bit by bit.

I wasn’t sure where I stood anymore. Not with him, not with the club, not with the life we’d built together.

And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on if he wasn’t reaching back for me.

That thought sat heavy in my chest, tightening like a vice the longer I let it linger. If I lost Bishop, I lost more than just him—I lost the club. The clubhouse, the family dinners, the nights spent laughing and drinking with the guys, the sense of belonging that had taken me so long to find. They weren’t just his brothers anymore; they were mine too.

But that’s the way it worked, wasn’t it? Women didn’t get to keep the club in the split. If Bishop decided he didn’t want me anymore, there would be no place for me here. No late-night drinks with Angel, no giving shit to EZ, no talking business with Taza while the rest of them got loud in the background.

I tried to shake the thought, but it stayed with me, crawling under my skin.

Maybe that’s why I had let him take me like that back at the clubhouse, why I had clung to him even when I knew he was slipping away. Maybe I thought if I held on tight enough, I could keep us from unraveling completely.

But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend I didn’t feel it coming apart at the seams.

—-

The silence of the house was suffocating. It was too big, too empty, and far too quiet without the usual sounds of his footsteps or the hum of a TV playing in the background. I tossed the blanket off and swung my legs to the floor, standing up and stretching. The motion felt stiff, like my body was resisting the routine that had become too familiar.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, scrolling through old messages. Nothing that would ground me, no plans to make, just reminders of the space I had left behind—the one I had to fill.

A part of me had been so consumed with Bishop and the club that I hadn’t even realized how much I’d stopped living for myself. I thought about the things I used to enjoy—shopping, getting lost in books, maybe taking a trip somewhere. I couldn't remember the last time I’d done something just for me.

I knew it was time to find something outside of this life, outside of him. Maybe I’d start small. Take a class. Maybe yoga or painting. I didn’t need to get away from Bishop or the club; I just needed to be more than a reflection of them.

As I moved to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, the weight of that thought pressed down on me. I had to carve out space for myself, otherwise, I'd lose more than just the identity I had built. I’d lose who I was.

So I started small, day trip to the spa. The calmness of the spa was like a balm to my overworked mind. For the first time in months, I felt like me again, not just an extension of Bishop or the club. The soothing scents, the soft music, the feeling of being pampered—it was exactly what I needed to reset. I hadn’t realized how much I had neglected myself in the whirlwind of everything going on.

When I stepped out of the spa, I felt lighter, more centered. The world outside wasn’t as heavy anymore. As I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t help but smile. My skin was glowing, my nails freshly painted in a shade of soft pink that felt like a promise to take better care of myself. It was a small victory, but it was mine.

The drive home felt different too. I didn’t rush to return to the chaos of the clubhouse or wait for the heavy, silent moments when Bishop wasn’t around. I didn’t feel like I had to occupy that space right now. I was just... me.

Maybe this was the start of something. Maybe, just maybe, I could find balance.

And as I turned the corner toward the house, I realized that, for the first time in a while, I was looking forward to whatever came next.

—-

“Yer Mexicans sure fucked dis one up, lass,” Declan’s voice crackled through the phone, thick with irritation.

I tightened my grip on the receiver, leaning against the counter as I glanced out the window. “This whole border situation is outside of their control,” I said evenly. “They can’t move the product if we can’t get the imports through.”

“Aye, but der may be anotha way,” he mused. “Different products. And things ya can do to make our other dealings a little cleaner.”

I straightened at that. “What do you need me to do, Uncle?”

A pause. Then a chuckle. “Ya used to love buyin’ all dos designer clothes and handbags, aye?”

My brow furrowed. “Yeah…?”

“Money will be wired to ya in a few days,” he said smoothly, as if this had already been decided. “Open a store. I’ll make sure yer shelves are stocked. And I’ll be sendin’ yer cousin Patrick to help ya get everything sorted.”

I exhaled sharply, processing what he was really saying. A legitimate front. A way to wash money, move certain things under the radar, and keep myself insulated from the dirtier work.

“A luxury boutique?” I echoed, running a hand through my hair. “I haven’t worked retail since high school.”

“Don’t worry, lass,” he chuckled, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’ll all come back to ya.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a warning.

—-

Two days later, I got an alert, that $500,000 had been wired to my account. Opening expenses.

There were no shortage of empty buildings in Santo Padre. Businesses were closing, not opening. The empty shop building I found was perfect for what would be needed. Large open floor plan for all the legitimate merchandise and a large storage area upstairs for the off-the-books merchandise.

I signed the lease, paid the deposit, and first three months upfront. Then went to city planning to get the permits.

“How long did you say it would take to get these sorted?” I asked the clerk behind the desk. “I really want to get started on the remodel so we can open.”

“Few weeks,” she responded.

“Anything I can do to push this along faster?”

The clerk glanced up at me over her reading glasses, sizing me up. “Few weeks is already pushing it, sweetheart. City’s backed up with requests, and with all the border crackdowns, paperwork’s moving slow.”

I let out a slow breath, pressing my palms flat against the counter. A few weeks was too long. I needed this place up and running before anyone—not Bishop, not the Mayans, and definitely not the Feds—started asking too many questions.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough. “Look, I’m willing to make it worth your while if there’s anything you can do.”

Her gaze flickered with understanding, but she kept her face neutral. “You offering a bribe, miss?”

I smiled innocently. “I’m offering an incentive for efficiency.”

She sighed, tapping her nails against the stack of forms. “Leave your number. If something opens up, I’ll give you a call.”

I slid my card across the counter. “I’d really appreciate that.”

As I stepped outside into the heat of the afternoon, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Got word you’re moving fast on something new. Need to talk.

I stared at the screen, a knot forming in my stomach. I wasn’t even open yet, and someone was already paying attention.

I let out a breath before typing out a response.

Local?

I got a 👍in response.

We’re not open for business yet. Meet me at Los Cabos Cantina in an hour and we can discuss a preorder.

The response came almost immediately.

See you there.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and scanned the street before heading toward my SUV. My mind raced as I climbed inside and started the engine. Whoever this was, they were watching closely. Maybe too closely.

I didn’t like unknowns. Not in business, and definitely not in this town.

Los Cabos Cantina was neutral ground. Close enough to club territory that I wouldn’t be completely exposed, but not so close that Bishop or the others would catch wind of my meeting before I wanted them to.

By the time I pulled into the lot, the sun was starting to dip low on the horizon. I spotted a dark sedan parked near the back, windows tinted so black I couldn’t see inside. A man leaned against the hood, arms crossed. He was older, early forties maybe, dressed sharp but casual. Not Mayan. Not cartel.

But he knew me.

I took a breath, steeling myself, and stepped out of the SUV. His eyes tracked me as I approached, a slow smirk curling his lips.

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” he said.

I tilted my head, keeping my expression neutral. “I like to know who’s asking questions about me.”

His smirk widened. “Then you’re gonna love this conversation, sweetheart.”

“We’ll see about that,” I responded. Internally willing to keep calm. Who the fuck was this guy? “So Mr…?”

“Let’s just call me James T Kirk,” he stepped closer to me.

“Funny you don’t look like you command the starship Enterprise,” I remarked, “How exactly can I help you, Mr. Kirk.”

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his sharp eyes. "I’m more of a ground-level operations guy. And from what I hear, so are you."

I crossed my arms, keeping my stance relaxed, but my pulse was ticking a little faster. "You’ve been asking around about me."

"Not just me," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Word spreads fast when someone moves big money through town. Especially someone without a crew of their own. That’s… risky."

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression unreadable. "I have investors."

"Sure you do." He studied me like he was fitting pieces together. "But investors don’t get their hands dirty. And they sure as hell don’t put their face on the front of the operation."

I shrugged. "It’s just a boutique."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "And I’m just a shoe salesman."

I held his gaze, refusing to blink first. "So what exactly do you want, Mr. Kirk?"

He stepped even closer, lowering his voice. "To make sure you’re playing on the right side of the board. Because if you’re not… someone’s gonna make a move. And trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want to be caught in the middle of that game."

“And which side would be the right side?” my brow arched as I looked up at him.

“The one that makes us both a lot of money,” he responded. “And keeps everyone tidy.”

“I’m all about keeping things clean,” I told him. He was close enough now the scent of his cologne tickled my nose. Expensive cologne, this man wasn’t a lackey.

“I’m sure you do, Ms. O’Shay,” he responded.

His use of my last name sent a chill down my spine, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I leaned back slightly, feigning a casual confidence I wasn��t sure I fully felt. “Doing your homework, I see.”

“Wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t.” His smirk was practiced, controlled—like everything about him. “You’re moving fast, and fast movements get noticed.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, pretending to consider his words. “And here I thought I was keeping a low profile.”

“Oh, you were,” he said, tilting his head. “But you can’t move half a million dollars into a dying town and expect people not to ask questions. You’re an outsider playing an insider’s game. And that, Ms. O’Shay, makes people curious.”

I let out a slow breath, my expression unreadable. “Curiosity can be dangerous.”

“For the wrong people, yes,” he agreed, his voice smooth. “But for the right people? It’s an opportunity.”

“And you’re here to offer me an opportunity?”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck this up,” he corrected, voice laced with something darker now. “Because you might think you’re just running a boutique, but the second you agreed to be part of this? You stepped into something a hell of a lot bigger.”

I held his gaze, measuring his words, his intent. “And let me guess—you’re offering guidance?”

“I’m offering you a way to keep your business running without any… unnecessary interruptions.”

My stomach tightened. “And what’s the cost?”

His smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Loyalty.”

I exhaled slowly, choosing my words carefully. “Loyalty is earned.”

His smirk deepened. “Then let’s see if I can earn yours.”

He pushed the business card closer to me, his fingers brushing against mine for just a moment before he pulled away. “Call me when you’re ready to talk for real.”

I let the card sit there, untouched, even as he stood and straightened his jacket. “Don’t take too long,” he added. “Santo Padre isn’t exactly known for being patient.”

I didn’t respond. I just watched as he walked away, leaving me alone with the weight of what had just happened.

#mayans fx #mayans #soa #mayans fanfic #mayans smut

2 notes · View notes

topknot32 · 1 year ago

Text

Stubborn Man (2/2)

Creeper Vargas/OFC

summary- while on the road for a charity gig, creeper's girlfriend finds herself in need of pain relief after an old back injury flares up at a motel

warning- 18+. smut below the cut

word count- 2.2K

The longer she laid there waiting for Neron, the sleepier she became. It was nearing two in the morning, and after spending most of the day busy, she was ready to pass out. The little light of desire in the pit of her stomach kept her up, kept her waiting. No matter how heavy her limbs felt with oxy and exhaustion, she was still hot with need for the man she loved, who'd left her unsatisfied almost an hour ago.

Bella's phone sat on the nightstand, and she raised a brow, an idea coming to mind. She picked up the cell and flipped through the messages in Neron's thread, a smirk spreading across her face, butterflies taking flight in her stomach.

"Come back," she typed out quickly, hitting send, adding a "please" a second after. The oxy in her system made her feel brave. It didn't take long for the phone to vibrate with a reply, and her smile grew wider.

"Be patient, baby. I'm coming, I promise."

"Now. Or I'll finish what we started myself." She bit her bottom lip, watching the dots pop up signaling he was typing. Whatever Bishop needed him for, it must not be too serious.

"You better not."

She shoved the sheet down off of her body before slipping her free hand down her stomach between her legs where the ache would not relent. She positioned the phone with the camera on, her legs shifting while snapping a quick three second video, making sure everything he'd want to see was hidden underneath her hand. She hit send, her stomach turning nervously. It took a few moments longer than before to get a response.

"You trying to get me hard in front of a bunch of guys?"

She let out a frustrated huff, ignoring the response. What she wanted was for him to rush back, to tell her he was on his way, but that's not what she got. She tossed the phone down in the other side of the bed and hopped up, her back feeling a million times better. Her jeans shorts were draped over the chair in the corner, and she pulled them on, searching out Neron's t-shirt she'd been wearing earlier. She slipped on a pair of sandals before swinging the door open, heading out into the chaos of the night. If Neron didn't want to keep her entertained, she'd go out and find something to keep her busy on her own.

It was much noisier outside the room, and a smile pulled at her lips at the sight of all the different clubs getting along. Just with one quick look, she saw patches from Colorado, Texas, even Utah. Bella didn't see any Mayans at first glance, so she wandered along the row of rooms in search of familiar faces.

"Well, hello there," a voice said from her left, and Bella turned to see a man dressed in all black with no identifying colors. She faced him, raising a brow as he stepped closer. "What a surprise you are."

She could smell the liquor on his breath, and in his hand he held a half drank beer bottle. The smell made her want to gag.

"What's your name," he slurred, the bottle of beer almost slipping from his hands..

"Bella," she said with a roll of her eyes.

He stepped closer, and she crossed her arms over her chest, finding him amusing. "Well, Bella, where you headed?"

"To find my old man," she said, and he furrowed his brows.

"Oh, come on, you don't have to lie. I don't bite."

Bella glanced over the stranger's shoulder, catching a glimpse of Coco talking with the biker from Colorado. Further back, she spotted the familiar silhouette of Neron talking with Bishop. Even from where she stood, she saw Coco's brows pinch together and he stood from his seat on a fold out lawn chair. Coco turned to grab Neron by the shoulder.

"You a hang around?" she asked the man.

"Almost a prospect."

Bella nodded, not believing a word of it. She stepped to pass around him. "Then you should know better than to approach an old lady without her man's permission." When she looked back up, Neron and Coco were on their way over.

"Someone's got some balls," Neron called out with a grin on his face. "Back off, friend." He grabbed the stranger's arm and dragged him back. The beer bottle dropped to the pavement and shattered. "Didn't anyone teach you any fuckin' manners?"

Bella moved away a little to keep from getting in the middle, but she admired Neron and the way he always came to her rescue. He glanced her way with an exasperated expression before turning back to the drunk.

The Mayans were old school when it came to family and friends that weren't club members, and the laws were nonnegotiable. It was purely a form of respect to introduce yourself to one of the guys before approaching their guest, woman or otherwise, it didn't matter. Someone who wasn't even a prospect or a patched member had no rights in their eyes. They were here by choice, and had to respect the MC's rules regardless of their own personal wants or needs. Bella could feel the desire building all over again watching Neron defend her honor.

"Hey, I was just having a conversation," the drunk said with his hands up in defense.

"Not with my girl, you're not." Neron shoved him in the chest, Coco at his side waiting for something to pop off that Neron might need help with. "You want to talk, you can talk to me. How's that sound?"

"I don't have shit to say to you." He spun around to walk away, and Neron let him, obviously not sensing a threat.

He turned to Bella and shook his head. He stepped closer to her as Coco headed back over to his seat, and kissed the side of her face, one arm winding around her waist. "I thought you were in bed thinking about me," he whispered in her ear. "Now I find you out here gettin' yourself into trouble. What am I going to do with you?"

"Hopefully you finish what you started," Bella whispered back, his fingers sliding up the shirt she'd thrown on. "I love it when you're like this." She nipped at the skin of his neck while slipping one hand into his cut.

He pushed her backward to the wall, pressing her against it. "Like what?"

Bella ran her other hand discretely down his front to cup him through his jeans. Neron exhaled heavily, pressing his forehead to the side of her face. He looked back up, checking to see if any of the guys were looking their way.

"I'm going to tell them we're going to bed." He motioned at Bishop, but she held him against her.

"No. They've had you long enough."

His eyes snapped to hers, and that smirk she loved so much began to form. She pressed her lips to his and ran her fingers along the waistband of his jeans. If anyone was watching, Bella didn't care. She had a need that nothing else could cure.

"I want you now," she whispered in his ear, running her tongue over the shell. "Right now."

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna be the death of me." He kissed her then, hard and needy, his knee sliding between her legs to press against her center. "You fuckin' win." Neron pulled back just enough to whisper the words against her lips.

Bella didn't give him a second to change his mind, and she took his hand, dragging him back toward their room. Once they were behind closed doors, she turned to look at him while slipping the shirt over her head. Neron's gaze was filled with hunger as he watched, but he didn't advance. Bella stripped slowly, putting on a show, and when she was completely naked, she made her way over to where he stood. Her hands slid inside his cut, pulling it off and draping it over the chair.

Bella pressed against his shoulders, pushing him back toward the bed as his hands wandered up her body, to her ribcage where he cupped her ample breasts in his hands, squeezing the tender flesh. His eyes stayed locked there, and she could feel her body heating. She kept backing him up, and when his legs hit the mattress, he grinned. She pushed him down to sit, and he did as she instructed without argument. The look on his face made it seem like he found it amusing—her taking control.

Neron leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the place just beside her bellybutton, his teeth nipping at the skin. She shivered, running her hands along his shoulders, up his neck and over his head where his hair had started to grow out, thick and black. He latched onto her waist and dragged her closer, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, earning a breathless moan from her. He refused to let her escape, locking an arm around her waist. With the other, he deftly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his already hard cock out. "You wanted it so bad," he said into her ear, sending a shock straight between her legs. "So take it."

His grip on her loosened. Bella didn't need to be told twice. She straddled his waist, taking his cock in her hand and guiding it to her entrance. Neron watched her with dark eyes, his gaze dropping to the place where their bodies connected when she took him deep. They both moaned, and Bella wasn't sure she'd ever felt such relief to have him inside her.

"Neron," she breathed, rocking her hips back and forth slowly, eyes fluttering closed. He kissed her everywhere—lips, forehead, jaw, collarbones, and he encouraged her with filthy whispered words in her ear.

Neron held her tight, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck, hands running up her back to hold her by the back of her neck. His teeth found every inch of skin he could, the sensation setting her on fire as she rode him. She settled into a slow grind, his cock hitting all of the right spots.

It didn't take long for Neron to run out of patience with not being in control, and he slipped his arms under her legs and stood, taking her with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling. It wasn't like Neron to sit back and take it. He liked to be in control, liked to feel her under him. He was careful not to hurt her when laying her down on the mattress, and he wasted no time covering her body with his, sinking deep inside her again. Bella cried out, fisting the sheets in her grip again as he fucked her, holding one of her legs up around his waist. His pace was quick and forceful, both of them desperate for each other.

Bella moaned his name like a prayer, and when Neron noted how close she was, he slowed his hips, using forced instead of speed to get her higher. She ran her hands up the smooth planes of his back and dug her nails into his shoulders, her legs trembling as she neared her climax. She was close, so close, and she knew it wouldn't take much to push her over the edge. She slid a hand down her body, using her first two fingers to work circles around her clit. Neron watched, his breaths coming quicker, sharper.

The ball of pleasure snapped, and Bella's eyes closed, her vision going white for a few seconds. Neron groaned, burying his face in her neck as he came, too, his hips stuttering as the pleasure overcame him.

Bella wound her arms around his shoulders, her thighs still cradling his hips. She rubbed his back softly, both of them silent as they came down from their highs. The weight of his body on hers was a comfort, and she secretly hoped he wouldn't move, that the two of them could just fall asleep like this. Her fingers danced across his skin, up the back of his neck and over the fresh growth of hair on his head. Neron shivered, and a sigh left his lips.

"I feel much better," Bella whispered, a sleepy smile working it's way onto her lips.

Neron pulled back and stole a kiss before rolling over onto the other side of the bed, his hands crossing behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. She turned on her side to look at him, running one hand over his abdomen to rest on his chest, her fingers tracing the ink there.

Neron's eyes flickered down to watch her movements. One of his hands reached down to take hers, and he laced their fingers together before pulling them up to press a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

"I love you." His voice was soft in the quiet room, and she gazed over at him with nothing but love on her face. "I'm happy you came with us, even though it hurt you to do it." Neron finally turned his head to look her in the eyes.

"I'd do it all over again." She leaned up on her elbow and claimed his lips, her hair falling like a curtain around them before she rested her head on his chest to get some much needed sleep before the trip home in the morning.

#creeper vargas #neron vargas #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #mayans fx #angel reyes #ez reyes #kurt sutter #sons of anarchy #Spotify

13 notes · View notes

sapphirethewriter · 2 years ago

Text

⊏ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒!𝟒𝟐 ﾒ 𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⊐

warnings: language, suggestive phrases, alcohol, mentions of drugs

★ 𝚂𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘 ★

━ 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚 ━

𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

𝑰𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑨 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑰𝑵 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝒀𝑶𝑹𝑲, and when most people were inside their homes drinking hot-coco and cuddling up with their significant other, you were stuck sitting on the far end of chaser typing away at your phone.

The aromatics of a crackling fire trapped behind a cage of stone, and shots of rum and tequila swishing around fill your nostrils. You've only had one cup of your liquor so far, and the buzz is engulfing your body and spirit.

So much so, the friend you're texting nonstop is no longer responding because of how late it is, and you're forces to scope out the scene. To your left you see about three tipsy guys snickering to themselves, and a few girls complimenting each other's outfit beside them. Everyone's words were slightly slurring, and music playing over the speakers didn't help lighten the load.

The most you could really make out in the dim lighting and sea of red plastic cups scattered around the living room area where the familiar faces. The ones you're comfortable with seeing on campus every day.

[ENTER MILES 1610] Your eyes land on the lean build of a well-known student ambassador, Miles Morales standing next to the fireplace. Even from far way, his sunny aura and wide smile was bright enough to melt both ice caps of the earth before the rest of mankind had the chance.

Standing beside him were two girls, one blonde with pink ends, and the other with afro-puffs and full cheeks. Both laughed at whatever he said, barely paying any attention to the drink in their hands. The longer you observed, the easier it was to understand how Miles was always able snag girls into his orbit.

Though he wasn't necessarily known as a playboy or rumored to be dating anyone, it was obvious he'd be the perfect boy to bring home to your parents. Especially yours, because of their unfairly lofty expectations.

You were to go to school for nursing, get married, and start a family.

Those were the only options, and there was no room for distractions.

Fortunately, you're old enough to know what things you can dabble in without being led astray, right?

Tonight, was a one off.

A chance to let your hair down before exams next week.

You glanced down at your phone, eyeing the last message you sent to your friend and empty reply. That conversation was the only thing preventing you from veering too far off the path; without it, curiosity seeped into your gut, twisting it when you heard someone on the couch spring up to suggest an idea to the masses.

"Yo, who's down for some spin the bottle?" a man with freeform locks and British accent queried, and the room decrescendo into mutters before a nearly unanimous agreement came from the couch.

Miles lifted his cup with grin, nodding "let's run it up!"

The girls and guys spread out a bit so they could prepare to play, and your lips twitched with nervousness. You haven't been dragged into playing risky games since your high school days, and nothing was serious back then.

But now, with a table of drinks and mind stuffed with regrets, your stomach churns.

Your eyes skate around the room for an exit aside from the cold outside, but it was no use. The layout of the house was different from your sorority and simply waiting for someone to use the bathroom sl you discover it was beyond crazy.

A lump in your throat is swallowed and you latch your eyes onto Miles, who was now nearing the couch. You smooth your freshly manicured hands over your black dress before pushing yourself off the couch to approach him.

Thankfully, the music was loud enough to over the sound of your heels clicking, and Mikes didn't notice you until you were coming up to him.

His hazel eyes catch yours, and his friends beside him somehow fade into the background.

"You okay?" Miles his head, eyebrow raising.

You fix your hair, hoping to come off naturally, "yeah, um... sorry to interrupt. I don't know where the bathroom is on the-"

"Top floor, last door on the left. The bottom one's outta order," he finished for you, gesturing up the staircase near the hall to the bedrooms.

You nodded, shuffling backwards as your stomach clenched once more, "got it, thanks."

With no further convincing, you slithered your way from the living room and up the stairs. Keeping a low profile, you crouched as you made your way up, holding a hand over your stomach. Miles' directions repeated in your head until you made down the upstairs hallway and turned to the left.

Your fingers, rushed and clammy, twisted the golden doorknob to the bathroom just eyeful of a someone occupying it.

[𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺!42] A brown-skinned man with boxer braids, and a build like the student ambassador downstairs, was facing the mirror with a razor in hand scooting down his prominent cheekbones. He flinched almost as hard as you did upon your arrival, causing the blade of the razor to slash at his sharp jaw.

A tiny streak of blood replaced the open scar, and the man craned his neck to glare at you.

Your heart skipped a few beats at the face you recognized looking back at you.

Since when did Miles have a twin brother?

Did he always go here?

"¿En serio?" The man exclaimed, gesturing at his face, "¿no ves que estoy haciendo algo?"

Spanish?

You stalled a bit on your apology, not understanding what he was saying but the emotions were surely felt.

"I-I'm sorry, I was..." your eyes go wide seeing blood trail down his neck. Looking at the wound, you instinctively step forward to getting a better view, guilt twinging in your gut as you reach hand up to gently caress the side of face to assess the situation.

Where were the alcohol swabs, wipes, band-aids? Something!

The man jumps from your touch, making you hand fall away from his face.

Too much.

You swallowed, backing away as well. " You're bleeding, I-I wanted to help... your face kinda just-- alarmed me?"

The boy quirked an eyebrow, mouth left ajar, and you wished you stayed home for the night. The most reasonable thing was just to walk away, but there wasn't another place to go beside the living room and you didn't want to go back just yet.

You had to save face.

"No, no! Not like that, like you're not ugly... or anything, you're just-- I didn't know you were a twin!" you admitted, and the longer you talked the more embarrassing things got.

Thankfully, the man didn't just slam the door and hummed, eyes narrowing. "¿Necesitas algo? What do you want? Do you have to throw up or something?"

There were a bunch of things you could've made up, but at this point there was no use.

Lying to man you've already hurt is just cruel.

No matter how pathetic your answer was.

"I was just... looking for a place to breathe a little," you fiddled the hem of your dress, "downstairs isn't really my shtick, so I asked where the bathroom was, and you brother told me come up here since one downstairs wasn't working."

The man delayed his response, and through his pupils you got to watch the fire of his initial frustration being extinguished. Meanwhile, your eyes kept travelling back to his neck.

He huffed, jaw unclenching as he reached over your shoulder toward the medicine cabinet behind your head. He stepped forward to skim over the products inside and close it back when he finished.

His eyes lingered on your face, scanning every feature slowly before pulling back a box of band-aids and alcohol pads.

You blinked, unsure of what he wanted until he tilted the items toward you.

"You wanted to help me out," he shook the box of band-aids, so you'd notice them, "I gotta job interview to be at tomorrow, so don't fuck around, enfermera."

You took the items from the guy's larger hands, and he settled down on top of the toilet seat where you could easily treat his scar.

The first thing you do is start with alcohol pads and as you break one free you can feel his deep brown eyes boring into you.

"What's your name 'ma?" The boy asked, his Spanish and New York accent coloring his deep voice in tones you hadn't heard from any guy who tried talking to you before.

The alcohol pad slips from your fingers onto the floors, and you get to hear his genuine laugh fill the room with a slight echo.

"Uh, I'm Y/N, a sophomore," you said, rushing to pick the pad from the floor and fish in the box for a new one.

You take a small breath to gather yourself before pressing the alcohol pad to the boy's neck, his Adams apple bobbing with every touch.

"You?" It's something you've been meaning to ask since the beginning.

"I'm Miles. Senior," he tilted his neck to give you more access to his neck. "You said downstairs ain't really your thing? How come? You don't like havin' a 'lil fun?"

You nibbled at the inside of your cheeks as you finished wiping his scar, leaving the area somewhat dry.

"It's not that, it's just... I don't really know how to-- 'just be' sometimes?" you tried to explain, feeling that same lump in your throat appear from when you first walk through the party doors. "Like I just... I go places, and my mind doesn't allow me to really-- enjoy it, I guess?"

Miles snickered, "yo, I get it. But my brother's a punk. I'm sure nothin' crazy happening down there."

"How do you know?" You toss the pad in the trash beside him and open the box of band-aids. "You're up here... alone... isn't it technically your birthday too?"

"Why you sayin' that like it's a bad thing, chica?" Miles spread his legs to invite your body in between them as you stood with the band-aid pinched in two fingers. "You ain't the only one who likes to have a little space."

Space.

Yeah, that's what you needed.

Somehow, the universe thought this was better.

Maybe it was, because patching up a pretty boy who seemed to be the exact opposite of his brother, had you swerving off the original lane to isolation. You were now on the fast track to distraction county, and the enticing glint in Miles' eyes was going to gassing you up.

You bent down to place the band-aid over Miles' jaw, your faces are inches away.

"You don't like parties?" You probe, and Mile's lopsided smile slides into his face.

"Nah not really," there was a pause, his eyebrow quirked, "you don't believe me or something'? Is it the braids?"

You shrugged, smoothing a finger over band-aid so it would stay in place, "No, they are fresh though."

Miles chuckled at the compliment, as you cleaned up the counter for any other scraps of paper. "Drunk people piss me off, and I don't like people feeling up on me in the dark... some motherfuckers play too much, and if I'm tryna get this degree I can't be beating somebody ass every week."

Your movement stuttered as you went for the medicine cabinet, "something tells me you'd do a whole lot of other things just to suffice."

Once the items were put back in their rightful place, by the time you close the cabinet Miles was standing up behind you. Your eyes lock as you start back in him in the mirror.

"If it means I get to have peace of mind in this fucked up world, best believe I'mma do it, 'ma," Miles swallowed, "everyone needs a little distraction every now and then."

You turn around to face Miles, his lean build looming over you with that butter slick smile that leaves you frozen still.

"What's- what's your... distraction?" you asked.

Miles wet his lips, "shit... hoop, smoke a blunt," he scanned your body for a minute before responding with the last activity, "fuck for a couple hours."

Waves of warmth spread between your thighs, throbbing with want.

"What's yours?" Miles dared to ask, stepping forward where his body heat engulfed your entire being, and sent your judgement and filters up in flames.

You knew you'd probably regret all this in the morning, and scream into your pillow at 9 A.M. that everything you've worked hard to keep together is slowly starting to unravel. But in the moment, in this time and space, all that could come out was the truth.

"It's you," you breathed, eyes flicking between Miles' brown ones above you.

Miles wrapped an arm around your waist, making you arch into him slightly. You body slotting so perfectly beneath his.

Miles leaned down, lips grazed over the top of your ear to tell you, "eres la distracción perfecta."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed my first drabble, as it's my first-time writing Y/N/Reader oriented imagines! Tell me what you think!

Plus! I would love to see some suggestions on what to write next for Miles!42 x reader things!

Thank you for reading!

- S

#miles morales #spider man: across the spider verse #fanfic #miles 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderverse imagine #earth 42 miles x reader #fluff #earth 42 miles fluff #x female reader #into the spider verse #imagines #prowler miles #atsv prowler #miles g morales #SAPPHIREWITES

46 notes · View notes