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hoseoksluna · 4 days

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LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door.

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.

And it no longer shall.

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.

And the process soaks your panties.

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.

And you might as well give him what he asks of you.

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.

He didn’t expect that.

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it��s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.

And you let his following question consume you just as much.

“Were you in love with him?”

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.

No need for long nights of overthinking.

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.

“What’s it to me?”

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.

And you do.

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.

“Did you cry for him?”

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.

The life in you throbs.

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.

“Touch it, please.”

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.

Your poor heart skips a beat.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.

“That’s so hot.”

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.”

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.

“I want that so bad.”

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.

“I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.

“I’ll give you a big load.”

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.

“Good girl. Such good manners.”

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.

“Say that again.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.

But only one thing is clear.

“I’m yours.”

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.

Blood-hot.

And you feel as though you deserved every drop.

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.

They cease to exist.

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.

Again and again.

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.

Hoseok is that life.

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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verimuru · 6 months

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20th Century Boy

A 12-page IWTV (2022 series) fancomic about the Vampire Armand, Daniel, Devil’s minion era, sex, drugs and rock n' roll.

Content mentions & warnings: drug use, light angst, mentions of sex & death.

Fancomic by verimuru and anonymous, 2024.

Some notes about the comic below:

This comic is based on my partner's brilliant fanfiction. They wished to remain anonymous, but the story idea was theirs. I am just a humble servant.

Neither of us speak English as our first language, so of course after finishing I see a hundred things to tweak in the dialogue... but decided to leave it the way it is, for now. So! If you, dear reader, find clunky sentences and weird mistakes and would possibly like to help us in the future, send me an ask. ;-)

My partner said that banging in an elevator while listening T.Rex on repeat is a plothole because they couldn't do that, but I disagree. They would find a way.

Idk where Louis is - probably left Dubai. Daniel got some of his memories back, not sure how yet. Lots of inspiration was taken from GrayGiantess' fics, but this work is not based on them (just an encouragement for everyone to read them).

I got into this ship, like, less than 100 hours ago. I got possessed by a demon, blinked, and suddenly I made a comic. I have seen the first season of the IWTV 2022 adaptation and everything else I know about the canon is hearsay, whispers in the forest and an Eldritch demon telling me its tales. Consider me as a little fledgling.

And finally, the songs in order by T.Rex are: Get it on, 20th Century Boy, Free Angel and Cosmic Dancer. Rest in piece, Marc Bolan, and thank you for everything.

I'll make an PDF for itch.io... later, now I need to sleep.

We would love a comment or an ask, so my box is open. Hope you enjoy. <3

UPDATE on 24th of March, 2024: I fixed Armand's skin tone on two pages (I had missed a couple spots).

#amc iwtv #armandaniel #daniel molloy #the vampire armand #armand #verimuru art #iwtv #armand x daniel #armandaniel comic #iwtv fanart #iwtv fancomic #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #the devils minion #old man daniel #this is what the kids call #old man yaoi

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nyuoqi · 2 months

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— SO I MARRIED MY ANTI-FAN ౨ৎ SES

O11. hello dubai

✸ SYNOPSIS ! : congratulations! you have been invited to korea's #1 romance reality show 'We Got Married' where you will be living with your co-star like a married couple. but what will you do when you find out that your husband is actually your anti-fan?

(1.3k wc, not proofread)

"IS THIS YOUR FIRST TIME GOING TO DUBAI? " you ask , breaking the deafening silence that surrounds the both of you as you seat in the comfy seat of business class which is slowly driving you crazy.

it has only been half an hour since your plane departed from incheon international airport. both you and EUNSEOK already finding comfort in your seats for the next nine and a half hour.

initially, you wanted to put on a few movies before falling asleep for the rest of the flight. however, your search for the perfect flight movie comes to a failure as you find nothing that piqued your interest after scrolling for half an hour.

EUNSEOK on the other hand seems to have settled down perfectly. unlike you who struggle to find an activity to stick with for the rest of the flight, EUNSEOK has already decided to listen to music while reading a book.

upon hearing your voice, EUNSEOK takes one of his earphones out to listen to your question properly.

"no, this is actually my first time going to dubai. " an awkward silence engulfs the both of you after he speaks.

a gust of wind from the cold air conditioner blows past you two, your body slightly shivering as the tiny hair on your body jumps at it— showing the severity of the awkward tension in between the both of you.

noticing the situation you guys seem to ne in, EUNSEOK takes responsibility to break the wall that is separating you and him by clearing his throat, "is this also your first time going to dubai? "

it's clear that despite EUNSEOK's effort to cool things down, the tension between the two of you has only gotten thicker— as if it wasn't thick enough already— the moment you attempt a conversation with him.

curse you for being so picky about movies.

your face blank as you opt to stare at him as if he's some kind of mirror you could reflect your actions to. the longer you stare, the harder you feel your conscience slapping you across the face.

except your overbearing silence freaks EUNSEOK out a bit, he shuffles in his seat, backbone unnaturally straightened creating a very great yet awkward posture.

"is there something on my face? " perhaps you stare a little too long. you blink your eyes and meet EUNSEOK's terrified one, lacing with fear.

you mentally face palm yourself for not saying anything despite being the one who asked the question.

"oh sorry, i didn't mean to stare. " you can feel heat creeping up your cheeks. to say that you are embarrassed would be an understatement, you are completely appalled.

EUNSEOK looks away, his face showing a mirrored expression to yours— except his cheeks aren't pink. aside from that, you can easily tell from his slightly widened eyes and he way he captures his bottom lip in between his teeth is enough to tell you that he is embarrassed.

and you know this for sure because you may still be string at him.

maybe just not hard enough considering the fact that you missed the way his ears are in a very bright shade of pink.

another gust of wind blows over.

this time, you decide to take the upper hand in fixing whatever mess of a battle of awkward silence you started and smack your lips together. "would you like to watch a movie together? "

EUNSEOK's eyebrow raised in interest as he averts his gaze from the book to listen to you for the second time.

his eyes stare at yours— his very beautiful doe eyes. "i- i mean, i was actually looking for a movie to watch but i couldn't find any so i was just wondering if you could help me find one. " you stutter, your confidence crumbling down all over what, his eyes?

"sure, what do you want to watch? " EUNSEOK leans over towards your seat to see your screen clearly as you browse through the numerous lists of movies.

EUNSEOK scans the lists to look for a movie he might be interested in. it doesn't take long for him to find something that suits his taste.

a brown coloured poster decorated with the face of an old man, 'EINSTEIN' written clearly on top of the poster in a huge font for an easy read.

if there is an advantage of being your number 1 hater is that he knows and remembers the most useless thing about you— one of them being your absolute hatred towards physics.

what about him? oh darling, after losing to you in a mathematics competition, he makes it his new life goal to be better than you in physics.

that's it, this is it.

if you guys watch the movie, you're going to be bored out of your life. and when that happens, he's going to tell you all about einstein and his life achievements which will make you realise that he's better than you in one aspect of life—

"legally blonde! " his train of thoughts is cut off by your screech. you turn your head towards him, your eyes sparkling in excitement as your right hand grab his left one, squeezing tightly, "can we watch legally blonde, pretty please? "

"sure. " EUNSEOK says hesitantly, his eyes blinking in disbelief.

no words can explain the things happening in EUNSEOK's head. his eyes differ from the screen, the amount of pink coloured things and ambience in the movie slowly giving him a headache.

hot pinks, especially.

it has been a few minutes since the movie started and he still cant understand what you see in this movie aside from a stupid blonde sorority girl who's a regular at this one beauty salon.

it doesn't help that you're also watching it with a small smile dancing on your lips. you're happy and enjoying yourself, and he hates to see that.

or maybe the both of you just fail to see things eye to eye.

EUNSEOK's eyes drop, lids feeling heavy the longer he lose focus and interest towards the movie. with each seconds that passes by, EUNSEOK can feel his body starting to shift into another dimension until—

"so you're breaking up with me because i'm too blonde? "

EUNSEOK swear to himself that he will not enjoy the movie, he make sure not to enjoy the movie. but somehow hearing the very same line he's been listening to on his tiktok fyp for the past few years pique his interest.

"so this is where the sound came from. i thought it was a meme this whole time! " he whispers to himself.

"it's intriguing, isn't it? " okay maybe he wasn't whispering.

you giggle at EUNSEOK's newfound interest in the movie. you would be lying if you are to say that you haven't realised how bored EUNSEOK was throughout the whole movie— given it is only a few minutes in— so unsurprisingly, you're shocked that all it takes to gain his attention is this particular line.

"you know, " you say, popping in a cashew in your mouth from the packet of salted nuts you asked the flight attendance for not too long ago. "if you really want to find out where more famous tiktok audios came from, we can binge watch a lot of 2000s movies— teen romance, of course. "

"wouldn't it take too much time! " EUNSEOK try reasoning out, not wanting to admit how he's actually considering your offer.

"well as if the duration of our flight isn't nearly ten hours. "

and that is how your plan of sleeping throughout the whole plane ride gets thrown out the window. movies after movies, more iconic line after iconic lines. you genuinely feel like this is the first time you and EUNSEOK are very comfortable with each other.

EUNSEOK also thinks that he is having a lot of fun with you right now, something he didn't think is capable to happen within his hatred towards you.

maybe, just maybe, he doesn't really hate you that much anymore.

𓍼 previous | masterlist | next 𓂅

TAGLIST (closed) : @ujisworld @leileixq @renjunsversion @marshwatz @onlyhyunjin @yipyipmorals @wonychu @renjuneoo @secretiny @haowonbins @https-yeonjun @vixensss @luffysgfforevaa1 @beomgyusonlywife @st4rryhae @woniepop @gisellessgf @yningz @jeeluv @billiondollarworth @keilovr @nyiaswrld @meowbini @asahilvr @brachioswrld @chuutaroo @sinsgaybutthatsokay @sokkszn @samvagejkflxhrt @itsactuallylina @injunnie-lemon @icewons @fae-renjun @nujeskz @wantluv @lilyluvszb1 @addorations @lotties-readings @sanasour @dutifullyannoyingfox @haechansbbg @woongiez @kaelysian @niinaspeaks @en-verse @yyangj3lly @ffixtionista @astro-doll-the-star @mizuhasgurl @lovaeri

#✩ - so i married my anti-fan #riize fluff #riize x reader #eunseok x reader #eunseok fluff #song eunseok x reader #riize scenarios #riize imagines #riize texts #riize smau

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lumi-nescentt · 11 months

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And When I Break It's In A Million Pieces

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: kinda angsty, reader overworking herself, arguing and someone fainting

Words: 3.8k

Summary: Oscar can understand how important exams are to his girlfriend but he can't stand to see her overworking herself and this close to breaking down without trying to comfort her.

A/N: it was supposed to be a cute oscar one shot but I guess midterms kicked my ass so I had to make Oscar do what I would have loved someone to do for me.

Now that I'm done writing this I'll start on the requests :)

Oscar had been away on the last triple header of the season and as much as he loved racing and how good the car felt lately, he missed his girlfriend and couldn't wait to see her again.

She usually came with him as often as she could, but she had been drowning in homework lately so she had chosen to stay home and work a little extra to make sure she stayed up to date. Oscar didn’t mind, or at least he tried not to show it because he knew how bad she already felt for missing some of his best results in F1.

The Australian knew how hard the girl was on herself and how she tended to forget to take care of herself when she got engrossed in her studies so he thought coming back as early as possible from the British Grand Prix was the best thing he could do.

Flying from London to Melbourne felt like one of the longest trips Oscar ever had to endure and it was only worse because he was all alone. Usually he either had Lando, Logan or his girlfriend to entertain him during layovers and on the flight itself, but now as he sat on the first plane taking him from London to Qatar, Oscar felt bored to death.

He had chosen the earliest flight possible on Monday and that had been one that took off at 3pm so he wasn’t even tired enough to sleep. He had already watched a movie while waiting in front of the gate so he was honestly starting to run out of ideas on how to entertain himself.

He considered paying for wifi access to try and chat with his girlfriend for a second but then realised that he had decided to plan his comeback in secret so she had no idea he was coming back. In the end, Oscar still paid for it just so he could play 8 ball with Logan and joke around with Lando.

His two friends entertained him for a few hours, but when he landed in Qatar, they both had stuff to do so he was left all alone again. He had nothing to do during the layover in Dubai, so walking around the entire terminal at the slowest pace possible seemed like a good enough idea for the 2 hours he had to wait before boarding again.

To say the 13 hours flight to Melbourne had been long was an understatement. It had only been made worse since he couldn’t sleep, so Oscar had watched the entirety of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and still had found time to be bored once he was done. By the time he finally arrived in front of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend, it was almost 1am and he hadn’t slept in 30 hours now.

All he wanted to do was crash on his bed and cuddle against her but when he opened the door as quietly as he could, the first thing he saw was his girlfriend sitting on a barstool, hunched over her laptop on the counter. She had her headphones on and the volume was so loud Oscar could hear the song playing very clearly from where he was standing in the doorway.

After taking off his shoes and dropping his suitcase in a corner, he slowly made his way over, trying his best not to startle the girl. She was so engrossed in whatever she was reading that even with Oscar standing right next to her, her focus was still on her computer. She only flinched and snapped back to reality when Oscar delicately removed her headphones and put them next to her now empty coffee cup.

-“ Oscar ? What– How ? You were supposed to stay in Europe until the break.” she stuttered, too tired to understand how her boyfriend was standing in front of her

-“ Surprise !” Oscar smiled softly as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “ I missed you too much to wait an entire month so I decided to come spend the week here.”

-“ I don't know what to say, wow.”

-“ Oh God, was it a bad idea ? I don’t want to intrude if you had plans, baby. I can ask my parents if I can stay at theirs instead if you want me out of your hair while you study.”

-“ No no, it’s a good surprise, I just didn’t expect it, that’s all. It’s our flat so of course I want you to stay with me.” she quickly clarified, burying her head in the crook of his neck and tightening her arms around him

-“ Ok good, I got scared I was bothering you for a second.” he answered, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head

-“ Don’t say that Osc, you could never bother me. I’m always happy to see your pretty face in real life.”

-“ So you think I’m pretty ?” the Australian asked with a proud grin

-“ Of course I do, pretty boy. Now as much as I’d love to keep this lovely flirting going, you must be exhausted so why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll join you in a bit ?”

-“ That sounds great, I’ll go shower and then we can cuddle because I can definitely feel the drop of temperature between here and the UK.”

-“ It’s not even that cold but I won’t say no to that.” she smiled before turning back to her homework.

Oscar didn’t really know how long he stayed under the warm spray of the shower but judging by the amount of steam that was now filling the bathroom, he assumed he stayed for a little while. Since he took his time, he fully expected to find his girlfriend dozing off under the covers but when he reached the bedroom, the bed was still untouched.

Gathering the remaining energy he had, Oscar dragged himself to the kitchen where she was still in the position he left her in. Her headphones were back on at a lower volume and she was now frowning and holding her head between her hands, seemingly trying to make sense of what she was reading.

-“ Are you coming to bed soon ?” Oscar asked seeing the time on her laptop

-“ Yeah, of course. Just give me a minute, I’ll meet you there.” she answered without looking at him

-“ Baby, it’s almost 3am. You need to sleep as much as I do.”

-“ I know, I’m coming. Don’t wait up, you must be knackered.” she tried, squeezing the hand he had put on her shoulder to reassure him

-“ I want to sleep next to you. I’ll wait for you to finish what you’re doing. How long is this going to take you ?”

-“ I don’t know, you shouldn’t stay awake for me. I promise I’ll cuddle you as soon as I’m in bed, you won’t even realise I’m not here at first.”

-“ That’s not true, I always notice so will you come ? Please ?”

-“ You’re lucky you’re cute and that I love you because I really need to finish this paper.” she finally caved in with a sigh, closing her laptop to face her boyfriend who was sleepily smiling at her

-“ I love you too, now come. I can tell you’re exhausted too.”

Oscar linked their hands together and walked towards their bedroom, handing her one of his shirts as he stripped down to his boxer before hurriedly getting under the covers. At the sight of her cold boyfriend all cosy under the blankets, the girl couldn’t help but chuckle before she joined him and let him wrap his arms around her, resting her head against his chest and falling asleep to the comforting sound of his steady heartbeat.

When Oscar woke up at 7am a few hours later, he brought his arm closer to the rest of his body, hoping to steal some of his girlfriend’s body warmth but his arm closed on nothing. With his eyes still closed, he patted her side of the bed, simply thinking she had rolled away from him but all he touched were the empty bed sheets. He would have assumed she had just gone to the bathroom if it wasn’t from how cold her side was.

As hard as he wanted to tell her to come back to bed, Oscar wasn’t fully awake and he didn’t really think there was something he could do so he let himself fall back asleep for a few hours. When he opened his eyes again, finally feeling rested enough to figure out where she had gone, he was still alone in their empty bed.

He made his way to the living room, secretly hoping she’d be all curled up on the sofa and had only moved there because he was snoring too loud but it was just as empty as their bed. Not liking where he thought this was going, Oscar went to the kitchen where his girlfriend was exactly in the same position he had found her hours earlier.

Without saying a word, Oscar wrapped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled his face in her neck like he knew she liked. When the only acknowledgement he got was a low hum without even a smile or a look towards him, he decided to try something else. He slowly turned his head and started kissing her neck tenderly, which always got her attention usually because she was never one to pass on getting some physical affection from him. He was so sure it was going to work that when she finally breathed in before talking, Oscar couldn’t stop the smile creeping on his face.

-“ Not now baby, please.” she brushed him off softly, without even looking at him

-“ Oh, okay. Sorry.” Oscar muttered, feeling his face flush from a wave of embarrassment he couldn’t stop

He quickly escaped to the opposite corner of the kitchen, getting busy with making breakfast to forget about the uneasy feeling coursing through his veins. It took him 15 minutes of meddling around before everything was ready and before he was ready to try to get her attention again.

This time, Oscar planted himself next to his girlfriend and put a coffee cup and a full plate with eggs and toast right next to her laptop before poking her shoulder with his finger to get her full attention.

-“ Hello there, I made you breakfast.” he half smiled

-“ Hi baby, that’s really sweet of you. Thank you.” she returned the smile, cupping his face with her hands before planting a soft kiss on his lips and turning back towards her homework

-“ I was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast together in the living room, maybe ?”

-“ I’m sorry Osc. I really need to study but don’t let me stop you, I know you love to eat there.”

-“ Yeah, sure.” he started out loud before mumbling to himself as he exited the room “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

After his very lonely breakfast in front of a TV show he didn’t even want to watch, Oscar popped his head into the kitchen to see if she was done working. When he saw that she was still very focused on what she was doing, he decided to do something to occupy himself until she was finally free. He got dressed and yelled that he was going for a run before finally going outside.

When he came back a little less than an hour later, Oscar was determined to spend some time with her so he hurriedly went to the bathroom to shower before eventually stealing her away from her homework.

Once he was finally done, it was time for lunch and he was feeling like ordering so, while still looking at his phone, he went towards the kitchen and called her.

-“ I’m gonna order food, what do you feel like eating ?”

He waited a little bit for an answer but nothing came back so he walked a little closer and tried again.

-“ Baby ? Are you not hungry ?”

Getting worried from the clear silence he was met with, Oscar walked in the kitchen but, to his surprise, he couldn’t see her.

-“ y/n ? If this is a joke, it’s not that funny. Where are you ?” he asked, feeling his heart beat a little faster

He knew she hadn’t gone out because both her keys and her car were still there so he went around the counter to go look into the laundry room when his eyes fell on something on the floor. Seeing his girlfriend laying down on the floor made his blood rush fast in his veins and he immediately kneeled down next to her and wrapped her hand in his.

-“ y/n, baby can you hear me ?” he tried again “ I’m going to put your feet on my lap, okay ? I’m not letting go of your hand, if you hear me just squeeze it.” Oscar explained, praying that he’d feel her grip tighten around his fingers

He felt the faintest squeeze but he wasn’t sure if he had imagined it or not so he tried again.

-“ Can you squeeze my hand again, please ?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper from how scared he was until he felt a clear squeeze “ Atta girl, you’re doing great.”

Oscar felt his breathing slowly go back to normal as his girlfriend slowly gained back consciousness. He was still a bit shaken up but seeing her eyes fluttering open and feeling the constant squeezes of her hand on his was reassuring him. He waited a little more before asking her questions, not wanting to overwhelm her.

-“ Do you remember what happened ?”

-“ I don’t know, I was just standing up to get another coffee and then I started feeling dizzy so I tried to call you but I don’t know if anything came out.”

-“ Ok well at least you remember, you scared me to death there sweetheart.”

-“ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” she apologised, mortified that he had seen her like this

-“ Hey, none of that. Don’t apologise, I’m glad I came back in time to find you. I would’ve hated for you to be all alone here when you fainted.” he reassured her, bringing her closer to him

-“ What do you mean came back ? When did you go out ?”

-“ I told you I was going for a run but I guess you were so focused on what you were doing you didn’t hear me. Next time I’ll make sure that you hear me.”

-“ It’s fine, you don’t have to.”

-“ I know but I want to. Now let’s get you something to eat, you didn’t even eat breakfast so you must be starving.” he stated, pointing at the plate he had made her a few hours earlier, still untouched on the counter

-“ I’m not really hungry actually.” she whispered, looking at her feet

- “ You have to eat something baby. I’ll just order something from your favourite restaurant and you can just eat however much you can, does that sound good ?”

-“ Yeah sure, thank you Osc.”

Oscar didn’t answer and instead just placed a kiss on the side of her head before standing up and picking his phone that he had left on the counter to get the food. While they waited for it to arrive, Oscar sent her to shower so she could relax a little before eating. Before leaving her be, he convinced her to let the door slightly open so she could yell if she felt dizzy again so he could also relax.

He always stayed within earshots of the bathroom as he got busy around the flat until the delivery guy arrived. Oscar wanted it to be quick but the guy recognised him and wanted to take a picture with him. Oscar wouldn’t have minded the picture if the guy also didn’t seem to want to become his friend and didn’t talk for what felt like ages. Oscar didn’t know how to make him stop without sounding rude so he just waited until he was finally done before hurrying back to his girlfriend.

He expected her to either still be in the shower or to be waiting for him in the living room, resting like they had talked about after she fainted but she was the most stubborn person Oscar knew. That’s why he wasn’t exactly surprised when he found her back to her studying spot with her headphones only wearing one of his mclaren hoodies.

-“ I thought we said no more studying for today ?” Oscar scolded her gently

-“ I know but I can’t just stop like that. I need to finish this part and then I can rest for a few hours.”

-“ Baby you fainted, that means your body is exhausted and you shouldn’t put yourself through this.”

-“ I don’t have a choice, Oscar. The exam is coming up and I need to finish this paper too. I can’t just decide to take the day off because my stupid body decided to betray me.” she spat in one breath, feeling her heartbeat quicken just thinking of the ton of stuff she still had to do

-“ Alright, just breathe please. You can definitely afford to rest for today. I know you and I know you’re capable of doing what you have left before the due date. Just come lie down with me for a bit while we eat.”

-“ You don’t know that for sure. I can’t afford to take such a risk.”

-“ Baby, please.” he pleaded, feeling how she was getting more worked up by the second

-“ I said no, Oscar !” she said through gritted teeth, trying not to raise her voice

-“ Why can’t you just slow down for a second ? What’s the worst that can happen if you let go a little.”

-“ Slow down ? That’s rich coming from you mister always running around the entire globe to drive at 300kph.” she cringed at how high pitched her voice was getting

-“ You know that’s not what I meant, y/n.”

-“ Then what did you mean because I clearly don’t get why you’re getting in my way here.”

-“ I only meant that you’re going to tire yourself out over some homework and that it can’t be healthy.”

-“ I’m sorry ? Some homework ?!” she scoffed loudly “ This is the last class I need to have my diploma, if I fail it, I can say goodbye to my dream job. Don’t belittle what I do because you don’t understand it.”

-“ That’s not how I meant it, y/n. I’m just worried about you.”

-“ I didn’t ask you to be, in fact I didn’t even ask you to be here. You were supposed to be away doing your stupid job while I was here studying on my own but no you just had to come back and tempt me with ideas of relaxing and hanging out with you when you know I can’t. I can’t just decide to go away and take a break because I miss my partner. Some of us have real jobs and they can’t run away whenever they want to, Oscar.” she finally lost it, her eyes filling with tears as she realised what she had said

-“ Wow, hum alright. I think I’m just going to go outside for a bit.” Oscar muttered, grabbing his car keys and turning around as quickly as he could

As soon as she heard the door close, y/n broke down crying in the middle of the room. She hadn’t meant to snap at him, she knew he just cared about her and most of all, she didn’t think anything she said was true.

She knew how hard Oscar had worked to get to where he was now and she was so proud of how far he had come. She loved that he was able to do something he loved as his job and how he always made time in his busy schedule to either fly her to where he was staying or fly back home to see her.

In all honesty, she had been missing him so much lately and all she wanted to was take a break and seek comfort in his arms but she couldn’t help the anxiety and the guilt that kicked in whenever she stopped studying even for a second. She had been staying up late and waking up at the crack of dawn for a week now, studying as much as she could before she had to attend classes. She barely had time to eat and she couldn’t remember the last time she had a decent meal.

The mere thought of having hurt Oscar was filling her with guilt and she wished there was something she could do to take it back. She was so tired of feeling like this and right now it felt like she had pushed away the only person she wanted to comfort her.

When Oscar opened the door half an hour later, he didn’t expect his girlfriend to come running to the door and then stop in her tracks the moment her eyes met his. She tried to open her mouth but tears started falling again and she was struggling to take a full breath. The sight tore Oscar’s hurt and he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her head against his chest.

-“ It’s okay, baby. Just let go, I’m here.” he whispered, tracing circles on her back

-“ I’m sorry, Oscar. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean what I said. I–”

-“ I know, it’s okay. It’s already forgotten.”

-“ It’s not okay. You didn’t deserve to hear that.” she sniffled, looking at him in the eyes “ I love what you do and I’m really happy you’re here. I’m sorry if I made you feel like it wasn’t the case. It’s no excuse but I’m frankly exhausted and you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

-“ Thank you for apologising. It’s forgiven and I promise you I’m not mad or anything.”

-“ You’re sure ?”

-“ Yes, I wasn’t mad earlier. I was a bit hurt and I knew you needed time to calm down before we could have a discussion so I just went to the store to buy brownies and ice cream.”

-“ That’s so sweet, Oscar, stop.” she said, feeling her voice shake slightly

-“ I was thinking we could take a proper break and eat in front of a movie. Then if you still want to work, I could help you study and after that we could take a bath ? How does that sound ?”

-“ I love you so much.”

-“ Is that a yes ?” Oscar teased, smiling as he heard her laugh

-“ Yes it is.” she said, as he grabbed her hand and guided her towards the living room where the food was still waiting for them

-“ y/n ?”

-“ yes ?”

-“ I love you too.”

-“ I know, now come here.” she smiled again, wrapping her arms behind his neck before pulling him down to kiss him properly

Oscar hadn’t been sure of it at first but coming back home was the best choice he ever made for the both of them. They missed each other too much to wait a whole month to be together when they needed the other’s presence that badly.

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #f1 #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 scenario #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n

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magics-neptunes-things · 8 months

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Better With You (Prompt)

Hi guys!

This is a new prompt, sorry for the wait ♥ It was great to write with Caitlin, I was looking to it for a long time.

31. Everything always looks better when you’re with me, with Caitlin Foord

TW : A liiiiittle bit of angst maybe

___________________________________________

Looking upset, Caitlin puts her phone in the pocket of her shorts for the tenth time in fifteen minutes, attracting the intention of her mother and sister. The two women exchange a look before Jamie speaks, directly talking to her little sister.

"What do you have?"

"Nothing" grumbles Caitlin, shifting her attention to the plate of her breakfast in front of her.

The truth is, Caitlin has something. It’s been long hours since you haven’t answered her messages and your phone seems turned off since it didn’t even ring when she tried to call you. You told her you had a busy day today, but the fact that you didn’t even have time to send her a single message since like 13 hours to keep her informed of your day worries her.

The Australian decided to join her family in Australia to celebrate Christmas and New Year, after a long discussion with you. You know perfectly well how much Caitlin misses her mother and sister, being on the other side of her family’s globe must not be easy every day. You are lucky to be in the same country as your loved ones, your family being only an hour by car from London.

"Don’t make that face" said Simone gently, laying her hand on one of her youngest daughter. "She will write to you soon, I’m sure"

Caitlin gently shrugs her shoulders for a simple answer. Despite the reassurances of her family, she cannot help but feel a strange sensation in the hollow of her belly. Something isn't normal, she's convinced.

"I’m gonna go shopping in town, do you need something?"

The two young women answer in the negative, Simone takes the time to clear the table before kissing each of her daughters on the head and leaving the house. Jamie, meanwhile, decides to drag Caitlin with her to go on the beach and possibly change her mood.

An hour and a half later, you finally leave the plane you’ve been on for over 13 hours. You left London, before making a stop in Dubai during which you had to run from one end of the airport to the other to catch your second plane in time. That’s when you sent the last message to Caitlin, taking advantage of the airport wifi, before jumping on your next plane.

You didn’t hesitate long before surprising Caitlin and join her for a few days in Australia. You quickly understood the guilt she felt with the idea of leaving you in London and if your mother would have disowned you if you hadn't participated in the family Christmas, the last piece of turkey swallowed you went to London's airport to join your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend who continues to sulk despite the efforts of her sister and her sister-in-law to make her laugh. When you join your mother-in-law, she welcomes you with an embrace and a big smile. You often spoke with her when Caitlin called her on FaceTime and you met her officially at the World Cup. When Caitlin came to support you in the stands for the final, Simone and Jamie were with her. Despite England’s defeat, having Caitlin and her family to support you on top of your own family helped you console yourself a little.

"Cait' is pouting" tells you your mother-in-law with an amused smile, when you are in her car in the direction of the family's home.

You make a face and hesitate a split second to get your phone out, but your mother-in-law keeps talking.

"She’s worried about not hearing from you, but when she understands why she won’t blame you. Jamie was supposed to take her surfing, they’re still at the beach."

The idea of being able to take a shower and change before hugging your girlfriend is more than attractive, even if you have been together for a few months, you prefer to be seen to your advantage.

Caitlin being always absent when you arrive home, you hurry up to put your suitcase in your girlfriend’s room and go to take a shower. Having slept during the flight, you don't feel particularly tired and rather in line with the time it is in Australia. You just have time to get dressed and to brush your hair that Simone comes knocking gently at the door of the bathroom.

"They are here in like two minutes"

"I’m ready" you smile as you gently open the door.

According to the little plan you had fun preparing in the car, you will hide in the kitchen while the two sisters shower in turn. When Caitlin is back in the living room, her mother joins her and offers her a mischievous smile.

"I brought you something from the supermarket and I'm pretty sur you’ll like it"

"What is it?" Caitlin asks, gently frowning.

"Come and see"

Curiosity making her forget for the first time your lack of news, Caitlin gets up from the sofa and follows her mother with attention to the kitchen. In which you are sitting on the central island with a big smile. The surprise that appears on Caitlin’s face when she sees you is so big that you can’t help but laugh. Her eyes almost came out of her head.

"Surprise!" you happily sing, swinging your legs before jumping from the furniture to join her.

Still in shock, Caitlin hasn't moved an inch but her arms surround your waist when you take her in her arms.

"What are you doing here?" Caitlin stutters before releasing you to look at you.

"I wanted to visit Australia and I told myself that you would not be too bad as a local guide" you answered, shrugging your shoulders.

You see her blinking and looking at your face for a few extra seconds, like she’s hallucinating.

"Come on, kiss the girl!" tease Jamie who watched the scene from the entrance of the kitchen.

It seems to bring Caitlin back to reality, but Simone comes out of the kitchen, dragging Jamie with her to let you enjoy your reunion.

This time she takes you in her arms, in an embrace ready to break your ribs. You let her do it, of course, passing your arms around her body and pressing your face into the hollow of her neck.

"I missed you" you whisper against her skin, finding back with pleasure the smell of your girlfriend.

Caitlin shudders when your breath tickles her skin and it makes you smile. But, right after, she gently takes your face between her two hands and looks at you carefully.

"I can’t believe you’re here" she whispers

You smile softly and put your hand on her to intertwine your fingers. You obviously hoped that you coming would please her, you were even afraid that your arrival would bother her a little and that she would have preferred to spend more time with her family. But just with the way she looks at you, you know she’s happy you’re here. Maybe you don't not how happy, but you know she is.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Of course you can, since when do you even ask?" you laugh softly.

If the first kiss she gives you is tender and delicate, Caitlin gradually regains confidence. Then, when you both need to catch your breath, you have the right to have kisses all over your face, then again on your lips before she tightens you against her.

"How long will you be here?" Caitlin asks after putting a final kiss on your cheek.

"I’ll go home at the same time as you, if it's ok?"

"Of course it is" smiles Caitlin

You are interrupted by your mother-in-law who comes to inform you that the meal is ready and Caitlin grabs you by the hand to train you in the dining room. She won’t let go your hand throughout the meal, forcing you to cut your food with one hand, but it’s for a good cause. You see her roll her eyes when her sister teases her about her bad mood at the beginning of the day, but a simple glance in your direction reminds her that it was worth it.

"Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?" asks Caitlin after dinner.

You gladly accept and about twenty minutes later you arrive on the beach, hand in hand. You’ve never been to the place where Caitlin grew up, when you were there during the World Cup, you stayed in the cities where you and your team played.

You smile as you catch Caitlin staring at you from the corner of her eye and arching an eyebrow.

"What?" you ask, laughing softly.

"I’m trying to get used to the idea that you’re really here. I feel like if I stop looking at you you’re going to disappear" Caitlin says, carefully avoiding looking at you.

"As long as you’re not fed up with me, I’m not going anywhere" you tell her with a smile.

It seems to be enough for her since she releases your hand to pass her arm around your shoulders. And you take the opportunity to slip your hand into the back pocket of her shorts.

"I’ll never get tired of you, for your information"

"Good to know" you laugh softly "Was it also the case when you sulked because I didn't write to you?"

You’re only teasing her, but seeing how pouty Caitlin is, maybe it’s still a little early. Besides, she presses an accusing finger on your chest while answering.

"Don’t be an ass. I was really worried"

When you roll your eyes smiling, she frowns again.

"I thought I had pretty well prepared the ground by telling you I had a long day"

"A 14-hour day?"

"It’s not my fault if the girlfriend I chose come from the other side of the globe" you point out.

A little smile is finally back on Caitlin’s face and you put a kiss on her cheek.

You turn your attention to the landscape around you and admire the view. Fine sand and the ocean as far as the eye can see. There are fewer people than you could have imagined, but it’s not to displease you.

"I used to come here a lot with Jamie and my friends when I was a teenager" Caitlin informs you.

"It’s beautiful" you comment by letting your eyes slide on the waves on the horizon.

"I used to think so too, but today is even better. Everything always looks better when you’re with me."

You put your attention back on your girlfriend and you can’t hold back the tender and slightly amused smile on your face. The vastness of the feelings you have for this girl scares you sometimes, but other times she has an way to verbalize her own feelings that it takes your breath away. And the worst part is that she doesn’t even realize it.

Another proof again today since she seems surprised to feel your lips crashing on hers and the strength with which you kiss her. So much so that it takes her a few seconds to react and respond to your kiss. You still don’t know that this kiss will be immortalized by people who recognized you and that this photo will be on social media, but you won’t care when you realize it.

Caitlin is your girlfriend and you couldn’t be happier.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #caitlin foord #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord x reader

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jaegeraether · 4 months

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Sunsets and footballers (Part 79)

Alexia Putellas x Character (35) - Ridley Part One

Masterlist (other parts here)

((**4.5k**))

This is PART ONE of TWO for Ridley. You DO NOT have to read this! This is simply me getting out what's been in my head for a while about Ridley and her darker side and military ties. Although this one isn't bad at all, part two will be a lot more graphic and morally grey.

Any Australian military mentions such as squadron types and specialties are 100% real and researched.

Feel free to skip these two Ridley parts as you won't be missing anything in the main story. :)

RIDLEY POV PART ONE

Ridley’s body was thrown into the straps of her five-point harness relentlessly. She was sitting in the jump seat of a C17 – a last minute military aircraft she’d caught from London to Dubai. She just needed to escape. To get far away from her in the hopes that it would stop her from hurting Alexia. She wasn’t too concerned with hurting herself.

“The CAT is easing, Commander,” came the voice of the pilot through her head set. “We’re almost through it.”

CAT – Clear Air Turbulence. Ridley was tired, but she couldn’t sleep. She was seated in the cargo hold which was devoid of any other human except herself. “Copy.”

The flight was 7 hours long, and most of it she’d spent staring a thousand-yard stare into that void of the cargo hold just thinking about her. Alexia. The way she’d whispered, moaned, begged for her. The way she felt, the way she tasted and fucking moved with her. Her sounds when she whimpered, when she’d was pushed to her limits… when she came. It had broken Ridley, like she knew it would. How could she ever want anything less than all of her after that? No, she deserved more. She deserved the whole fucking world, and not the monster she was. Alexia had no idea what she was getting herself into with her, and she needed to protect her from herself.

They landed at 2pm local time and she caught a lift into town with one of the senior ranked officers on base. Ridley was known in the military world, and she’d been around. Met a lot of people. Worked hard and climbed the ranks. She was respected for her accomplishments, and now could come and go as she pleased, as she held such a high security clearance.

“Are you sure, Commander?” The officer asked.

Ridley nodded. “Here is perfect. Thanks for the lift.”

“Give us a call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

He left and she waited for him to do so. Only when he was gone did she jump on public transport to get to where she was actually going. She was used to frequenting Dubai for a few reasons, one of which being that it was central and in her line of work, that was essential.

She exited the train and moved over to the bus line, making sure she wasn’t followed as she went. Always aware. Always watching. Avoiding cameras and drawing attention. The bus moved through six stops and she stepped off just before the doors closed. From there she walked to her destination, stopping at a café on the way to pick up some sweets. A popular local sweet dish in Dubai that she loved was knafeh, which she bought along with filled donuts which were a must.

She paid for her items, adding a bottle of water to the list and was off down the street. She arrived at her destination at around 2:45pm and stopped outside, looking up at it. It was a mechanic shop. And not just any mechanics, the best in town. Anyone who knew Dubai knew that expensive cars were a given. Almost everyone had one. And this was the place they all fought for bookings at.

She walked into the open floor planned warehouse which was lined down the outer edges with cars on different levels, each getting work done, and each more expensive than the last. Ferrari, Lamborghini, Aston Martin, Bugatti, Maserati, Rolls Royce. She walked through and acknowledged each nod she received from the people who worked there. She came upon the office of the owner and knocked twice, opening before he answered.

“Ridley!” The voice boomed. Ali was a rich man, though not the egotistical type. In fact, he was rather the opposite. Most of the money he made went straight back into humanitarian efforts and other philanthropic endeavours.

She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek as she placed the knafeh on his desk in front of him.

“For you.”

He hummed as he looked her up and down. “You seem different…” he said in a strong Arabic accent.

Of course she did. She was fucking heartbroken. Grieving. In love with Alexia and forcing herself to break her heart. Plus, she hadn’t slept in 46 hours and had been wearing the same clothes she’d thrown on hastily as she’d left her in bed 9 hours ago.

“I haven’t slept in a few days.”

“No, no. There’s something else…” he murmured, still wondering. Eventually he gave up like people usually did. Ridley was a closed book. “But alas, I think I’m tired myself. I’m guessing you’re here for that?” He asked, gesturing to the wall.

She nodded.

“I was told you weren’t coming. Are you staying for long?”

“Unsure.”

“You’re welcome as long as you’d like. Anything you need.”

Anything you need. She heard that during almost every conversation when she was in Dubai. Another reason she enjoyed the place so much.

He smiled as he opened the box and she forced herself to give one in return. It’s not that she didn’t want to – just that it was difficult to fake any sort of positive emotion at this point.

Ridley turned and moved through the second door in his office. The one that was barely used. It led to the part of the warehouse that no one was allowed to enter except Ali and a select few individuals. The individuals she was there to meet.

She entered to the darkened part of the warehouse and was greeted by four heads turning towards her with the majority of their expressions showing they were caught off guard. All except the one person standing. The big guy.

He stood in front of the trio with a projector behind him, and his hands held behind his back with discipline. Beckett. That's what everybody else called him. That or Lieutenant. To her, he was Becks.

The trio sat casually in front of him, their chairs met with desks either side for their notes and food. Their faces spread into grins as she approached, placing the donuts on the table.

“Oh no, she’s here! Fucking knew this was another BOHICA,” said the little guy known as Fuzzy. His real name was Kaupa and he was SASR for Australian Army. They all were. Together, the group was made up the Fourth Squadron of the Special Air Service Regiment, though the government had never acknowledged their existence, nor ever would.

To the public, there were four official Squadrons. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd were sabre Squadrons, made up of 20 troopers with differing expertise, and they rotated through counter terrorism/special recovery and warfighting/reconnassaince. Then there was the 152nd Squadron designed for electronic warfare and to support the sabre squadrons. There were more, of course, though these four were the basis of the SASR for Australia and were always closely supported by the Australian Secret Intelligent Service for any of their missions and activities.

Their fourth squadron was not the usual. Instead of five of each in their special fields, there was one of each. And they were the best.

First, there was the little guy, Fuzzy. He was called Fuzzy because he was born in Papua New Guinea and during WW2, the Australian soldiers in PNG named the locals the ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels’ as they helped them, cared for them, gave them medical attention in support. Kaupa fit that description. He was a little loose cannon, though the best when it came to his specialty. Mountaineering and jungle warfare. You’d never even know he was there until you were dead.

The next was a typical Australian guy named Williams, though they called him Wombat. Short for eats, shits and leaves. Crass, but true. He never settled down and never slept with the same woman twice. The typical womaniser, though Ridley loved him. He was unapologetically himself and he was well aware of his shortcomings. You had to be a bit of a nutcase to be in their profession. His specialty was Airborne. He could pilot anything like Ridley, and she’d met him when they were in the Air Force together, prior to their being poached by the SASR.

The last of the trio was a woman named Morgan. Her nickname though, was Duce, short for Medusa. Why? Because she could level a man with a gaze and wasn’t there to fuck around. She was the toughest of the trio. Her specialty was Mobility. That was ground movements, land movements, logistics, terrain and sniping.

She grinned at Ridley who returned it without a second thought. These were her family away from family. The people she trusted with her life. Though she trusted no one beyond the big guy. Becks. His specialty was Water. Scuba diving, water raids, submarines, etc. They ran the Squadron together for some time and although she held a higher rank in the Air Force, they both held the same in the Army and refused to be made higher. They didn’t want a desk job or to be put in command of more platoons and squadrons. No, their job was perfect and to be quite honest, she doubted that anyone could replace any single one of them. That’s why they were so successful. That’s why everybody in that dark side of the world knew them, and yet the public never would. They did the terrible things so that people could live their lives in peace and a blind happiness.

“You always think it’s a BOHICA,” Ridley murmured as she stood next to Duce. The woman wrapped an arm around her waist and smirked up at her.

“We both know Fuzzy loves a bit of bending over and taking it.”

BOHICA: Army slang for ‘Bend over here it comes again’ i.e. we’re being fucked.

“Now, now, there’s no problem with swinging both ways,” Wombat teased with a wink. He wasn’t just a womaniser for women, that one. Wombat loved everybody.

“I didn’t think you were coming for this one, Wings.” Becks said from the front. The others went quiet. He was very well respected. They both were. And he was the only one who called her that.

She shrugged. “I was bored. Besides, I figured you’d all need the help.”

“Oh no she didn’t.” Wombat challenged and stood.

“Bad idea bad idea, Romeo will smack you down,” Fuzzy said – wanting to see the result.

“Need help huh?” He fake challenged again.

Ridley stepped forwards and got close to him. Real close. The one thing he couldn’t control with her was his dick, and she had never, nor would she ever have done anything past a friendly touch with him. So now with her so close, he froze and as her lips closed in on his, she swept his leg and shoved him hard in the chest, forcing him to fall hard on his ass on the chair.

“Keep dreaming, Wombat.”

He grinned and stuck his hands up in surrender.

Ridley took her seat near Duce and put her attention back on Becks. “The floor is yours.”

Becks started presenting their mission again, throwing her a pack to read through.

“Here’s the finer details, the basis of it is that we’ve had a task we need to complete tonight. The son of one of the biggest political figures in Dubai needs recovering. His father is of vital importance to the current political stability in the middle east. He keeps the peace between Dubai and the western countries, including Australia.”

“Where is the son?”

“Taken hostage by Somali pirates. They’re using him as a bargaining chip to have his father cut the relationship between the middle east and western countries, and also money. Lots of money.”

He wasn’t saying the full story and she knew it. “Spit it out, Becks.”

He studied her face with a neutral expression before he spoke. “Cumar has him.”

Fuck.

Cumar was one of the largest crime lords in Somalia. Up until this point, they hadn’t managed to capture or kill him. Though he had killed one of their own. One of the pilots she and Wombat had trained with. He’d killed him right in front of her as she hung from the fucking ceiling, beaten and bloody. She was lucky the group had found her in time. She had more than a few scars from that incident. That was the last time she’d disappeared from Alexia.

Cumar, however, had escaped. He was currently the most wanted man on the globe.

She turned and looked at Wombat whose jaw was locking and unlocking. James was his friend too. It was difficult to not involve emotions.

“This is not revenge,” Becks said, reading their minds. “This is an overdue extraction. He’s been with him for two weeks now.”

“Two weeks? Where the fuck are the SAS? Why didn’t they handle this?” Wombat growled. He had a point; they had a lot more riding on it.

“They’re stuck in the Ukrainian conflict, and the uprising in the middle east at the moment between Palestine and Israel.”

“Seals?”

“They tried. They lost contact with them before they even reached his base and the yanks received some… prizes in return.”

Body parts.

Cumar.

“They believe this to be impossible. They want the best.”

Silence again. They were an interesting group of personalities, though they all had that intellectual and professional persona when it was serious.

“You wouldn’t look so confident without a plan..” Ridley murmured.

“This is mainly mobility so Duce has made a plan and we need to expand on it and see if it’s viable.” They nodded. “Duce?”

They switched places, Duce taking the front and Becks sitting in the seat near Ridley. He put a hand on her shoulder briefly. That’s the most physical affection he tended to show, though it meant everything.

“I’ve been liaising closely with ASIS and we believe his location to be here,” she said, pointing to an area on the map. She spoke of the location, identified the hazards and from the intelligence they were given, where their security were posted. They all listened carefully, adding their expertise here and there to overcome each of the potential issues that were already onsite or that may arise at some point as they made their detailed extraction plan. As they were talking – Ridley knew that coming here had been the right choice. Sure, she hadn’t slept in two days, but this… this was distracting. It was the only thing that could have distracted her from the thought of Alexia.. the softness of her skin… the feel of her hands tangled with her own as she fucked her from-

“Romes?”

Ridley looked up and Duce smiled. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were tired.”

“Mmnhmn.”

“We were talking about this. This is where we believe the Seals had an issue. They chuted in but their carrier was spotted and fired upon. From there, they were already dead, it was just a matter of picking them off when they touched ground. There’s this strip here that we’ve noted which may potentially be large enough to land at…”

“If their carrier was spotted then engine noise is our other issue,” Wombat said before turning to Ridley. “Can we glide in?”

Wombat was a fucking good pilot. But he knew what he was asking was dangerous and beyond anything he’d done before. Ridley had much more experience testing the limitations of aircraft and maximising the efficiency of an aircraft within the relative airflow.

She stood and Duce automatically stepped aside. Ridley pulled up the live map of the landing strip, she checked the wind, the cloud levels, the distance to the first potential group of people who may hear them. She’d need to shut down engines early… though from the look of the air pressure and wind…

“It’s dangerous. It has the potential to go very, very wrong. But it’s not impossible. With the weight of everybody here… we can use a plane small enough for the strip. It’s a full moon with direct contact to the strip so we will have okay visibility without lights when we go engines out. We can pull lighting just as we come down to flare, the trees will cover it by then. The biggest issue is getting an aircraft with an incredibly high aspect ratio. Think gliders… with an engine.”

“What’s the range needed?” Wombat asked.

“If we get approval to base and depart from Mandy Bay… the round trip will be around 1000 nautical miles.”

“So… bladder tank.”

She nodded. “Definitely. We’ll calculate the fuel needed for the return before we land and dump the excess fuel for weight as we glide in.”

“Do we have contacts in Kenya?” Becks asked.

“I do,” Wombat nodded. “I have a guy who’ll have the aircraft we need. I’ll make a call.”

Becks nodded and turned back to Ridley. “We can do this?”

“I’ll need to monitor every and all weather changes, but for now, it will work. The strip is north east facing, directly into the forecasted wind. It’s also almost the perfect amount of headwind for the direction we hit it, and it’ll give us a bit of leeway too. Cumar’s location is north. It’ll be hard to hear us as we’ll be downwind of where they are. I’m thinking we can switch off the engine a little later than anticipated because of it. It may end up being a bit of a crash landing, though, depending.”

Duce chuckled and Fuzzy scoffed. “It’s all been crash landings with Wombat since you’ve changed to coming and going as you please. How’s life as a civvy?”

Civvy – a civilian. She rolled her eyes and ignored the attempt to get a reaction from her.

“Happy with the risk?” She asked.

Becks nodded and stood, offering a hand. He wasn’t big on physical affection, though this was a treat. She clapped hands with his large, rough one.

“I’m glad you’re here, Wings.” He was the only one to call her Wings, and she the only one to call him Becks. Their own little way of showing their respect.

“Me too,” she smiled. She was glad she’d come, knowing that she was the only one who could land this.

“But you’re sleeping on the cargo plane before we arrive.”

To anyone else, they would have taken that as an order. Although she’d moved to part time, coming and going when she wanted, it still didn’t take away her rank or the respect they had for her. Beckett always treated her like an equal, although he was technically the sole squadron leader now. She listened to him talk about sleep though, and she knew it was coming from a caring place. He wanted her safe. And the group. Fatigue was a liability.

“Wilco.”

An hour later, they were on another military aircraft to Kenya. Ridley had found a medevac stretcher and had settled there with her jacket over her eyes. She slept through the flight and only woke as they touched down. The landing gear hit the runway and she jolted upright automatically awake. Fuzzy looked at her and gave a somewhat sad smile. They all tended to have those reactions, after what they’d seen. And although the PTSD was mild and well managed with therapy – they all knew they were stuck with it for the rest of their lives.

They stepped outside to a bright moonlit night at the US military base of Mandy Bay, Kenya. Flying backwards, they’d gained an hour, as it was only 8pm. They were greeted by officers and taken straight to their prep room. Ridley and Wombat detoured on their way to scout the plane they were to use and made sure it was satisfactory for the job.

“Happy?” He asked as he inspected a prop.

She nodded from her place under the wing. “This will work.”

“How much fuel, Commander?” The US officer asked from his ladder. He was filling the bladder tank in the back of the aircraft.

“Hold five. And move it more central for our weight and balance. We can’t have an aft centre of gravity with the structure of this.”

“Yes, Commander.”

As he and another soldier moved the bladder tank more central under Wombat’s supervision, Ridley took out her tablet and double and triple checked her flight plans with the updated forecast of winds and weather.

“I need full wing tanks and that bladder with an extra 280 litres. I’m going in to prep. Standby in case the winds change before we leave.”

“Affirm - full wing tanks and 280 litres in the bladder.”

Their prep took hours – as it should. They were very, very thorough. It was rare they were ever caught out by surprises or unplanned events. They collected their packs, their weapons, and ran through their strategies with updated intelligence. Whatever happened – they didn’t exist. She wondered what Alexia and Blue would be told if she weren’t to come back. If she were to be killed. To be fair, she just wanted them both safe and happy. And then her will would provide the extra cushion of financial support for them.

Their off-blocks time was 10pm. They flew straight north, following the coast as the moon reflected the waves below. They flew high enough to not be heard, yet low enough to not be seen. There was a single road that ran across the border of Kenya, into Somalia and towards their target. It looked empty from above, yet they all knew better. There were definitely more of Cumar’s people checkpointing the road. Duce had intelligence on a few areas to expect them should they have to escape via road, though not all of them.

Being stuck in a situation where they couldn’t be seen or heard to approach, it meant they needed to conduct a non-conventional approach to the landing strip over water. This was to avoid the noise over the land. Ridley dropped them low over the ocean and joined an extended base for the strip. In the moonlight, they spotted it, but barely.

“Engines out is final.” She reminded. “We won’t be attempting to restart and we will be landing, regardless.”

“Affirm,” Wombat agreed from the right seat.

As they approached the height of engine out, he started to read her airspeed and altitude. This was the most difficult part by far.

“On spec… on spec… plus 4 on slope… plus 7 on slope… plus 10 on slope…”

Ridley had purposely increased her approach speed to compensate for the upcoming lack of power.

“Plus 15, plus 50…. 200 above engine out… plus 20, plus 80… 100 above engine out… 50 above engine out.”

“Established. Engines out.” She directed.

“Copy – engines out. Engine 1…”

Wombat shut down the first engine and Ridley compensated for the yaw with her foot pressed hard into the rudder.

“Feather engine 1.”

“Feathering engine 1…” The pressure needed from her leg eased as it feathered. “Engine 1 feathered. Engine 2 out…” He said with his hand on the second throttle.

“Affirm, engine 2 out.”

Wombat shut down the second engine, cutting the mixture and all went silent. They were gliding.

She compensated for the tiniest bit of yaw before, “Feather engine 2.”

“Feathering engine 2…” The need for rudder was eliminated until it was just to account for the wind. “Engine 2 feathered.”

“Gliding, lights out.”

“On speed, 50 below.”

He read her speeds and altitudes all the way down the approach, as was usual for a multi-crew environment. She checked her fuel and was satisfied with the remaining amount.

“Dump the bladder.”

Becks, Fuzzy and Duce dumped the bladder tank from the aircraft which made it lighter and put her back on slope.

“On spec.”

She’d adjusted perfectly for the engine outs and the weight loss from the bladder, and she could hear it in Wombat’s voice.

“Wind 030 at 15.”

She’d noticed the wind had shifted to a slight crosswind, though it was manageable. It was more difficult with a high aspect ratio of course. Longer wings means more area for the crosswind to push, though she worked the rudder and ailerons to crab into the landing strip.

“300 above. On spec…. minimums…”

“Continue.”

“200 above on spec. Lights on?”

“No until the flare,” she murmured. The trees were lower than she’d expected, and didn’t want to risk the lights being seen. “Lights at 70.”

“Affirm.”

“100 above.”

They were only 100 feet above the ground and descending at a rate that would result in disaster. But that’s exactly where she wanted to be.

“70 feet, lights.” Wombat said – powering the lights.

Ridley had a split second of vision to flare relative to the ground. She did so and held pressure back on the yoke, not having to compensate for the wind that was now blocked by the tree line. She held back pressure until the mains touched, and slowed with brakes until she could let the nose wheel down.

“Lights off.”

They went back to darkness, moonlight only, though that was enough. Ridley made the most out of the momentum of the aircraft to roll it to the far end of the strip and pumped the right brake in stages to turn them back around near the tree line. Ready for a quick getaway.

They stopped and parked there, pulling the park brakes on. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“That was fucking extraordinary.” Duce said, speaking for the others. She leapt out first, with her pack and rifles.

Fuzzy tapped her shoulder in thanks on his way out also. “Missed you.”

Wombat gave her a grin. “You’ll always upstage me, huh?”

“Someone needs to keep you on your toes.” She shrugged as she took her headset off.

He leapt out and she went to follow suit when Becks murmured from behind her. “There will never be another you, Wings.”

The highest of Becks compliments. She didn’t have time to respond before he was out on the ground.

Ridley slipped out last, hitting the floor harder than usual with the weight of her pack. Now they were in Cumar’s territory. Any step could be their last.

All of the group were hyper focused on their surroundings and automatically took up positions where their backs were to each other, protecting each other. Regardless - Ridley hadn’t even had a chance to join when she felt a body against her back, and a knife pressed so hard into her stomach that it pierced through flesh.

#woso #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso soccer #woso x reader #alexia putellas #fcb femení #lionesses #fc barcelona #fc barca #culers

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melanieph321 · 3 months

Text

Ruben Dias x Reader - Flight Hours Part 2/3

+18

It's so filthy yet so sweet 🙈

Part 1 Part 3

Ruben and Reader are flight attendants on their way to Portugal. Although they are of to a bad start, the two end up finding common ground.

Enjoy!

"I'm sorry miss Y/L/N there's unfortunately no booking with us in your name."

"What?"

After eight hours in the air, your flight from Dubai to Lisbon finally arrived. The layover between your next flight was 72 hours, meaning you had three days off in Portugal. However, without anywhere to stay.

"But if you're willing to pay the price of a hotel room, we'll be more than happy to help you." Said the lady at the hotel front desk, who really tired to be helpful.

"H....how much would that be....for a room, I mean?" You prayed for anything below what you were getting paid an hour.

"Aproximetly 200 euros per night."

"Oh for fuck sakes."

"I'm sorry ma'am, perhaps I can check for rooms in the hotels nearby?" Said the startled lady. She seemed fairly new at her job. Otherwise, she would have known that you as a flight attendant could only be accommodated to hotels approved by your airline. If not, there'd be no dilatory compensation for your expenses.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." You said and sounded real convincing when in reality you had no idea what to do. You could always stay in a cheaper hotel in the city, however, your airline required that you stay near the airport in case they ever decided to reschedule and put you on an earlier flight.

It was really messy indeed. You remained in the hotel lobby for the majority of that day, really clueless on what to do. You sat with your hands covering your face when suddenly, a familiar voice.

"Have you been rescheduled for an earlier flight?"

"Huh?"

You raised your head, surprised to see the asshole flight attendant from your previous flight. "Ruben?"

He was out of uniform. No vest. No tie. He didn't smile at you either. He more so looked concerned, regarding you still wearing your flight attendant uniform with a small suitcase next to you. "Are you leaving already?" He asked.

You thought of something sarcastic to say, like, "Why do you care?" However, you were simply too exhausted to be bickering. "My airline forgot to book my accommodation in Portugal. I assume everything got mixed up between my layover in Dubai this morning."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so I'm stuck here for now until I've figured out where I can stay cheap and without being too far away from the airport."

"In Lisabon, that's nearly impossible. Unless you're staying in the city, of course, which I'm assuming isn't an option for you."

"No." You groand, hans covering your eyes again.

"Hey, hey...."

Ruben must have thought that you were breaking out in tears. He crouched down before you, forcing you to meet his eyes while he caressed your knees with his thumbs. "It's not that big of a deal, okay."

"Oh, please, Ruben, I've had enough of you today. Just leave me alone, will you?"

"I could, and I should." He smiled. "But there's no way I'm letting check into some sketchy hotel just for the sake of it."

"What are you doing?"

Ruben rose to his feet, grabbing your suitcase.

"Ruben, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing. I'm offering you to stay with me."

It was bizarre, completely bizarre for you to stay with Ruben. Then again, what were your other options? Ruben also explained that his layover was only 24 hours and that his airline would pay for his accommodation as long as he was checked into it, meaning you could continue staying in his hotel room even when he was gone.

"So, should we grab some dinner?"

"Excuse me?"

To your suprise, Ruben's airline wasn't as strict as yours, meaning that he was staying at a hotel in the city, free to roam its streets as he pleased.

"You must be hungry, no?"

You were, you really were. However, you imagined that dinner with Ruben would be a nightmare.

"I'll wait for you to take a shower. Unless... you want me to join you?"

"Fuck off."

You grabbed some clothes from your suitcase and made your way to the hotel bathroom. Ruben was a pain, sure. However, there was something about him that made you feel safe, or at least trust him. Perhaps it was his flight attendant manners? The way he accepted your boundaries and didn't push your buttons any further than you could handle. Or maybe it was the looks. There was no denying how attractive he was. Perhaps he'd let you fuck him with a pillowcase over his head? If it ever came to that, you'd make sure to ask.

"Where are we going?"

It was funny. After your shower, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing a red summer dress with white and yellow flowers. Ruben's eyes had widened at the sight of you, his mouth coming ajar as if he wanted to tell you something. However, he never did. Ruben remained quiet even as you stepped out onto the streets of Lisbon, the city with a nightlife like no other.

"Ruben?" You stopped in the middle of the street. He turned back to look at, confused as to why you stopped walking. You folded your arms. "I'm not taking another step until you tell me where we're going?"

His lips twitched into a smile. "Don't you trust me?"

"No, I don't."

His expression faltered, but only for a split second. "Fair enough. I have a friend, he owns a restaurant near the beach. You'll like it, come on."

Ruben offered you his hand. It was so arrogant of him to assume that you would take it after literally admitting not to trusting him. Still, you took it. You let the size of his palm cover yours, the walk to the beach continuing in silence.

Arriving at the restaurant, you were welcomed with open arms by Ruben's friend. It was a family business, with kids running around the tables chasing each other around. If someone would fall, an adult would be sure to pick them up, soothe their tears, and then give the child a slap on the wrist for them to go running again. You didn't mind the liveliness. It was actually quite lovely.

"I always come here if I have a layover in Lisabon." Ruben told you over dinner.

"I thought you were Portuguese. Why wouldn't you just go home to your parents?"

"My mother doesn't like it when I stay for short periods of time. It breaks her heart whenever I leave."

"I see." You nodded.

"How about you?"

"Me?" You frowned.

"Yeah, do you visit your parents when you have a layover in Germany?"

Something tightened in your chest. "I....My parents, my entire family really, are gone...." Suddenly, the sorrows of your life washed over you, reminding of the escape you had as a flight attendant. Ruben was right when he said that up in the sky was a no mans land. Down on earth is where all mans problems actually existed.

"I'm so sorry Y/N."

You flinched. Ruben had gone to cover your hand with his, his gaze sympathetic and gentle. You quickly realized that you were crying, that the tears had welled up in your eyes quicker than you could control.

"Excuse me." You stood from the table, leaving the restaurant in a hurry. You only left to get some fresh air, though. Nevertheless, Ruben found where you had gone to sit by the beach, joining you in the sand.

"Flight attendant rule number one, never get too personal." He sighed. I fucked up and I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." You sniffled. "They died in an accident when I was six. I barley remember my parents or my siblings."

"What kind of accident?"

You shot Ruben a glance, however the way he was staring back at you softened your furrowed expression. "A plane crash." You muttered.

Ruben's eyebrows lifted.

"I always hope to feel closer to them by taking this job. Maybe even one day I'd...."

"Y/N..." Ruben shifted beside you, his hands stroking your cheek. However, you slapped it away. "Don't feel sorry for me."

"I'm not. I mean I don't."

"Not all of us are in this to join the so called Mile High Club, okay."

"Y/N, I never...."

"Yes, you did Ruben."

His expression told you that he remembered your encounter on the plane.

"Like why would you even ask me that?"

"Cuz I'm an asshole." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm an asshole who doesn't know how to act after the first encounter with the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen was while she was naked in the shower."

You snorted. Like a piglet you snorted.

"Yeah, what an icebreaker." Ruben laughed. Your laughter fuelled each other's and slowly came down to the sounds of ocean waves crashing against shore.

"Fuck, you're really beautiful." Ruben said, not even hiding the fact that he was checking you out.

"Thanks, you too." You chirped.

"And that red dress..."

Ruben's breath was in your ear, warm and soft. "Why did you have to wear that damn dress?"

"I don't know." You sighed and turned your head so that your cheek caressed his stubble. "Perhaps I wanted to tease you?"

"Well, no more teasing." Ruben grabbed your chin, tilting your body backward for you to lay down in the sand. He kissed you gently as if your lips were made out of flower pebbles. You hymned in response as his hands crept up your thighs and under the skirt of your dress. Ruben then deepend the kiss with his tongue, beginning for its access into your mouth. The white sand was warm against your back. Ruben's weight pressing you further into it, his hips grinding against your thigh.

"Can I...with my finger?" Ruben's fingertips were already brushing over the wet patches of your panties, but when you gave him the green light to go further, you were done for.

"Shit."

"Sshhhh." He hushed. "Relax baby. You're already so wet for me."

Ruben made fast circles over your clit, alerting every inch of your nerve endings. His mouth then went from your lips to your breasts, where he used his teeth to pull down your cleavage, freeing your breasts. They bounced with your grinding hips, you were begging for Ruben's fingers to enter you. However, he seemed determined to make you come this way.

"God, you're sexy. So fucking sexy." He said, in between sucking on your nipples, his hand still tucked between your thigs. You arched your back with the pleasure it gave as you moved further to the edge of your orgasm.

Ruben rose to his knees, quick to unbuckle his belt. His dick felt out of his pants throbbing and hard, with the tip leaking with cum. He was on the verge of erupting just like you. He positioned himself between your legs. You reached for his hips and used your legs to lure him in. "Fuck." You squealed as his cock crashed into you like a train through a tunnel, however not as smooth. Ruben was big and hard. Perhaps too big and too hard. Nevertheless the two of you continued to fuck each other sensless on the beach. The sound of your sinful panting evaporating into the night. It all came down to one frantic orgasm, shared between the two of you, your bodies squirming in the sand until the spasms became less frantic and more loving.

"Are you cold?" Ruben asked, kissing your lips. He then went to lay on his back beside you, pulling up his pants as he did.

"A little." You whispered.

"We should get back to the restaurant and pay for our food."

You chuckled. "I'm not going back like this."

Ruben's head shifted, seeing the damage that he had done. Your dress was practically ripped at the front, exposing most of your thigh and the bite marks that Ruben's mouth had left on the insides of the.

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm so sorry." He sat up and started checking for more bruises, however, all you did was laugh at him and the way he seemed to genuinely worry.

"What's so funny?" He asked and help you up to stand on your feet. He went to brush off the sand on your legs before pulling you towards him with his hands on your hips.

"You." You said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. It's funny how you pretend to be this asshole flight attendant when you're really a sweetheart."

Ruben smiled, his eyes squinting as he did. He then leaned in to kiss you, not pulling away until your need for air. "Maybe I am a sweetheart." He said. "Just don't tell anyone."

Part 1 Part 3

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #ruben dias #football angst #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 11 months

Text

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ this one’s kinda long, for some reason my episode made me more productive wtf

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie

Chapter 6: At Home

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Mentions of child labor(?), cursing, a fuck ton of flirting, a bit suggestive (THIS IS HOW I ACTED WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN😭😭), daddy issues.

FIC MASTERLIST

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Montrell casts his eyes beyond the limousine's window to the sight of the traffic, the nostalgic view of Manhattan flooding his sights. To those unfamiliar with the borough, Manhattan would seem plausibly sophisticated to the average man, but he thinks of it as somewhat more provincial compared to cities he's flown to. Whether it be Venice, Singapore, or Dubai.

It’s nice to be home, he thinks. He’s grown to miss it all after spending a few years in London. But what he certainly missed the most was the presence of his family, particularly the one sitting next to him with a restless knee.

"This little... Brat."

Five missed calls. Twenty unseen messages.

"Is there a problem?"

Antonne snaps his head. "Nothing. It's nothing at all." He announces way too quickly.

Montrell taps at his collar, tugging at the tightness of his tie. "You're looking very restless." His voice gravelly speaks, laced with exhaustion from his eight-hour flight from good ol' London to New York. "I just got back home, now you're making me nervous."

Antonne doesn't reply, his attention still glued onto the flat of his screen. He alternatively switches between texting and calling, feverishly anxious. "It's nothing. Don't mind it."

Montrell parts his lips to reply, but instead silently agrees to drop the topic.

"... I trust everyone’s been well?" He piqued. "Seeing the news I've been receiving from the press, and my classmates, I'd reckoned you'd have improved since the last... Predicament."

“Predicament?”

“Would you rather I word it any other way?”

Antonne grimaces at the fine way Montrell speaks— his sophisticated accent bleeding into his every word.

"I have improved." He states, a little too condescendingly. "Wouldn't you have known that by now?"

"Well," Montrell sits up straight. "None of the problems you cause particularly strike me as interesting. However, I do have one particular concern. Have you been taking care of [Y/n]?"

At the mention of you, Antonne tenses up distastefully. "I've been taking care of her too much." He grits. "She's very, and I mean very, hard-headed."

Speaking of taking care of you, Antonne's been calling and texting your number for the last hour, thinking you'd still be up at this time. Seeing as how you weren't, you were probably fast asleep.

Oh, if only he knew.

"Well, we all share that trait now, don't we?" Montrell teases. "Stubbornness, hard-headedness. In the end, we all chalk it up to ambition. She’s sixteen, after all. Time passes by too fast." He bemoans. "I ought to take her to Shanghai after the fundraising event, little bonding or so."

"You do know that after the fund-raiser, people are going to lure her out of the manor for publicity?"

"Precisely." Montrell rolls the window open, placing a cigarette between his teeth. "But you and I both know how stubborn [Y/n] is. Do you really think anyone can force her out of her comfort zone?"

Antonne straightened his lips. "If she doesn't want to be cast away by society, she would have to try, or she’ll vanish off the map.”

Speaking of vanishing, where were you?

The rules of high society were simple.

Appear neat, be mindful of how you present yourself, and always, always take mind in how you act.

For the longest time, you followed these rules as though they were your variant of the ten commandments. Your mother ensured you a place in New York’s elite for your sake, or so she says. Since then, you crafted your whole image from people’s expectations of you.

By the time you were eight, you constantly switched between masks and personalities— that were all titled separately according to every event.

The beloved golden child; the mature older sister with her head leveled well, ; the bitchy conglomerate heiress with her head in the clouds; and your current, and notably hardest, façade; the obedient daughter who knows when to shut the fuck up.

A talent Antonne didn’t have, unfortunately.

Now, you had another title to hold onto.

“Are you sure your mother isn’t in there?”

You shift uncomfortably, arms crossed before your chest.

“She’s working the night shift tonight.” Miles reasoned, fishing the keys out of his pocket. “It’s not like you’re going to sleep here anyways— plus, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go home like that?” He gestures over to your clothes that were soaked in dirt and rain.

Seven days ago, you swore neatness over any speck of dirt.

Yet here you are, some little girl who stole her brother’s bike, rode all the way down to Brooklyn in the rain, and kissed a boy out in the street.

You didn’t want to meet Miles’ mother like this. You wanted to present yourself the way most mothers would expect of their sons’ girlfriends— polite, proper, and of course, neat.

At that moment, you were just some wet nobody who came out of nowhere, wearing your brother’s stolen hoodie, stolen pants, and stolen shirt. Perhaps the shoes were stolen too.

“Gentleman my ass.” You mumbled, shivering like a sinner at church. You hear Miles deridingly snicker.

“I’ve always been a gentleman to you, you’re just oblivious as fuck.”

“I grew up with polite people. Politeness is my normalcy.”

“Don’t seem like it.”

You click your tongue.

Miles laughs at the way you glare. He’s grown way too used to seeing you like this. “M’just kidding, ma, don’t get all riled up, goddamn.” He simpered. “I guess I just have to out-gentleman the men in yo life, huh.”

“You can try, but that’d be kinda difficult.”

The door to his apartment then creaks open, a dark hall that smelled like citrus and florals awaited before you. Miles steps aside, gesturing you to go inside first. As you do, the warm air greets you like a welcome, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing. You mindfully looked down, checking to see if you were staining the floors.

Miles then slips his shoes off, making you follow suit.

“I’m gonna go get’chu a towel before you start spraying your bubonic plague germs all over my crib.”

“The bubonic plague’s a dead virus, dumbass.”

“It will be, when you die from hypothermia.”

“I fucking hate you— so much.” You breathily squeezed with clackering teeth. Miles only laughs, heading off to fetch the towel. As his fingers flick the lights open, you’re welcomed to the sight of this cozy home. You marveled, like a child first visiting Disney World, at the small picture frames hanging from the walls. There, you could see images of little Miles– with his hair unbraided and eyes a little brighter. There was one of him with his front teeth knocked out, still smiling as wide as ever while holding a puppy in his arms.

Hung jackets, mismatched cabinets, and walls with chipped wallpaper.

It was.. A foreign sight to you.

Somehow, this tiny apartment seemed much homelier than your own.

“Here ya go.” Miles approaches you with the towel in his hand. Though you try to reach out for it, Miles maneuvers it past your grasps and instead pats it over your head, humming a tune to himself. You look up, admiring the way he meticulously takes care of you, cautiously ruffling your hair as though every strand were pure gold. And when he notices you staring, he puts the towel over your face.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not even doing anything.” Your voice muffles, trying to pry his hands away. When he does take the towel off, he’s bent down to your level, face inches away from yours and smirking in a way that irked you. He then places both his covered hands over your cheeks, squeezing lightly.

“You look like a goldfish.” Miles piqued with a toothy grin. “Thas craaazy.”

You furrow your brows. “Fwook owff.”

“Fwook owff indeed.” He mocks of your voice before releasing you. “Now, you gon’ go inside or what?”

You move your head a bit, eyeing the apartment behind him. “You sure your mama ain’t there?”

“If my mama was here, she woulda whooped my damn ass for bringing a girl home.”

“… So she ain’t home?”

Miles stared at you. “…. Do I look like I’m getting my ass beat r’now?”

“… No.”

“… Exactly.”

Hesitantly, you stepped into the apartment, holding the towel close. You can see the kitchen drawing near, a few unwashed glasses in the sink, family pictures on the fridge, and lace tablecloth above the mahogany. There were tiny plants on the shelves, scattered books and chargers, and undone laundry in the baskets. It was the kind of home your mother used to mock— the kind of living she spoke so ill about, a glimpse of her past.

Strangely, you adored everything about it.

“Sorry bout the mess.” Miles sighed. “I was gonna clean up tonight— but I brought you here.”

“No— no,” You sigh, gaze still skimming around in amazement. “Your place is.. Absolutely lovely.”

A slip of an accent. Something sort of posh. Miles notices it, but he pretends not to.

“My mom’s the one who designed most of it— I just let her do what she wants since I ain’t really much of an interior designer.” He kicks a few trinkets away from his path, making way for you.

“I love her tastes.” A genuine compliment, not the falsified ones you half-heartedly gave out to the elite. “Can you, uh, tour me more?”

Miles looks around, also somewhat lost. He slips his hands out his pockets, randomly pointing at places while not uttering a word. You follow where his finger leads, expecting an explanation, but all you get was a gaping “uh…”

“What?”

“… Mujer, this is a two-bedroom apartment, I don’t really know what I can show you here.”

When he noticed the way you clutch the towel, he places his hand over the knob of his bedroom door.

“You still cold?” He suddenly asks. You shrug. “Sort of— my clothes are still kinda wet, but your apartment’s really warm.”

“If you want, you can borrow some of my clothes, and we can hang your clothes r’now so they can dry.”

“That,” You hesitate for a moment. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m probably gonna leave in an hour.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, ma.” He tugs on the end of your sleeve just to pull you in his bedroom, revealing a somewhat small but well-decorated room nonetheless. There were clipped drawings on the walls, framed pictures, posters, and a large trio of windows at the center. From there, you gasp and approach it immediately, sitting by the sill while staring at the rainy Brooklyn before you.

“What? This your first time seein windows?”

“.. I don’t usually keep the windows open like this— AH! MILES. MILES. WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” You smack your hands up against your eyes.

Miles, who had taken off his jacket, stood before you dressed in a plain wife beater, his lean arms drenched in sweat and rain. You kept your hands over your eyes, swallowing immensely.

“Don’t be so damn dramatic, I’m still dressed.” He huffs.

“Miles, idunnoaboutyoubutthisisveryimproper.” You speak in between heaves.

He clicked his tongue. “Aight, aight. Hol on.”

And in a moment of silence, you hear subtle shifts. Ironically, you can’t help but part your fingers in an attempt to take a peek at him. When Miles looks your way, you swiftly turn around and hit your head against the window with a soft thud.

“Are you done yet?” You ask, rubbing your aching forehead.

You hear him draw closer.

Placing a hand above you, Miles corners you into the sill. You look at him with widened eyes, hands over your mouth just to seal the squeal threatening to burst out of your throat.

“You look like you ain’t ever seen a guy’s arms before, ma.”

“I've seen a lot of arms before, thanks." You defensively answered, watching him remain ever-so amused by your shyness. Seeing you flustered like this was a surprise even for Miles who'd grown too used to you being cocky most of the damn time. He didn't think you were the type to go red just by the sight of his biceps.

"I guess I'm just too fine as hell, huh?"

Miles mischievously bends down to your level, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Like instinct, you look up with furrowed brows.

"Hasn’t anyone ever told you to be humble, hm?"

"Ain't nobody ever told me shit," He grins. "What I do know is that you've been calling me pretty boy for the last two months, talkin shit 'bout how much you like pretty people, now suddenly, after kissin' me n all that, you're not saying it anymore. Really, mami," He kneels down before you, looking up into your eyes.

"Ain’t I a pretty boy to you no more?"

Miles watches and watches. He wanted to test the limits of how flustered you could get, but instead, he finds your amusement scribbled all over your face. Like a switch, your arrogance finds its way back to you. The light of the streets gleamed behind you as he marveled at the shadows cascading over your pretty face, a few droplets escaping from your soaked strands and down to the nape of his neck.

Your lone finger traces the lower half of his lip, tapping in intervals. Miles tries to head in for a kiss, but you pull away, pulling the hoodie he's buried in his arms out for you to wear.

"Sit down, Miles."

Straightening his lips, he mumbled.

"Yes, ma’am."

He stands up, heading over to sit by your side. As he watched you slip on his hoodie, he couldn't help but wonder.

“… When am I gonna come over to your house?”

As your head pops out of the hood, your eyes widened after hearing the sudden question.

"My house?" You repeat.

"… Who else’s?”

It’s crossed your mind several times— bringing Miles over. You’ve thought of taking him in under the guise of a project, or claiming he’s some kid you tutor, but it wasn’t particularly your home that was the problem. It was that Miles didn’t know anything about the sort of life you’re living.

If he were to ever find out, his view of you would completely change.

And you didn’t want that.

Your hands begin to fumble with the edge of the jacket.

“… I don’t know if I could let you meet my parents.. Or let you in my house yet.”

“Why not?”

Your gaze narrows. “.. Just… Stuff.”

Your gaze travels to the sights of the silvery pavements beyond the glass windows, hands reaching out to pluck the dry skin off your lips. Seeing this, Miles reaches out for your hands, gently pulling you over to his side. You follow his guide, wrapping your hands over his waist and resting your head against his chest. Silently, he plays with the ends of your drenched hair, resting his chin above your head. Hearing the way his heart beats, your own comes to ease down to match his pace.

Despite the comfort you were in, you were still understandably stiff. You’ve never been like this before, and for a while, you begin to agree with the movies you’ve seen— suddenly, the space between his arms became your favorite place.

“.. Ma, I’m gonna be pretty honest with you. I’ve been really wanting to know what’s up with your family.” Miles mumbles against your hair. “.. And I know how hard it is to open up, but I really wanna understand you.”

“… You don’t have to do all that, Miles.”

“I want to.” He insists. “I want to understand every part of you.”

His fingers comb through the sea of your locks, his brown gaze drawn to the shifting of your feet. He feels your head sink down to the center of his abdomen, and now you’re lying on his lap with your head turned to the window.

“… Are you sure?” You query so subtly, like you’d break if he were to falter.

He agreeably hums, fiddling with the tip of your strands.

“But Ion want’chu to force yourself, y’know?” Miles mumbles. “You don’t have to tell me now.”

“No,” You intervene. “No, you’re right.” Your eyes flutter shut. “I’ve been keeping everything to myself for too long… It’s draining me.”

What was there to say? What would a rich girl like you have to stress about so much?

“… How do I even start it?”

Miles tugged on one of your strands gently. “Well.. What are your parents like?”

You turn your head to look up at him.

Your hands flinch, almost like they were shaking. Miles takes his own and intertwines it with yours, easing you entirely. A quivering breath exits your lips, lashes fanning down.

“My father isn’t really much of a father to me.” You begin. “… More like a boss? I believe. Yeah, that’s the right word to say it. My family owns a.. Business. Small business.”

Small business. A grand hotel that’s been running since the industrial revolution of Manhattan— passed down from generation to generation. Your family was its sole custodian, and unfortunately for you, you weren't in line to be the lady of the house.

"What kind of business?"

You bite your lower lip, trying to pull through with an appropriate answer. "It's like an—" Your brow twitches. "A sort of.. Event place and catering or something like that.. Yeah." You vaguely answer. "... Like an inn."

Inn. The last time someone ever used that word, Jesus was being nailed at the cross.

"So.. Your family is, like, what? Rich?"

Rich?

You swallow the lump in your throat, lowering your voice. "My family's... Capable. Not that rich, but we make do."

You can sense him picturing this average, suburban American household— the kind of folks who can send off their daughter to a private academy and afford business-class trips to different countries every three years. As his mouth hung agape, Miles eventually does nod to signal that he’s getting the gist of your story. ".. Okay? So what do you do there?"

"I'm in charge of the upkeep." You search for a less complicated explanation. "Basically, I'm the one keeping the whole building clean. I'm in charge of customer service, and tidying things up when shit goes down the drain. I make daily reports, and I keep track of.. My dad’s employees."

You were the family's hostess, the one in charge of overseeing high-profile events. Though you weren't of the best pedigree, your family was still impossibly wealthy, and your mother's good looks spared you and your brothers from looking plain, and that enough made you interesting to many suitors.

You handled the media, covered up minor scandals, and took charge of spreading rumors for your family's sake.

Your father claimed it was practice, for god knows what— you weren't even the inheritor of the damn place.

"That's one long ass way to say child labor." Miles couldn't help but laugh. "Is your dad one of those.. Capitalist businessmen kinda dudes? Like, the only language he speaks is money?"

He imagines this tall, roundish man donning an iron-pressed suit with a sharp red tie beneath his collar and a stick of burning tobacco between his yellow teeth. Miles pictures, drawing the image and character of your father, him counting dollars while yapping on about you slacking off.

"Oh, no." You scoff. "My dad doesn't care about money."

Money was your father's least concern. In fact, none of you within your household cared about money at all.

"The family business was passed down from.. My granddad to my dad, so what really matters to my dad is.. Preserving the family's reputation."

Now the caricature shifts, from a roundish businessman to a strict and tall Padre De Familia, with a slightly unbuttoned polo shirt and belted shorts— with crossed arms and a permanent arch in his dark brows.

"That sounds.. Honestly, yeah, I see that a lot on my mom's side." Miles grumbled. "My mom's had a few relatives who were really more concerned about how other people viewed them, instead of taking care of what was actually goin' on inside."

Fingers snapping in agreement, "That! That's exactly it." You gleam. "The thing is, my brother, who's actually set to inherit everything, kinda fucked up his job, and it almost ruined us for life."

"How much did he fuck up?"

"... He got scammed."

"Scammed?" You knew how absolutely stupid it must've sounded to Miles, seeing as how he was shaking his head.

"He got scammed off.." You try to think of a reasonable number. "Fifty thousand dollars."

Two million actually, but that would be too much money.

His face still drops. "Oh, shit."

Ironically, you didn’t know what the weight of money was like— so casually slipping out fifty thousand dollars as a loss somewhat made Miles confirm that you were indeed from money.

"And because of that, your father appointed you?"

"I appointed myself." You corrected of him. "I wanted oppurtunities. I wanted to have a path paved for me other than marriage."

"Marriage!?" He looked at you like you'd just opened up a third eye.

"... Well, I mean of course I'll have a career, but I wanted the hote— the-the inn, the catering business." You struggled to discuss. "Since I'm not inheriting it, I would have to pave a path of my own. And the thing is, if I don't start now, I have nothing to begin with when I'm older... If I don't become anything when I'm older, I have no point of living, really."

"... Is that the reason why you didn't wanna admit you like me?"

The straightforward way he asks it snatches you off like the blow of the wind.

"I’m only realizing right now how very career-driven you are, very afraid of failure. I’m starting to think that you probably thought that facing what you feel about me would ruin your future— so you wanted to convince yourself that we're just friends."

Miles' talent for reading you provoked your fear of vulnerability, but this time, you didn't cower.

"... Is it a bad thing?"

"What is?"

Your voice largens into a croak. "Is it a bad thing that I'm too career-driven?"

"…. There's nothing bad about wanting the best for your future. It's safe to say that everybody wants a good future, but," Miles shifts, resting a hand atop your own. "But what's also important is focusing on your present, because once you lose your present, your regret will have you living in the past."

Your eyes fan up to look at him. "... Where'd you get that one from? Philosophy class?"

"… It was from one of the Facebook memes my maw maw sent me when I was twelve."

You snickered. "How convenient.. Somehow, it’s making me think twice about inheriting the damn business.”

"Well.. Other than inheriting your family business, is there anything else you want to achieve in your life?"

"… I’ve always wanted to be a painter.”

You hear him hum.

“… And I want to live far, far away from this place.”

At that moment— a livid pain shoots through your mind.

In a flash, a hazy vision manifests before your eyes, one that glowered in dark, faded blue. A mask of red, black, and white appears before you, its big, white eyes outlined with red furrowing like a frown as it stares. The skies were dim and blue, showering you in the rain. You reach your fingers out to pull off the façade, but your arm grows weak, faltering down to the growing puddle beside you.

“[Y/n]?” Miles’ voice pulls you out of the vision.

“Huh?”

What the fuck was that?

Only then you realized you'd sat up, which was weird as you hardly felt it. You turn to look at Miles, a little confused with all that had just happened. "... I must be getting sleepy." You whispered, running your hand through your face. "I'm starting to hallucinate n shit."

“You can rest here for a bit.” He tucks a strand behind your ear. “I mean— mama’s coming home at 7am.”

You yawn and stretch your neck to the side. “… I have to come back before three hits. I still have class later."

At that moment, Miles admires the way the moonlight prances around your figure, illuminating you like a light.

"... Now that I'm looking at you like this, you look like my mama's favorite actress."

"Which one?" You query, deeming this as praise. Miles steps back a bit, folding his arms before his chest while trying to remember who it was. "I forgot her name, but she was in that movie 'bout that whole Valencia thing. Mama used to watch it all the time. I think she's still got the poster."

"Valencia? The city in Spain?"

"Yeah." Miles fishes out his phone from the pocket of his pants. ".. What was it? Love in Valencia or sum like that."

Oh no.

"Oh, it's Love, Valencia." Scrolling through his screen, Miles spots the actress in the list of cast members and gasps. "Oh, here she is!"

Placing the phone next to your face, Miles is stunned by the comparison— finding similarities in almost every detail. You feel your breath clog your throat, eyes wavering as you turn to look at his screen.

Lo and behold, it was your mother.

Everyone told you and told you, over and over, that you were the spitting image of your mother. You never heard the end of it. You had her pretty face, her beautiful hair, her skin, and this sort of dark charisma she weaponized and abused— a talent you also endowed, but chose not to use.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." You grumbled lowly. "It's kind of fucking annoying."

"Oh," He takes his phone away. "Sorry, then."

Seeing as how quick he was to apologize, you immediately interjected. "No- no, it's annoying when people constantly tease me about it, but I like it as a compliment. I mean, she is pretty famous."

"But in a way, you're still you." Miles smiled. "You might look similar, but you're not her, and in the end, your own face is something completely different and that's what makes you even prettier."

Oh, that sounded so different to most of the compliments you got.

"… I like that. I really like that." You couldn't help but admit.

Shrugging his shoulders, Miles kneels down to pick your wet hoodie off the floor. "I'm gonna put this over the electric fan, and you can get it when it's dryer." As he stands up to leave, you instinctively follow him, fingers grasping the hem of his tank top. With the softest steps you had, you followed the boy to the kitchen.

Eventually, he placed your hoodie over the fan, soon finding your fingers clinging onto his shirt like some lost cat. He holds back a snicker, head traveling to look at you.

“What?”

You let go of him. “Nothin.”

“It don’t look like nothin.” He cocks his head, towering over you. “What is it?”

“… When’s our date?”

“Saturday. I’ll pick you up down the block at five.”

You thoughtlessly nod. “Okay,” You gulp. “Where to, though?”

With a hand over his lips, he hushes. “That’s a surprise.”

And yet even after asking your question, you find yourself following him almost everywhere he went. Miles mused at this, finally deciding to sit by the couch where he drags you by his side.

“[Y/n], what do you want?”

“Ion want nothing!”

“It don’t look like you don’t want nothing.” He grits. “If you want something, use your damn words.”

“I want an essential oil bath bomb.” You laugh, swatting his shoulder. “I’m being for real, Miles, Ion want nothing.”

Miles raised a brow, disbelief written across his pretty face. “It’s called communication, ma. Use those pretty lips of yours for somethin else other than complaining.”

“Oh, I’m the one doing all the complaining?” You snapped. “You know what else these pretty lips can do? Verbal abuse— so—“

“Tsk. There you go again.”

“Don’t go around saying I’m always complaining–“

“Ma, if all you want’s a kiss, I can give you allat.”

And you’re silenced with that alone.

Silenced, but not in the way that Miles thought.

“You don’t need to be all whiny about it, you could j—“

“Whiny?” Your voice deepens, back straightening. You take your knee and place it beside his hip, mounting his lap with a firm grip on his collar. He watches your figure rise above him, head dipping forward.

"I'll fucking show you whiny."

And without another whisper, you crash your lips against his, leaving him without time to breathe. His hands trickle up your waist, beneath your jacket, but never under your shirt. He was too afraid of touching your skin, in a way. Feared he'd disappear into the wind if he ever did, but when your hands pulled him closer and closer, Miles found his own gripping onto your waist, with the other lightly tugging on your hair.

Like in his dream, you nibble at the mauve and paint it with your saliva. Your tongue a little too invasive in the way it dampens his lip.

You're too good at that. Too good at this.

And in his haze, when you two part, a lingering string connects your brims. He heaves, a tiny whine rolling off his tongue with the harsh way you pulled off. "W-wait, I—" He catches his breath, expectantly waiting for the taste of your lips again. But when it doesn't arrive, he looks up expectantly, only to find you licking the corner of your mouth, savoring the taste. He desperately leans in for another, but you grasp his shoulder, forcing him down.

"I have to go home."

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